Reign of Blood

Chapter Forty-Eight

Seth had given her the coordinates without question. All she had to do was get there.

Annaliese had never been one to carry weapons. Unless, of course, they acted as accessories to add to her general wow factor. That wasn't going to change now. Annaliese didn't need weapons. She was arguably the most powerful witch alive, though she knew many witches that would beg to differ.

In the Common World, she walked in solitude, her chin held high.

Tonight, she was going to put an end to the past and finish what should've been finished half a century ago.

Fenrir was going to die.

She remembered it all like it was yesterday. They'd strapped her down and given her hell, punishing her for matters outside of her control. And then that werewolf had come over- still not quite immortal- and sneered down at her. He'd been the worst. It was like he'd been trying to prove something to the others. To prove that he could be just as cruel, if not more so, than them.

He'd gotten a taste for torturing her. Now she was going to punish him.

She figured as she walked that the bite on her neck must've changed her. By now, her legs should've started to get tired. Instead, she felt like she could run for miles. Her body felt stronger. Supercharged. The werewolf was going to kill her when he found out about this.

No matter.

This had to be done.

This was her reign. This time, there was going to be blood.

She stood her ground when she spotted the building in question. That was where she'd find the werewolf.

It was a smart play, she had to admit. The Common World was always full of immortals. With immortals came super hearing. Out here, no one would hear a thing.

Evette had said things were going to get hard. Annaliese made the connection to now.

This was where things got hard.

But she pushed on, refusing to hesitate.

She examined the building cautiously. It was old. That much she knew on sight. But the door was wide open.

The werewolf waiting inside wanted her to find him.

Annaliese didn't make a habit of disappointing.

Inside, the building was empty- as she'd expected. The werewolf wanted to play a game of hide and seek. He wanted to scare her.

That was funny.

Annaliese was too far above the games of a child.

"I know you're here," She called, a blank look on her face. "And I know you can't fight me. You hurt me once Fenrir, but I scarred you forever."

Fifty-two years ago, the wolves had attacked in the night. They'd strapped her down to a table and had their fun with the witch Queen. Overwhelmed, she'd lost the connection. There'd been nothing she could do to fight them off, so she'd bided her time. They'd drawn their claws leisurely down her skin, watching it tear. They'd asked her what it felt like, being the blood Queen, being bled out.

Then Fenrir had come along. He'd enjoyed the torture. But she'd gotten him back. That scar on his face was her mark. Her scratch. Her nails. They weren't sharp talons like those of the wolves, but they'd done the trick.

"What do you want to do this time?" She called. "Hurt me? Kill me? I can kill you from a distance."

"You think Chronos would forgive you if you killed another werewolf?" Her eyes were on him when he appeared. He slowly waded his way out from around a corner until he stood at the top of the staircase. It was the only time he'd ever get to look down on her.