Lupo (The Immortals Book 8)

by La Porta, Monica

  Anger and hate filled the air with their malevolent vibrations. Hit by the evil wave, Lupo and his wolf recoiled. Shaking, his strength ebbing again after the temporary restorative effect of the baths, he anchored himself to the rail of the lectern. He wanted to defend himself against the accusation of taking Jasmine against her will, but he was responsible for her death, and deep inside thought he deserved to pay.

  “This filth has already finished the sentence the Immortal Council thought appropriate for such a heinous crime against a defenseless girl. A year in prison!”

  The priest’s words ignited an even stronger reaction from the were-panthers.

  “But rest assured, he won’t get away with so little.” The man paused, then raised one hand. “Before the Great Panther, I call forth Brother Karol Michael Laontes Corte, father of Jasmine Rakeleh Karola Cannalis Corte.”

  From the first row of seats, a man stood and walked halfway toward the podium. With his chin high and his gait sure, Jasmine’s father wore the chiton as if he was wearing a royal mantle. His face was an expressionless mask, and his eyes dead.

  The priest raised both hands and looked up at the ceiling. “State your plea, brother Corte.”

  “May the Great Panther be my testimony, I seek revenge for the crimes committed against my daughter.” Jasmine’s father lowered his head and opened his arms to the side.

  “I hear your sufferance, brother. And I find you worthy of the Great Panther’s infinite love.” The priest turned toward the audience. “Through the power vested in me by our Goddess, I will grant our brother a Purist Justice.” He made sign for Corte to step closer, then when he was before him, the priest placed his palm over the were-panther. “Ask your price.”

  “My daughter was betrothed and one week from her wedding when she was abducted—” His façade crumbling for a moment, Jasmine’s father couldn’t finish, and his revelation sent the crowd to their biggest uproar yet.

  “We can’t bring back time and make things right, but the Goddess doesn’t want you and your family to suffer any longer.” The priest nodded for Corte to talk.

  “On behalf of my family, and under the canons of Purist Justice, I only ask what is due to us, for my daughter’s betrothed the right to challenge the accused to a mortal duel.”

  Jasmine’s father’s request was welcomed by a loud round of applause.

  The priest raised his hands once again, this time asking for silence. “So be it,” he said when the room was quiet. “In three days, when the Great Panther meets the moon high in the sky, your champion will restore your daughter’s honor and exact the vengeance that was unlawfully taken away from you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lupo was forced to wait until the last of the were-panthers vacated the amphitheater. In a never-ending procession, each Purist left his seat, then walked in a semicircle, and stopped a few feet from the podium to berate Lupo. Every word as heavy as stone, and every bit as painful. When the room was finally empty and silent, the doctor called the nurses back in, and Lupo was escorted out.

  His thoughts fogged by a mix of sorrow, desperation, and gnawing hunger, he couldn’t stand upright any longer. By the time the nurses deposited him in a cell, the skin on his knees and feet was raw from being dragged over rough terracotta tiles for a good ten minutes. Despite his arms and shoulder blades had also hurt so much he had wanted to faint, he tried to keep his eyes open to memorize the new route his jailers had taken.

  “Give him enough food and water to have him last until the duel,” the doctor ordered, then left.

  The nurses pushed Lupo down on a narrow cot made of a single plank of wood. Having spent the last of his energy, he lost consciousness.

  He woke to silence and darkness. Assessing his situation, he raised one hand and moved his feet that touched the coarse floor. The nurses had left without cuffing him or retraining him to the makeshift bed. His eyes adjusted to the dimness. There were no windows, but one single, narrow door. A solid sheet of silver covered the surface.

  As it had happened during his time in Regina Coeli, he lost sense of time rapidly. Not knowing for how long he had been knocked out, and without natural light revealing if it was morning or night, he relied on his wolf to tell him the time of day.

  His jailers made it even more difficult for him by visiting three times in a row or not at all for hours. As the doctor had prescribed, food and water were rationed. The trays left for him contained no more than a dry strip of meat, and half a scoop of steamed rice. Water didn’t abound either.

  He let out his wolf to regenerate his skin and heal his dislocated joints, then resigned himself to wait. In the long stretches of time between his jailers’ visits, he dozed in and out of vivid dreams starring Jasmine. He called her, but she didn’t come to him, so he revisited the memory of his last imaginary encounter with her.

  Worries for his fathers, for Camelia, looking for him filled his mind. He had been missing for a while, and they must have been frantic. He wished he could see them one more time, to tell them how much they meant to him. He had told them, but it didn’t seem enough.

  Starvation and sensory deprivation took their toll on Lupo. By the end of what should have been the second day, according to his wolf’s calculation, he could barely chew on the hard beef jerky served as dinner. This time, the meager portion of rice was absent, and the water was less than a cup, but his shaking hands threw half of it to the floor.

  Lupo?

  Jasmine’s voice boomed inside his empty skull, ricocheting as loud as a thunder.

  My love—

  What’s happening to you? She sounded terrified.

  I love you.

  Lupo?

  Lupo woke. He had dreamed of talking with Jasmine, but the conversation didn’t bring him peace as it had done in the past. A sense of foreboding lingered in his thoughts and chilled him to the bones. His wolf told him it was a full moon. Three full days had passed, and he hadn’t been served food since the night before.

  Expecting his jailers to come back for him any minute now, time froze again, stretching minutes into hours. Lupo started hallucinating. Jasmine appeared to him, dressed all in white, but she was a small girl with bouncy black curls and the sweetest smile. In his altered state of mind, Lupo recognized the girl as the daughter they would have had in another life. He wept, but was too dehydrated for tears.

  The door opened with a loud thump, and bounded against the wall. Light inundated the cell, blinding Lupo. Strong arms grabbed Lupo’s arms and pulled him to his feet.

  Blinking to restore his sight, he did his best to keep his legs straight and his torso up, while his jailers hauled him toward the baths. He fell, but didn’t faint. The pleasant smell of eucalyptus and the warm humidity of the baths relaxed him into sleepiness again. His chiton was removed, and he was shoved into a shower stall where his skin was scrubbed to a smooth shine. Then he was shaved again, the cold razor blade traveling along his jaw, down to his chin, then up to his head.

  While he was being hustled from one activity to the next, Lupo caught his reflection on one of the fogged mirrors over the sinks. A pale, haggard face looked back at him. He had lost weight, and his eyes were sunken, blood-shot and circled by black rings. On his head, scabs from the previous shaving had been scratched and were bleeding anew.

  A new chiton, this one crimson red, was given to him, but when he stumbled with the collar’s opening, the jailers dressed him, then marched him toward the exit.

  The door was forcefully opened, and a young were-panther, no more than a teenager, ran inside.

  “You!” he yelled, pointing at Lupo.

  The were-panther’s smell was vaguely familiar, with a touch of Jasmine’s floral note, and Lupo’s wolf stood to attention.

  Then before anyone could do anything, the were-panther pounced on Lupo. Despite the shifter’s young age, he was stronger than he looked. A series of punches and kicks forced Lupo against the wall, as he defended himself and even tried to attack back.
The fight was short-lived because the were-panther was soon restrained by the two jailers.

  A man wearing a black ceremonial tunic entered the baths a moment later, took in the scene, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Great Panther, you didn’t do anything stupid.”

  “This dog killed my cousin.” The were-panther, still constrained, screamed and kicked, then became quiet, and slouched between the two men. “I only ask for five minutes with him.”

  “I would grant your request if I could, pup, but he must be taken to the arena now.” The newcomer nodded at the jailers, who released the young man, and promptly took hold of Lupo’s elbows.

  A third were-panther stormed inside and only stopped when he saw the young man. “Son—”

  The man wearing the black chiton stepped forward. “Everything is under control. Don’t worry.” He then pointed at the door and addressed the jailers, “We are more than ten minutes late.”

  While Lupo was propelled out of the baths, father and son engaged in a loud conversation that echoed into the hallway. His jailers made him walk at a brisk pace, and took him through a series of hallways, then they entered an antechamber. A low bench was attached to a wall, and Lupo was ordered to sit.

  The cell phone of one of the jailers rang and after a brief series of “Yes, brother,” and “No, brother,” he hung up and swore. “In all that mess back there, we forgot the priest wants him to wear boxers for the fight. I’ll be right back.”

  The second man followed the first to the door too. “I can’t stand the dog’s smell. I’ll wait outside.”

  Thankful for small mercies, once Lupo was alone, he opened his tight fist. In his palm, there was a small strip of black cotton the belligerent were-panther had pushed into his hand during the attack. His heart hadn’t stopped galloping ever since his nose had caught a whiff of the strip.

  The most enticing scent came out of the fabric. A perfume he would have recognized and singled out in a crowd of a million people. The fresh smell of flowers bathed by the dew of a summer night. Citrusy sweet. Jasmine’s.

  And it was no more than a day old.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The priest in his regalia appeared at the door, followed by a small army of Purists wearing black chitons. Two of them were the young were-panther and his father, now looking subdued.

  Raising his eyebrow, the priest gave Lupo a disgusted look, and gestured toward him. “Take him out.”

  Two guards materialized at Lupo’s flank, but when they were about to push Lupo away, the priest stopped them. “Wait.” His nose twitching, he sniffed the air around Lupo.

  Lupo’s forehead pearled with sweat. He had swallowed the piece of fabric, hoping it would cover Jasmine’s scent, but as the priest’s nostrils flared, he feared that his measure hadn’t been enough.

  To his relief, a moment later, the priest shook his head. “Who visited the prisoner?” The disdain in his voice was directed at the Purists who shuffled closer to the walls.

  Father and son lowered their heads. The older were-panther brought his united hands to his chest. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Holiness. My son is impetuous. He was greatly affected by his cousin’s tragedy and acted on pure instinct. I take full responsibility for his ill-thought actions.”

  The priest approached the young shifter, who, pushed by his father, went down on his knees.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Your Holiness,” the were-panther repeated his father’s words, then added, “I couldn’t control myself. I didn’t mean to disrespect the Goddess, but my anger prevailed. Jasmine was like a sister to me and I wanted to hurt the dog.”

  The priest gestured for him to stand, then softly patted the youth’s head. “I understand, my boy. But never again interfere with the Great Panther’s Will.”

  “It will never happen again.” The father bent to kiss the big ring on the priest’s left hand.

  “I’m sure it won’t.” The priest let the young were-panther brush his ring as well, then opened his hands to the side. “The duel has been delayed long enough. Let it begin.”

  The crowd parted, the priest exited the antechamber in a slow gait, followed by the Purists, and finally the guards holding Lupo. They walked a few steps, then entered a smaller hallway that ended with a large glass door, beyond which the circular portion of an arena came into sight.

  The stands were filled with people. Men and women rose from their seats when the priest walked to the center of the arena, where ropes delimited the fighting area. Two men were inside the ring. One was Jasmine’s father, the other an alpha were-panther older than Lupo by a few years who wore only a pair of black boxers.

  The priest entered the ring and took the younger man’s hand in his own, then raised it toward the ceiling. “Brother Seth Marcellus Calantes Mora, are you ready to avenge the honor of your fiancée?”

  The man bowed before answering, “May the Great Panther aim my rage true.”

  Among the crowd’s roaring applause and cheers of encouragement, the priest pointed his ring finger at Lupo. “The Goddess has sentenced you to death.”

  The arena fell silent as Lupo was led into the ring. Jasmine’s father waited for him, and at the priest’s nod, he backhanded Lupo with such violence that his head turned all the way to the other side. Blood trickled down Lupo’s cheek. Something sharp had cut his skin, and Lupo instinctively brought his hand to his face, only to be stopped by the guards still holding him.

  The cut burned and fizzled as pain spread from Lupo’s face, then traveled down to this throat, and lower still to his chest, enveloping his heart with an icy glove.

  Conte stepped to the side, then exited the ring with the priest. Finally Lupo’s jailers freed him and pulled his chiton off, then removed themselves as well. Suddenly unaided, Lupo swayed. His eyes lost focus for a moment, and he saw two pairs of Seth moving before him. He blinked, his mind suddenly foggy, and his body heavier than a moment before.

  “Let the Honor Fight begin,” the priest said, his voice amplified.

  The crowd stood, stomping their feet at a rhythm with their clapping.

  Two Seths advanced. Lupo called forth his wolf senses to clear his sight, then closed his eyes and let his nose guide him. His wolf was weak, but he was still reliable. An upper jab whisked near Lupo’s side as he avoided it at the last moment, but the following kick hit his thigh, as it did a lower jab to his ribs. He opened his eyes, but now there were four opponents fighting him.

  Famished, mentally drained, and drugged, Lupo absorbed the hits, but couldn’t counterattack. His body slowed down at the same rate his mind deteriorated.

  Yet one lucid thought remained at the forefront.

  Jasmine was alive.

  He could doubt everything, but a werewolf’s nose never lied, and an alpha sense of smell was unparalleled. All this time, he had been kept away from his soulmate, and now he was about to be killed. The unfairness of it all filled him with a fury that grew in intensity, fueling his limbs with renewed strength, and clearing his mind from the poison.

  Lupo parried two upper jabs, and to the astonishment of his opponent, he followed with a lower jab of his own. Awakening from his lethargy, his wolf roared at the Purist’s panther.

  Seth took a hit to his solar plexus, but was able to regain his balance and threw a fast punch that caught Lupo’s jaw.

  Blood came out of Lupo’s mouth in an arch as his head lashed backwards. Still, a heartbeat later, he raised his leg higher than his head, and angled his foot at ninety degrees for a hammer kick meant for Seth’s head. The were-panther saw him coming, and leaned away from Lupo’s kick that caught his lower abdomen instead.

  Groaning in pain, Seth bent over his knees, among the crowd’s shock. Lupo swung his right arm to hook the Purist’s head and drag him down. The crowd warned Seth and he stepped back. His face was a mask of hatred when he rushed forward and tackled Lupo.

  The were-panther and Lupo were of a similar build, both alphas in their prime, and had they been
fighting on equal grounds, their match would have been more balanced. As it was, only the certainty that Jasmine was alive gave Lupo the strength to go on.

  In rapid succession, the next three punches from Seth hit Lupo’s left shoulder, ribcage, and stomach. A fourth punch aimed at his groin didn’t hit the target only because his wolf made him jump to the side.

  I can’t die today, Lupo thought, and readied his body for a roundhouse kick that was perfectly executed and hit the were-panther in his face. Seth fell to the mat, and Lupo straddled him, showering him with punches. Meanwhile, their animals fought as well, and with every bite Lupo’s wolf grew stronger.

  Under Lupo, Seth buckled, but he couldn’t unsaddle him. Lupo’s rage had restored him full control over his body, and he used it to drive his punches with lethal aim. Seth’s face was covered in blood, his features already swelling. Lupo hit him one more time.

  The crowd fell silent.

  An angered roar escaped Seth’s throat as he shifted into his panther.

  Lupo too tried to shift. Then he realized the true nature of the drug Jasmine’s father had used to poison him. His wolf cried in frustration as he pawed at the invisible wall that kept him prisoner of the astral plane. His claws racked the air, while Lupo found himself fighting a black panther of exceptional dimensions.

  Stomping feet and ritual chanting from the crowd accompanied the panther’s lazy circles around Lupo. The animal’s eyes stared at his, in a mute challenge.

  I won’t die today, Lupo told himself, and in a desperate attempt, he attacked first, slamming against the animal’s flank with all the power he could muster, then going for the panther’s big neck. The animal slashed at him, but he didn’t relent, instead he tightened his chokehold, absorbing the claws’ lashes, commanding his body to put the pain in the back burner.

  I won’t die today, Lupo repeated as a mantra. He focused on taking Jasmine in his arms once again. Wherever you are, I’ll find you.

  My wolf, Jasmine’s voice was feeble. What’s happening to you?