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Atticus felt Siya’s fangs pierce his flesh, and an almost nauseating wave of intense pleasure shot through his veins like molten gold. As she drank, his vision swam, and he fought to remain upright and lucid. His eyes glowed, illuminating the inky black of Siya’s own eyes. The dichotomy was an image of strange beauty, and something that Atticus forced into the fond recesses of his memory.

When she had drunk her fill, he felt her light kiss upon his neck, and the amorous clutches of her predatory embrace subsided. He heard her apologize, and through vision still blurred with the loss of blood, he smiled down to her.

“Don’t apologize,” he said with a drunken smile, “I have missed that sensation more than you could ever imagine. Let’s not wait another year before the next time, shall we?”

He stood in her wake, pausing for a moment to steady himself against the stone wall. Atticus looked up and gave Siya a smile and a wink before forcing himself to fall in behind Reginald Hoyle and the others. 

The cave passage was completely dark, but each of the fantastic creatures that travelled within it had little trouble with navigating it. As they moved forward, Atticus realized he had much to address with his friend the Siren. Henry had been thrust into something very personal, and it pained Atticus that he hadn’t prepared his friend more. Atticus moved until he was beside the Siren. 

“Henry, I’m sorry. I had no idea it was this bad. All I knew was that there were water spirits of the North involved in the Lupus Naturae’s pursuits of Hoyle and his family. I had no inkling they were [i]this[/i] entangled.”

“None of us did,” said Hoyle in his guttural voice. “The breadth of this pursuit is a shock. It portends [i]much[/i] more than a hatred from the werewolf clan leaders. I sense dark machinations, and ones that spread farther than the devices of the Lupus Naturae, or even this Ice Queen.”

In the darkness, Atticus saw Hoyle look back to him. The werewolf’s eyes fell to his pocket, where the bone-moon sat hidden within. Atticus’ eyes narrowed.

“Sir?” he said to Hoyle.

The ancient wolf did not answer, merely turning his head and picking up his pace. Hoyle’s silence unnerved him, but Atticus voiced none of his concerns. The bone-moon in his pocket now carried a conspicuous weight, one that Atticus had not noticed before, as if it had somehow gained a note of malice in its revelation. The group continued to move towards the now lightening entrance to the cave system, and Atticus looked over to Raleigh.

“Still glad you made the trip?” the incubus said to the dryad with a wry smile. “Not one of the most glamorous missions we’ve been on.”

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The mouth of the cave was reached without any further incident, and Atticus marveled at the seemingly endless range of mountains that met them. Cold wind whistled beyond the diamond-shaped opening in the rock, heralding an environment much harsher than the chilled confines of the cave.

In that moment Atticus felt utterly worthless. They plan he and Hoyle had initially conceived to protect Aislinn had already been destroyed, and now the Bain & Hoyle group was in unchartered territory. He had no contingency plan for this, and the very thought ground upon his mind like a mill stone. 

“The object in your pocket.” Hoyle said at last, turning from the view of the mountains, and looking back to Atticus. “Give it to me.”

Atticus pulled the object from his pocket without question, and placed it in Hoyle’s gigantic clawed hand.

The werewolf regarded the piece for a moment, his wolfen face contorting into an expression of grim contemplation.

“This sacred artifact has been passed down within my clan since before written time.” Hoyle said. “It has offered us hope in so many dark times, but I fear now it has turned into an instrument of a much more dire purpose.” 

Hoyle’s golden eyes looked to each of them as he continued. “This was carved from the tooth of Fenris, the wolf son of Loki, and one of the progenitors of the modern werewolf bloodline. In my estimation it is the only way that the Nixie found us here, and since that is the case, it has betrayed those that have protected it for thousands of years.”

Atticus couldn’t contain himself. “Sir, why not destroy it then? Why are we still carrying it with us?”

Hoyle looked to him with a pained expression, as if hurt that he could not or would not answer the incubi’s question. “We need to get to London, and illicit the assistance of Archibald Bain. This is no longer a matter of limited scope. Does any of you possess the means to transport us such distances?” The werewolf growled. “I’m ashamed to admit that I did not foresee such extreme circumstances. The [i]Solas na gealaí[/i],” Hoyle held up the bone-moon, “was to be our ally and our means of escape. It is no longer.”

As Hoyle finished speaking, his silence revealed a soft voice. Atticus listened carefully, initially puzzled by the sounds source. Then it dawned upon him that the voice was coming from Hoyle’s sister. Atticus tilted his head to see Aislinn’s lips moving fractionally amid her unconsciousness. It took a moment for him to understand, until at last her incessant, silent words were revealed, sending a chill shooting down his spine.

“Ragnarök…..Ragnarök….. Ragnarök…..”