Alchemy of Blood. Olga Shakirovna Isyanova
walking over to them.
“Yeah, we look pretty good. That big guy was a tough nut to crack,” Thomas said, tugging at his clothes as if that might help.
There was another roar outside the door. Selene glanced at the guardians with displeasure. Thomas averted his blue eyes, and Greg grinned into his beard.
“Come on, let the girl have some fun,” he said.
“Open it,” Selene ordered, nodding toward the door.
Greg punched in the access code, and Thomas opened the door, inviting her inside. The first thing Selene saw was a bold and bloodthirsty look in those huge scarlet eyes. Maria had a smile on her face that made her look like a creepy porcelain doll.
She was so tiny that she was almost as tall as the prisoner who was kneeling. The girl was standing behind him, running pale fingers through his snow-white hair.
The man was breathing heavily, head down. His white shirt was stained with blood. Wavy hair, just below his shoulders, was soaked with sweat and fell over his face. His hands were shackled in front of him.
An enchanted silver collar, attached to the floor with a thick chain, on which shone the bindrun of the god Tyr, who once bound the divine wolf Fenrir, prevented the werewolf from turning.
“That’s enough, Maria,” Selene said calmly. “I’ll handle it myself.”
“I can do just fine without you,” Maria chirped, and her smile widened, making her plump cheeks dimple.
“You can’t, or I wouldn’t be here,” Selene said coldly. “The Prince needs information, not a mess of wolf’s brain.”
Selene was annoyed that the Prince was indulging Maria’s sadistic tendencies, allowing her to use her gift to harm others. Maria could reach into people’s minds and read their past, causing unbearable pain. And the harder the victim resisted, the more suffering they experienced.
Maria stared at Selene for a few seconds, her short-cropped blond head cocked to one side. Then, she deliberately walked towards the exit. Greg and Thomas watched in silence from the doorway.
Selene walked over to the prisoner and squatted down in front of him. She gently lifted his head by the chin and looked up into his face.
As is often the case with immortals, it was not easy to determine his age at first glance. He could have been about forty or six hundred years old. His face, pleasant and noble, like streams of rain on glass, trickled blood from his eyes, nose and the corners of his mouth.
He was gnashing his teeth, his square jaw tense. The werewolf lifted his eyelids with an effort, and Selene’s silver gaze met the gold of his eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments, then his eyes closed again and his head fell limply on the broad chest.
Selene looked down at his cuffed hands and noticed a round gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. It showed the Fenrir wolf leaping to swallow the sun. Without knowing why, she touched the ring, but then she pulled her hand away – it was so cold that it burned her fingers. She even thought she heard a low growl somewhere on the edge of consciousness.
As she straightened up and took another look at the captive, Selene realized that there would be no answers today.
She turned to Maria and said, not hiding her displeasure, “We’ll have to wait for him to recover. Because of you, Maria, we are wasting precious time. Good job!” and without waiting for an answer, she walked briskly away.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Selene returned to the prison cell. This time alone, without any outside observers. Leaning against the door, she calmly smoked a cigarette and looked at the prisoner. His large figure took up almost the entire space of the damp, cramped room. Broad-shouldered, tightly built, he breathed steadily, his head bowed limply. Selene assumed that he should have recovered during the night, and she was right.
The man exhaled slowly. He moved his stiff shoulders, and powerful muscles played under his white shirt. Then he lifted his head and blinked sleepily away. His gaze wandered around the cell until it landed on Selene.
“Good morning!” she said sweetly, smiling.
“I thought I was imagining you,” the man rasped in a low, deep voice that still had a sleepy edge to it.
“How are you feeling?”
“Amazing. Your doll did a good job,” the wolf replied and coughed.
Selene handed him a bottle of water, “We apologize for any inconvenience caused.”
The man unscrewed the top of the bottle as far as his shackled hands would allow, and took several gulps. Trickles trickled down his chin, partially washing away the dried blood. He emptied the bottle and tossed it aside.
“You’re here for some fun, too?” his voice was less hoarse now.
“It all depends on you. If you behave yourself, I won’t hurt you,” Selene took a drag on her cigarette. “I just need answers.”
The werewolf regarded her for a few seconds, his golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A slight smirk appeared on his lips, making the cleft in his chin stand out clearly.
“I am at your feet, fagr7,” he said, bowing his head in mock reverence.
“Fine, let’s start with a simple one,” Selene began the interrogation. “Your name?”
“Sol,” he said.
“You’re from the First Pack, right?”
The amusement in his eyes immediately faded, and he became serious.
“I’m a loner. I left the Pack a few years ago after…” he paused.
“After the previous Alpha died,” Selene finished for him.
Sol nodded, his white hair falling over his forehead as he stared at the floor. It was obvious that this topic was causing him pain.
“What were you doing here in Venice? Why didn’t you introduce yourself at court?” Selene asked.
“Surely you’ve heard that the alchemist is missing? His trail led me here.”
“Why would you want to look for him?” Selene frowned.
“Because Lucan is involved, and I want to know what he’s up to,” Sol said, his jaw tightening. “I have my own reasons for that.”
Lucan became the new Elder Alpha just a few years ago. During this time, he managed to become famous for his radical views. He opposed the principle of “the best power is invisible power” and wanted to rule openly, not hiding from mortals. He sought to enslave them. However, none of the leaders supported him, as did many of his fellow tribesmen. Alphas who did not agree with his rule were killed or exiled. Lucan surrounded himself with loyal followers, eliminating anyone who dared to cross him.
“What makes you think Lucan had anything to do with it? And why didn’t you tell us right away if your search led you to the city?” Selene asked, exhaling a stream of smoke.
“I was watching him and saw Andros brought to him. Then, the alchemist hurriedly went here. I didn’t go to see the Prince, because I wanted to make sure first that he had nothing to do with it.”
Selene was startled. To suspect the Prince is absolutely absurd. After all, Adrian had always maintained a policy of non-interference since the days of the Inquisition. He strictly forbade his subjects to reveal their true identity to people. So it seemed unlikely that he could support Lucan.
“So, are you convinced?” she asked, arching a dark brow.
“I didn’t have time,” the wolf quipped, shaking his chains. “But what I do know is that Lucan is in cahoots with Baron Victor – it was his men who brought Andros to Alpha.”
Victor.
Beauty (Old Norse).