A Fragile Truce
The uneasy alliance between Misery and the werewolves formed as they ventured deeper into the forest, where Seraphine’s presence grew more oppressive with each step. The tension was palpable—Draven’s growls rumbled low in his chest every time Misery smirked, while Isla’s watchful eyes never left the vampire.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Draven growled, his voice sharp as a blade. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because we need every edge we can get against Seraphine.”
Misery chuckled, spinning her blade lazily in her hand. “Oh, darling, if I wanted to betray you, you’d never see it coming.”
Isla stepped between them, her tone clipped. “Save it. We don’t have time for your games.”
Adrian shot Misery a warning glance. “We’re not here to make friends. Stay focused.”
As they moved, Misery took note of the werewolves’ seamless coordination, their instincts honed by years of loyalty and trust. It was a sharp contrast to the fractured alliances of the vampire courts, and though she’d never admit it, she was impressed.
Their path led them to a jagged ridge overlooking a valley shrouded in mist. Isla crouched low, motioning for the others to do the same. “This is it,” she whispered. “Seraphine’s stronghold is on the other side.”
Adrian’s sharp eyes scanned the mist, noting the faint glimmers of magical wards. “She’s fortified the area. We’ll need to find a way to disable those wards without alerting her.”
Misery studied the scene, her smirk fading. “Leave that to me,” she said.
Draven’s growl was immediate. “And why would we trust you with that?”
Misery met his gaze, her tone unexpectedly serious. “Because I know how Seraphine thinks. And if we don’t move quickly, she’ll know we’re here.”
Isla exchanged a tense glance with Draven before nodding. “Fine. But remember—one wrong move, and you’re dead.”
Misery grinned, but the edge in her expression was sharp. “Noted.”
