The Wolves of Blood and Silk

1190 A.D. The Carpathian forests of Wallachia.

The prince died badly.

Maxx had hoped for something cleaner, less messy.

The young noble’s blood pooled on the flagstone floor of his chamber, slowly spreading toward the open balcony. Outside, the storm’s winds howled through the estate’s grounds, rattling the castle shutters.

The boy had begged—first for mercy, then for his crown, and finally for his mother.

Maxx granted him none of those pleas.

Valya‘s laughter drifted from behind him. She moved to stand by his side, her icy blue eyes gleaming with something primal as they both looked down at his handiwork.

The young prince lay sprawled at their feet, his throat ripped open, his lifeless eyes reflecting the dim candlelight of the room. The air was thick with the smell of tallow and wood smoke, barely masking the coppery scent of blood and the salty tang of sweat.

Maxx used his gloved hand to wipe away arterial spray that had landed on his face.

Valya‘s fingers grazed his shoulders. She pressed herself against his back, body trembling and her breathing rapid with obvious excitement as she looked over his shoulder. She tilted his head to the side and kissed his cheek. Her lips brushed against his rough stubble, and her teeth nipped at his skin.

It was their ritual, a peculiar intimacy reserved only for moments after the kill.

Never before.

Never between.

And never quite the same way twice.

They paused for a moment, silent, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor.

A deep silence filled the air.

From the large stone fireplace that dominated one wall, smoldering oak logs popped and hissed. Their crackles and sighs were the only sounds in the room as the fire’s dying light transformed the furnishings into crouching beasts that seemed to breathe with each flicker.

“Did you see his hands, the way he trembled?” she whispered, her warm breath brushing his ear. “He knew it was coming.”

Maxx did not speak. The prince’s lifeless fingers, which had never touched a tool or brandished a weapon in combat, were as useless in death as they had been in life.

Valya followed his gaze, sticking out her tongue to wipe away a stray crimson droplet from his jaw.

“You’re thinking of the next one,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

They dragged the corpse to the edge of the bed, working in silent, practiced tandem, leaving it slumped against the footboard. Valya dipped her fingers in the royal blood and painted a ghastly smile on the prince’s waxen face.

“Are you enjoying yourself, your highness?” she hissed, her deep Russian accent adding a sinister tone.

Maxx‘s fingertip brushed Valya‘s shoulder as he leaned in close. “Time to move,” he breathed against her ear, his palm finding hers and pulling her to her feet. The nobleman’s vacant eyes seemed to follow them as they backed toward the chamber’s exit.

Metal groaned against metal as Maxx eased the door ajar, allowing him to survey what lay beyond. The corridor offered little light—just enough to illuminate three crumpled forms of the guards sprawled in glistening dark puddles beneath them.

As they prepared to slip away, a halo of torchlight appeared at the corridor’s end, growing brighter with each passing second.

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

When the stranger rounded the corner, he halted mid-stride as his gaze fell upon the bodies on the floor. A sudden awareness dawned across his features as reality sank in.

Maxx yanked Valya backward and slammed the door shut in one fluid motion.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered.

Her answer came in the stranger’s terrified cry for help that tore through the silence.

Their eyes locked, sharing a calm understanding as they looked around for a way out. The small balcony called to them—their only option. With a quick nod, they confirmed their choice.

Maxx pushed through the stiff terrace door and stepped onto the narrow ledge beyond. Behind them, heavy footsteps and raised voices gathered outside the bedroom, the noise escalating as more of the castle’s security arrived in response to the alarm.

Valya positioned herself on the outcrop beside him. Below them, freedom waited—four stories down.

“This is going to hurt,” Maxx murmured, glancing sideways at his partner.

Her lips curled into a dangerous smile. “I‘ll help you forget the pain later, moy sil’nyy volk—my strong wolf.”

The bedchamber door swung open loudly behind them just as their fingers intertwined. A brief hesitation, then they leapt into the empty air.

They struck the ground with twin thuds—a brutal collision of flesh against packed dirt. Bones splintered with sickening cracks as their bodies absorbed the devastating impact. They lay sprawled and motionless, side by side, appearing lifeless in the stillness that followed.

A groan escaped Maxx‘s lips. Valya lay whimpering beside him. Their eyelids fluttered open as Lycan power surged through damaged tissue, fusing fractured bones and mending ruptured organs inside their shattered bodies. Within minutes, their supernatural healing had erased every trace of injury.

The fall had been brutal, but in the end, they had come out mostly unscathed. Maxx pushed himself to his feet, his body still trembling slightly from the recent trauma. Now, as the adrenaline faded, a deep exhaustion settled over him, a weariness that no amount of immortal energy could remove.

He reached out a hand to Valya. “Are you alright?” he asked, his touch gentle despite the restorative forces that had just surged through him like a bolt of lightning.

Her fingers met his. “Da,” she said simply, as he helped her stand.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by their ragged breaths. A strange sense of calm began to settle around them. The immediate danger had passed, leaving only the lingering echoes of their deadly mission and harrowing escape.

Valya laughed softly before curling into his embrace. She pressed herself close, and one hand slid down past his waist, seductively caressing his groin.

“Have you healed fully?” she teased.

“No,” Maxx said, shaking his head before leaning in to kiss her passionately, his hands exploring the curve of her hips and the firmness of her cheeks. He ended the kiss, and they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“I’m sure I can help you with that,” she whispered. “I know ways to make you forget pain.” She gave him one last squeeze and slipped from his embrace.

The quiet weight of what lay ahead made him shudder with the understanding that the night’s events were far from over. At the very least, this was something he could anticipate with pleasure. Valya’s sexual prowess was the only thing that could compete with her craving for death, a welcome aspect of their relationship.

Yet an unsettling feeling deep inside him carried a premonition of something ancient waking from its sleep.

If you made it this far, I’d love to hear your thoughts—what do you think of Maxx and Valya so far?