Wesley didn’t like that he’d made it a habit of waking up in strange places with no memory of how he’d gotten there. But, alas, it had become a staple of his life.

  Though he did recognize Esther’s castle this time, even if it was a different room, he did not remember arriving. And he wasn’t chained to the bed either, which was a good sign.

  His body ached everywhere, and he guessed that soft landing he’d hoped for had not come to fruition. He’d landed hard, and even with nascent werewolf powers, it still hurt.

  The cut on his shoulder was bandaged and bloodstained. It felt sore to the touch, which bothered him. He’d wondered if his new powers would lend to quicker healing times, but it seemed not.

  As he stumbled around his room, wearing a nightshirt that wasn’t his, he noticed that someone had run him a bath in the small, attached bathroom near the bedroom door. Without a second thought, he threw off his shirt and climbed in.

  The water was scalding, but nothing he couldn’t handle. So, he sat back and let it soak him into a stupor.

  He was well into a blurry dream when he smelled something sweet. It didn’t fit with his dream, and with great reluctance, he felt himself pulled back to reality.

  Blinking, Wesley groaned and almost slipped further into the bath, catching himself on the edge of the tub.

  “Good,” Esther said. “You’re awake.”

  If he weren’t so annoyed, Wesley would have been embarrassed by his nakedness. “What do you want?”

  “The dream must’ve been a good one,” she said, humor coloring her tone.

  Wesley’s hands shot to cover himself. “Why are you interrupting my bath?”

  “Because it has been two days. I was making sure you were still breathing.”

  Wesley’s eyes shot open. “Two days?”

  Esther stood over him, dressed in a neat, pressed black coat. Her blonde hair was held high in a tight ponytail.

  “You were cut by the knife,” she said, one of her long fingers touching the skin just above the bandage. “It was cursed. It is why the evil one slumbers. It is why you slumbered.”

  Wesley briefly remembered how Not-Merlin had levitated her while he cackled.

  “Well, now we know why he was locked up.”

  She nodded stiffly. “Indeed.”

  “Were you able to lock him back in without magic?” he asked.

  The woman hesitated. She hesitated. He’d never seen her hesitate. Wesley looked up at her. “You put him back in, right?”

  To her credit, she looked directly at him. “No.”

  Wesley’s rage threatened to take over. It seemed he was teetering on the edge of that constantly, now. “Why not?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “We went to that island for him. Why would we leave without him?” she asked simply.

  Though the answer did make sense, it took him a few seconds to come to terms with it. They had not been there for the conversation with Merlin.

  “Did the voice not speak to you, too?”

  She frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. “What voice?”

  He told her about Merlin.

  “And you are sure it was him? The real Merlin?” she asked.

  “I could feel the Avalonian magic coming off it. I believe it was him,” he replied, annoyed.

  “Well, the two parts you left him in are in a cell. The cursed knife still in him. He has not moved.” Her eyes burned suddenly with a feral kind of hunger. Her next words were throaty. “You will join me for dinner tonight. You have twenty minutes.”

  He blinked. “What about–”

  “She will have dinner in her room. She, too, is recuperating. The closet has clothing in your size. I will send a maid.”

  She left before Wesley could speak. He was too surprised and confused and angry. They kept Not-Merlin. As soon as he was able, he would fly that cretin back to his prison. He would not sleep well till he was gone.

  Ten minutes later, he was dressed in a 19th century black suit that smelled like Oaktree syrup and burnt lentils. It was either that or a rather goofy looking, casual pair of tan slacks and bright pink polo. He had a polo she’d pushed him toward the suit on purpose.

  He was surprised to find how good the fabric felt on his skin. And how attuned he was to it. Like every follicle of skin was grabbing every fiber of the clothing.

  A knock came at the door. When he answered it, he found a small lady in a black maid’s dress. Her eyes were on the ground, and she curtsied. “Sir, it is time.”

  Wesley quickly ran his hands through his hair one last time and followed the woman down the hill.

  Instead of going toward the front of the castle, she led him to a small door. She opened it for him and he found a spiral staircase going up. It smelled of fresh air.

  “You go up,” the little maid told him and pushed him through.

  “Alright,” he said, stepping into the tight space.

  She closed it on him the second he was in. With some hesitation, he climbed it until he found an identical door. Beyond it, he could smell fresh, raw meat and…and…

  He pushed the door open.

  Esther stood near a small table, lit dimly by a single candle. She wore a long, narrow black dress that clung to her slim figure. It rose to a high neckline. Her hair was the same as he’d last seen her. But now it was accompanied by a pair of ice blue diamond earrings.

  When he was done ogling her, he was able to take in the fact that they were standing on the highest tower of the castle, looking over the dark landscape. Bright light speckled the distance.

  “What…is the occasion?” he asked, finding his voice rather shaky.

  “We are alive,” she replied, her voice as intoxicating as the perfume she wore. It smelled of roses and something feral. “Is that not enough?”

  Wesley narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  She rolled her eyes, her inhuman beauty pressing Wesley’s patience for some reason. “Do not make me regret this.”

  “What is this?” he asked, stepping to stand behind the chair.

  “Dinner.”

  “It’s a very nice dress.”

  “It’s a nice suit.”

  They stood like that for a long moment, neither of them looking away. They both drank each other in.

  “Shall we eat?” she asked, a small, feline smile playing on her lips.

  “Yes…”

  He realized he could not feel the breeze, though trees danced in the distance. “We are protected. Just because we do not practice magic, doesn’t mean we don’t have a use for it. Or know how to find those that can and are willing to do it on our behalf,” she added.

  “I see,” he said, picking up his knife and fork.

  But he saw that she was holding her glass of wine out. “A toast?”

  He picked up his and held it, too. “To?”

  “Surviving,” she said simply. “We are rather good at it.”

  “I can toast to that.”

  The glasses clinked, and they drank. Wesley was no wine snob, but he’d had some very good vintages in his life. This one was delicious.

  “Three hundred years old,” she said, swirling Her’s. “I stole this bottle from a baron in Germany. He’d kidnapped another nobleman’s bride.”

  “They sent you?”

  “Well, the bride was my sister, you see.”

  “I didn’t know you had one?”

  “Somewhere,” she said nebulously. “She disappeared some years after that incident. During the Inquisitions.”

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  The wine and smell of good food was going to his head.

  It was her turn to narrow her eyes. “Not as old as you might believe. I’ve slumbered at times. For years.”

  “Did you dream?” He didn’t know what made him ask it. “I mean, well, in the…casket?”

  She gave him a curt nod. “Oh, yes. Quite intently.”

  Wesley sipped his wine. “Does the hunger ever go away?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Esther pursed her lips and watched the red streaks in her wine glass. “Sometimes. But it always comes back.”

  “I guess that is the best I can ask for.”

  “True.” She looked over her wine glass at him. “It isn’t as bad as you might think. It becomes second nature. It ebbs and flows.” She leaned forward. “It is the same as desire.”

  He opened his mouth, but she shook her head.

  “Eat, Wesley.”

  It was odd, taking orders, though he found he didn’t mind it much coming from her. But he was afraid it was mostly her beauty playing tricks on him. His mind wouldn’t let him forget how dangerous she was.

  So, they ate. Wesley, his steak. Esther, her greens. And a small, silver flask.

  “Can you taste it?”

  “Yes, though it is…dulled, so I’m told.”

  “You were born a vampire.”

  “Yes.”

  When he’d finished his steak, he dabbed his face with the napkin. “Esther, why am I here?”

  Her nose twitched with irritation. “You…intrigue me.”

  “How is that?”

  She looked down her nose at him, rage bubbling in her dark eyes. “We are not so different, you and I. Though you seem to think so. I was not given a choice to be what I am. You, at least, were given a short time as a mortal.”

  Wesley tried not to let his head hang. “I am still mortal.”

  Her eyes blazed, staring into his. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Is that what this is? You want us to bond over the shitty cards we’ve been dealt?” he shot at her, not sure why he was so angry.

  Esther sat still, having found a certain calmness, her palms face down on the table. “No, no,” she said quietly. “You have been through a lot these past weeks.”

  “What does it matter…” he grumbled. “None of it matters if we can’t kill the Nocturne.”

  “Enough about the Nocturne,” she said, slamming a palm down on the table. “It is not all about him. Yes, you must kill him. You will. But for now, right now, you will not. Do not give him more than he is due, lest you lose yourself.”

  Wesley bit back his retort. “He has destroyed my life.”

  “No, he has given in a different direction. One you may not like at the moment, but alas, you cannot do much about that now. Do not let it consume you. Vengeance is good, yes. But too much is poison. You either do it and it is done or you let it go.”

  It sounded as though she was speaking from experience. He didn’t push the matter.

  “What did he do to your family?” Wesley asked.

  In a flash of speed so fast it was a blur, Esther rose, flinging the table aside to smash against the side railing. The dishes cascaded down the slanted stone roof to land dully on the lawn below.

  She stood, her arms at her sides, looking down at him. “He killed my uncle. I will say no more about it.”

  She walked to the railing and looked out into the night, leaving Wesley sitting in a chair with no table. Luckily, he’d been done with his food.

  He rose and joined her, leaning on the railing. “I apologize. I seem to have lost my manners now that I’m becoming this beast.”

  Esther didn’t respond but took a hand and placed it gingerly on his arm. “It is fine, Wesley Barstow. These small moments are important, even when at war. They make it so our other natures do not consume us.”

  Blinking lights and sounds came to them as they stood together atop the castle. Somewhere overhead, a plane was preparing to land. Music drifted from them from a club nearby. He wondered suddenly how the modern world was handling its foray into the magical one. How his city of London was recuperating.

  Wesley wondered if he’d ever make it back to find out. He was on an entirely new path now. One that might not lead him back to his old life.

  Then it was Esther’s turn to ask him a question. “How has it felt to…to…for your life to change so much?”

  He read between the lines. To fall so far, she meant.

  “It has been difficult,” he said slowly. “More has happened to me these past two weeks than in all my years of hunting monsters in London. And to tell you the truth…” he shook his head.

  She leaned towards him. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Well, I feel it was always coming to this, somehow. And now that it's here,” he shrugged. “It hasn’t gone as planned.”

  “It never does. The only constant is chaos,” she said.

  Wesley didn’t want to brood on that.

  He found himself blinking slowly, as if stupefied. Her scent was suddenly intoxicating. Like a violent slap in his face.

  She felt something too, her head snapping to his, and she took an involuntary look. “Wesley…”

  Her breath brushed his cheek. Her hands grasped his, squeezing it hard.

  “I don’t–”

  Something exploded on the ground. A torrent of flame extended upwards like a pillar.

  Esther’s hungry gaze snapped to it, her body tensing.

  Wesley, on the other hand, simply groaned, thinking it was the Not-Merlin again. Maybe, somehow, he’d put himself back together and removed that dagger.

  “That better not be–” he began.

  “Quiet,” Esther snapped.

  Then a voice like a bass drum boomed from the far gate. “Alaster von Taschlein. You stand accused of high treason. You will stand trial at the House of Montesa.”

  Esther hissed, her eyes wide with recognition. “This Templar bastard. This scum dares come to the house of my father.”

  She all but screeched the last word. Then, without warning, she leapt from the highest tower and bound off edges and windowsills till she landed smoothly on the floor.

  Wesley watched in utter shock as a literal knight in shining armor walked through the gates. A big bulky thing that must’ve been damn near ten feet tall. It was like it had just walked out of a storybook. The blade it carried was long and sharp looking.

  The thing that frightened Wesley most about the visual was how smoothly it walked. As if it was some giant.

  Behind it strode a man, about Wesley’s height, who wore a dark gray suit with a bright red tie. It looked like a big red cross. They certainly weren’t subtle about it.

  He watched a dozen or so cloaked figures unleashed a barrage of gunfire against them. He thought for sure the man, with no armor or nothing, was going to go down. But not a single shot even went near him.

  It was as if the armor-clad man was a magnet for the bullets.

  And they were useless. Sparks flew, and the dirt was torn to shreds. But the man did not so much as flinch.

  When the shooting stopped. It began moving again.

  The first vampire guard that went to strike it was cleaved fully in half. Then the armor stood still, the twitching body at its feet.

  “You have a chance to come peacefully. We need only the head of your house, his daughter, Wesley Barstow, and Cecelia Harewood,” the suit man called out. “Then we will leave in peace.”

  The response was for another vampire to fling himself at the armored man, bringing a cudgel down onto its head. The sound echoed and in the next second, the vampire was flung through an upper window.

  Wesley’s inaction was finally broken when he watched Esther go around the suit of armor and go after the man with a blade.

  To his surprise, he met her with a blade of his own. They traded blows with ruthless efficiency. Within seconds, he could tell she was in trouble.

  He sprinted down the same staircase and to his room where he snatched his sword and wand. Then doubled back for his armor. He took off his jacket but kept the shirt and tie. He liked to look at least somewhat presentable.

  Then he ran for the front door. What he found beyond was carnage. The guards were trying to bring down the armored man and failing horribly.

  Bodies lay dismembered or worse, on the ground. They’d tried ropes, chains and grenades. At the moment, while one vampire distracted the thing, two others were loading a rocket launcher.

  Wesley skirted them and shouted, “Aim for the feet!”

  He found Esther pinned to a Yew tree near the wall, a dagger stuck in her shoulder. She was covered in cuts and trying to pull herself free but couldn’t get a grip on it due to the slick blood.

  The Templar stood in front of her, watching. He seemed completely unbothered by what was happening around him.

  “What did you think was going to happen?” he asked the struggling woman. “Did you think this was going to go well for you? You and your father are so far off the reservation, I’m surprised this was a capture order and not a kill order.”

  Esther stopped struggling, dropped her hands, and spat blood at him. It sizzled as it landed on his suit.

  “Tell me where your father is,” he said, bringing his hands together in a praying gesture. “It will make this much easier on you. I’ll call off Humphrey.”

  That must’ve been the guy in the armor.

  Before Wesley could get closer than four meters, the man stepped close to Esther and grabbed the hilt of the dagger, twisting it so she groaned in pain.

  “Tell me–”

  To Wesley’s credit, he did not let the emotion make him do something stupid. He stalked up behind the man and stuck his blade in his thigh. Or he tried to, at least. The blade refused to actually enter his leg. It was like it just didn’t want to.

  The Templar turned unconcerned and smiled. He was much taller close up and bulkier to boot. “Ah, Wesley Barstow. How nice of you to join us.” He held up a finger. “I’ll be with you in just a second.”

  Then he turned back around, not so much as glancing at the blade.

  Wesley blinked, stuffed the blade into its scabbard, and grabbed the man by his pants and shirt and threw him bodily about ten meters.

  He almost laughed at his own strength, but the man had somehow glided to a smooth stop, landing on his feet. There was a wand in his hand.

  The man straightened his suit and looked at Wesley, disappointed. “Now, that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

  “Why are you here?” Wesley asked, squaring himself with the man.

  “Did you not hear the part about high treason, or did you not understand?” he asked.

  “Under what authority?” Wesley asked.

  The man began forward, ignoring the question.

  “Kill him,” Esther screeched.

  Without further preamble, Wesley flung a spell at the man’s feet. “You miss–” he began, then found himself sunk into the ground to his waist.

  “Which authority?” Wesley asked again.

  But the man was just looking around, smiling. “Not bad.”

  He flicked his wand and sent the dirt around his waist at Wesley in a giant blob. A gust of wind from Wesley’s wand sent it over his head.

  “My name–” the man said, flinging more spells at Wesley, who was blocking them with some difficulty. They were powerful things. “--is Godfrey de Montbard, Templar Knight, Guardian of the Holy Order.” The spells came faster and faster, exploding like tiny bombs all around Wesley, who was trying to keep Esther from being hit. “You, the accused, will be taken to Montesa. The Council will decide your fate.”

  Wesley blocked another spell and sent four of his own to pester the shield spell Godfrey had employed. “Your authority means nothing here. You have attacked unprovoked and have overstepped your power,” he said. “Leave now–”

  He ducked, barely avoiding a stunning spell. Godfrey laughed. “You are an outlaw, Wesley. A rogue detective. Known to be in league with the Nocturne.”

  “I never–”

  The big man cut him off with a spell that lifted Wesley off his feet for a moment before weakly slamming him into the ground.

  “Your words mean nothing to me. I have my orders,” he said, still coming forward.

  Wesley straightened. “Fine.”

  But before he could raise his wand, Godfrey straightened and said, “We have your father.”

  That made Wesley freeze. “What?”

  “We have your father,” the man repeated. “He was taken from the Morningstar Estate two days ago. At this very moment, he is recuperating at Castle Montesa.”

  Hope began to take hold in Wesley and doubt, too. If they had his father, it meant he’d been severely injured. He’d never let them take him otherwise.

  Then again…the man could be lying.

  “Kill him,” Esther wheezed. Wesley glanced at her and saw dark blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. The dagger was killing her.

  “I cannot lie,” Godfrey continued. “I have taken an oath. We rescued your father from the wreckage of his battle with the Nocturne. Now, he and both of you will stand trial for crimes against this country and the Council.”

  “We have done nothing.”

  Godfrey shrugged. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  Wesley raised his chin. “Swear to your God that you are truthful.”

  The Templar nodded and put a hand to his heart. “I swear to God that what I am telling you is the truth.”

  Another explosion came from near the house and bits of stone rained down around them.

  Godfrey stepped forward and said, “Not everything needs to be a fight to the death. Save your strength.”

  Wesley’s animal instincts were telling him differently. But logic was still king. He wanted to see his father. To tell him about what he’d seen in the Nocturne’s mind.

  He put his wand into his pocket. “Then we surrender under the White Flag Initiative of 1567. Call off your…armor thing.”

  Godfrey nodded, some relief in his eyes. It occurred to Wesley then that the big Templar may have been slightly afraid of him. It lent a little salve to his surrender, but not much.

  Wesley turned to Esther and yanked the dagger out of her. She sagged into his arms. “What did you–”

  Gunfire erupted from inside the castle. “Call them off,” he urged her. “Save your people.”

  Her eyes were like furious, dark coals. She hated him in that moment. “Stand down,” she said in an even tone and immediately the gunfire ceased.

  Then she closed her eyes and stopped moving, except for her ragged breathing. Wesley laid her down, about to close her shoulder wound.

  “Only I can do it,” Godfrey said, striding over. “Let me.”

  Wesley was hesitant.

  “You’re the one who threw the Initiative into the mix. I’m now held to its decrees.” The big man put up his hands.

  Wesley rolled his eyes and moved out of the way. “Then hurry up.”

  Godfrey did, and when the wound was closed, Wesley threw Esther over his shoulder.

  A second later they watched the big armor-clad man walk out of the castle doors, Cece over one shoulder and dragging the Not-Merlin’s two pieces on the ground behind him.

  Wesley's stomach dropped. He’d really been hoping they wouldn’t find him.

  Godfrey frowned, glancing at Wesley.

  “Bad news,” he said, shaking his head. “Do not put the pieces back together. Or remove the dagger.”

  The Templar just grunted. “Always something new with you people.”

  He sounded disappointed.

  They walked past the gates, which lay in pieces, smoldering just inside the grounds. Once they were a dozen or so meters from the walls, Godfrey opened a portal.

  The big armor-clad beast went through without pause, ducking into what looked like a large hallway, and was swallowed by it.

  But before Wesley could do it, he felt Godfrey’s hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me very carefully. Whatever you do, do not tell them how you found Merlin,” he warned. “And definitely don’t tell them how to reach Avalon.”

  Without another word or explanation, he shoved Wesley through the portal.