CHAPTER 396: ENDING REGRETS

Vincent/Vaelthor~

I groaned as consciousness clawed its way back to me, a hazy fog lifting from my mind like shadows retreating at dawn. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy as lead, and the world swam into focus—blurred edges sharpening into a nightmare. I was sprawled on cold, damp earth, the scent of pine needles and rotting leaves assaulting my nostrils. I was in some secluded clearing deep in the forest, the kind of place where the trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their branches twisting overhead to blot out the stars. The cab was parked haphazardly nearby, its engine silent, headlights dimmed to nothing. And there, slumped over the steering wheel, was the driver—his scruffy beard matted with blood, eyes glassy and vacant, a deep gash across his throat. Dead. The metallic tang of his blood hung in the air, mixing with the earthy musk of the woods.

My body felt like it had been hollowed out, every muscle aching with a bone-deep exhaustion that went beyond physical pain. The broken mate bond—it was devouring me from the inside, sapping my demonic strength until I could barely lift my head. My shadows, usually so eager to coil and strike, were nothing but faint whispers beneath my skin, unresponsive to my desperate calls. I tried to summon them, to weave even a thin veil of illusion, but it was like grasping at smoke. Panic flickered in my chest, weak and fluttering. How had I gotten here? The last thing I remembered was the cab hurtling through the night, the pain of cutting off the mate bond cresting like a sea waves...

Suddenly, I heard voices. Rough, argumentative tones drifted from a few yards away, where a group of men huddled around a flickering campfire. Demon hunters—I recognized the type immediately. The type who tried to kill or abduct Sylthara and I when we first came to this realm: Leather-clad, scarred, with weapons glinting in the firelight: silver blades etched with runes, crossbows loaded with enchanted bolts. There were four of them, their faces weathered and grim, like men who’d spent too many nights chasing nightmares. One was tall and lanky, with a jagged scar running down his arm; another squat and burly, fiddling with a vial of something ominous. They hadn’t noticed me stirring yet, too engrossed in their debate.

"Look at him, Rolf," the lanky one snarled, gesturing vaguely in my direction without turning. His voice was sharp, laced with frustration. "Smells all wrong. Like wet dog and moonlit howls. That’s werewolf stink, not demon rot. We dragged this kid all the way out here for nothing? Bounty on demons is sky-high right now, but a mangy wolf? Barely worth the gas."

The burly one—Rolf, I assumed—snorted, poking at the fire with a stick. Sparks danced upward, illuminating his pockmarked face. "You’re blind as a bat in daylight, Harlan. Look closer. Those eyes—when he was thrashing in the cab, they went red as the blood moon. And the shadows... they leaked out of him like ink from a cracked bottle. He’s demon, alright. Just... weakened. Maybe hit with some curse or spell. Kid’s half-dead already, panting and convulsing like he’s got the plague."

A third hunter, lean and wiry with a tattoo of a holy symbol snaking up his neck, chimed in, his tone skeptical. "Spell? Could be. Or maybe he’s a hybrid freak. Heard stories of demons mixing with wolves—nasty business. But Rolf’s right; he don’t smell full demon. More like... diluted. Whatever it is, he’s fading fast. Heartbeat’s thready, skin clammy. Dragging him back to the collection center? Waste of time. Bounty masters won’t pay for a corpse, and this one’s circling the drain."

The fourth, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and a missing ear, laughed bitterly, the sound like gravel under boots. "Unlucky bastards, we are. Thought we hit the jackpot when we sideswiped that cab—easy pickings, right? Driver puts up a fight, sure, but this kid? Passed out cold. Now look at him. Half-dead demon or wolf or whatever. No glory, no gold. Just another night in the dirt."

I tried to move, to roll away or summon even a sliver of strength, but my limbs were leaden, unresponsive. My heart hammered weakly, each beat echoing the agony of the severed bond. Katrina’s face flashed in my mind—those blue eyes, wide with hurt as I rejected her. The regret twisted like a knife, but I pushed it down, focusing on the hunters. If I could just speak, charm them with my words... but my voice came out as a rasp, barely audible.

Harlan sighed dramatically, rubbing his scar as if it itched. "Fine, fine. You’re all making sense. No point hauling him back. Center’s three hours away, and he’d probably croak on the way. Let’s just end it here. Quick and clean. Save the ammo—use the venom. That stuff’s made for demons; it’ll do the trick even if he’s only half."

Rolf nodded, his expression resigned. "Aye. Unlucky day, boys. Could’ve been feasting on steak tonight with a fat bounty. Instead, we’re mercy-killing a runt. Alright, Harlan, you’re up. You’ve got the steady hand."

Harlan grumbled but stood, pulling a small, stoppered bottle from his belt. The liquid inside swirled ominously, a sickly green glow emanating from it. Poison—lethal to demons, no doubt brewed from angel’s tears or some holy herb that burned through our essence like acid. My stomach churned as he approached, his boots crunching on fallen leaves. I willed my body to fight, to lash out with shadows or demonic fury, but nothing came. I was helpless, a shadow of myself, lying there like prey.

"Please..." I managed to croak, my voice a broken whisper. "Don’t... I’m not... what you think."

Harlan paused, tilting his head with mock curiosity. "Oh, it’s awake. Listen to that—begging like a pup. Not what I think? Kid, we’ve seen your kind. Slithering in the dark, causing chaos. But hey, if you’re a wolf, this’ll just make you puke. If not... well, sweet dreams." He uncorked the bottle, the acrid scent hitting me like a punch—bitter herbs, sulfur, and something divine that made my skin crawl.

The others chuckled from the fire, their laughter cold and devoid of humor. "Hurry it up, Harlan," the wiry one called. "Don’t play with your hunt. Or your demon, whatever."

"Shut it, Tate," Harlan shot back, grinning wickedly. He knelt beside me, one rough hand gripping my jaw, forcing my mouth open. I thrashed weakly, but it was futile—my arms flopped like dead weight. "Open wide, pretty boy. This’ll fix whatever ails ya."

The poison poured down my throat, cold and viscous, tasting like fire and rot. I gagged, trying to spit it out, but he clamped my mouth shut, tilting my head back. "Swallow, or I’ll make you," he growled.

I had no choice. It slid down, burning a path through me. The effect was immediate—a searing explosion in my veins, like liquid flames igniting every nerve. I cried out, the sound raw and animalistic, echoing through the trees. "Ahhh! Stop... it burns!"

The hunters erupted in laughter, Harlan standing and wiping his hands on his pants. "Hear that? Definitely demon. Wolves don’t scream like that from venom." He kicked dirt over me casually. "Alright, show’s over. Let’s pack up and head back. Leave him to rot—nature’ll take care of the rest."

Their voices faded as they doused the fire and gathered their gear, boots thudding away into the underbrush. "Unlucky night," Rolf muttered one last time. "Next time, we bag a big one."

Alone now, the poison raged through me, a wildfire consuming everything. My vision blurred, colors bleeding into gray. Pain pulsed in waves, each one dragging me deeper into oblivion. In those final minutes, as death’s cold fingers wrapped around my heart, my thoughts turned to the people who mattered most. Sylthara—my little sister with her quiet strength and nightmare-weaving gifts. I pictured her face, pale and guarded, her dark hair framing eyes that held so much fear. "Syl," I whispered to the empty air, tears stinging my eyes. "I’m sorry... I couldn’t find you. I love you, sis. Stay safe... don’t let the light break you."

And Katrina. Oh, gods, Katrina. Her reddish-blonde hair falling like sunset flames, those blue eyes sparkling with fierce independence. The way she’d laugh, impulsive and free, even as she carried the weight of her royal lineage—always in her brother Alexander’s shadow, yet loving him dearly, just as she adored her parents. Our stolen moments replayed in my mind: her hand in mine, the warmth of the mate bond wrapping us in something pure, something I’d never known. "Katrina..." I choked out, the word laced with agony. "I was a fool. Revenge... it doesn’t matter anymore. Your family, my anger—it was all stupidity. I just want to see you again. Feel your light chase my shadows. I’m sorry... for breaking us. For everything."

Regret flooded me, deeper than the poison. I’d been so calculating, so ambitious, charming my way into her heart only to shatter it—and mine—in a rage. The love we’d shared, that intoxicating affection, it was the only real light in my dark existence. Now, it slipped away, leaving only emptiness.

The world dimmed, my breaths shallow and ragged. Consciousness frayed at the edges, pulling me under. But in that final haze, a figure materialized out of nowhere—tall, cloaked in swirling mist, appearing like a phantom from the ether. His face was obscured, but his presence hummed with power, ancient and unfamiliar. "Who...?" I murmured, but the word dissolved into nothing.

Then, blackness claimed me completely.