The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3
Chapter Thirty-Four

Duccio meant what he said to me. Of that much, I was sure. While his dismissal of my youth left a dissatisfied taste in my mouth, I struggled to keep from debating the point. There was no point to it. Whatever his view, he was at least sincere, and I faced the reality of needing to trust him now that I was alone.

I grappled with this just as much as I did with the great city of Genoa and the thousands of Genoese who littered the tightly built structures of multi-story homes surrounding the harbor. I’d been to larger cities in France with my family, but nothing like this. After the carriage ascended a few winding roads into the foothills, a vista of the Mediterranean opened up, and I beheld a sight I’d never fathomed. A field of shimmering blue laid out before Genoa, bathed in the sun’s golden light as it fell toward the west. The exquisite vista took my breath away, showing me just how little of the world I’d known during all my travels.

We turned into the forecourt of a villa that stood well separated from its neighbors, if not the road. In the last rays of sunlight, the deep terracotta red roof of the four-story structure gleamed like a crown of fire. The forecourt bore several lit torches, something I expected but a sight that seemed to set Duccio at attention.

Something was wrong. I felt the anxiety in his mind when the carriage circled the small courtyard and stopped near the front door.

A man stood near the front doors of the villa. He was alone, it seemed, though I sensed a great distrust of the man in Duccio. Something more—Duccio despised the man. While I couldn’t grasp his reason, he spent little effort to mask the colors of distaste coursing through his mind.

“Don Lupofiero,” the man called as Duccio stepped down from the carriage.

“Commendatore Lugano,” Duccio nodded back to him and rose to exit the carriage.

Lugano stood tall with pale skin and a crown of curly red hair that would’ve glowed like roof tiles were he not shielded by the tall structure. This man bore not the slightest intimidation in his stance. He stood before the doors of Duccio’s villa as if he were its master.

“What brings you here?”

“We have searched great distances to locate you,” Lugano answered. “Duke Sforza summons you to court.”

“You’ve come all this way? Surely, you could have sent a messenger.”

“I dispatched several messengers once I determined you were living here. I’ve heard from none of them. His lordship knew nothing of your moving here. How long have you been away? Who occupies Castello Palatino in your absence?”

“I’ve received no messages, Carlo,” Duccio said concernedly. “Forgive me. I’ve been traveling and have only just returned.”

I sensed displeasure from the commander, this impatient man who stood between Duccio and his home. He felt Duccio’s half-truths. But more biting, he found it offensive to be addressed by his given name, a feeling his mind couldn’t conceal.

“Who is this?” Lugano asked when his eyes fell upon me, still seated in the carriage.

“This is my new fledgling, Esprit. I discovered during my journey.” Duccio gestured for me to stand with him. “Esprit?”

I rose and stepped down from my seat until my shoes met the courtyard pavement.

“How old are you, boy?” Lugano eyed me with a cold sneer.

“Only eighteen, Carlo,” said Duccio. “Mere weeks with his wolf. I came upon him during my travels to Paris.”

“You set his wolf free at such an age?” Lugano asked with a sense of distaste. “Without sanction from his lordship?”

“A long story, my friend, but most necessary, I assure you.”

“Well, it’s fortunate for him you’re on your way to Castello Sforza now to answer your summons. You may present the boy at court and tell the duke his story. I’m sure any story you’d tell won’t disappoint.”

“Of course,” Duccio answered without a beat. “Only, if you will, in the morning. We’re both exhausted from our travels and need the night’s rest.”

“Impossible,” Lugano answered without blinking. He stared for a beat before his eyes softened. “But you may take time to eat and change before we leave.”

Commendatore Lorenze stepped aside as if inviting Duccio to pass. It was a gesture bathed in insult rather than gentility.

Again, without skipping a beat, Duccio stepped forward. With me, he called.

Ahead of us, I came to sense several others—the echo of lycan minds. As we stepped through the front doors, I smelled it at once: death.

My skin tingled. My wolf was alert to the danger before us.

In the front nave, Duccio stopped. The arched space contained no less than eight lycan men who stood at attention to block our advancement.

“Where is my house staff?” Duccio asked aloud to no one in particular. “My majordomo?”

When no answer came from the men, I heard Commendatore Lugano’s footfall behind me.

“We dispatched them for you,” he answered, closing the front door behind him. “My men did not need their service, and we knew you wouldn’t.”

“Dispatched them?”

“To your kitchen. They’ve been down there some time, what’s left of them. You’ll excuse us, but we grew hungry waiting so long for your return. The remaining meat has held, I’m sure. Why not dine on them first? A last gesture of gratitude for their service. And then the boy can help you dress before we depart.”

I glanced back at Lugano to catch the hint of a smirk on his lips.

The air in the room changed. The echo of Lugano’s voice on the hard walls around us deadened to absolute quiet. A concussion almost knocked me down before I could recognize the change.

When my eyes returned to Duccio, he stood enormously in his wolf form, the tatters of his clothes settling by his feet. I’d never have believed the transformation could happen so fast, but what had knocked me to the side was nothing less than an explosion. Some eight feet tall, silken black fur covered his massive body.

Before my mind could do more than gauge all this, Duccio’s razor-sharp talons swung backward and sliced through Lugano’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged with outrage as his hand attempted to grasp the flesh that fell from his neck, blood spilling out with terrible spasms until his legs gave out, forcing him to fall forward.

Lugano’s men were taken by surprise by the moment’s precision. As they transformed in response, I sensed their confused disbelief at what Duccio had just done. But with the same precision, he set upon each of them with the same speed and rage, slicing until blood soaked the nave walls every much as the floor. None posed the slightest match to Duccio, who roared at the last wolf before decapitating him.

I stood astonished by what I’d witnessed, my wolf now at full attention. Nothing less than a symphony of violence had poured from Duccio’s talons, which now hung at his sides to drip the last of their fresh blood to the floor. His massive chest drew in deep, rage-filled gasps. Were there time, I might have marveled at his wolf’s incalculable strength, but his monstrous eyes fell upon me.

More are coming, and surprise will not hold them. We must flee. Follow me at my side.

Before I had the wits about me to respond, Duccio leaped forward through the house. The villa was large, but he crashed through a back door in moments to race through the modest grounds. When we’d arrived at the southern end of the property, he lept up the side of an old tree to stand upon its uppermost branches. Unlike Father, Duccio bore no qualms about being seen in the light of day, though I noticed no one close by. I scrambled up after him, but he stopped me.

Hold.

From his mind, I sensed he was searching. His eyes scanned in every direction, his ears drawing in every whisper of sound. And then he heard them drawing forward from the east. At least a dozen, maybe two. Lugano had traveled here in strength, no doubt recognizing Duccio would meet him with resistance.

The advancing wolves were at the villa’s forecourt. I heard one of them set upon the driver.

Duccio leaped to the ground and raced south up over the foothill’s peak and down the opposite side toward the cover of a forested ravine. He pushed through the trees for miles, following the minor river that flowed through the base as a guide. Darkness had almost fallen on the bare landscape when we came out the other side.

Duccio pushed up the next hill to its peak before stopping. Here he waited for his heart and my heavy breathing to slow. From the east, I saw the rising crescent moon peering just over the distant mountains. When he’d calmed, Duccio extended his hearing once more.

They were still coming. Even I could hear their advance through the forest below us.

Should we have returned to the harbor? Set sail for another port?

Impossible, he said. They would’ve caught us. Our only choice is to go where they can’t follow.