His Forsaken Luna-Chapter 36: Carved Hearts

Marching into the strategy room behind Alaric, the doors slam into the wall, announcing the King’s arrival. Hakon, my brother’s Beta, already awaits, standing to attention before the large, circular, iron table. Scones on the wall and the iron chandelier hanging low from the high arched ceiling cast the room in a warm hue.

The chamber wasn’t that large, but it didn’t need to be to have secret meetings. The only windows in the room were from the ceiling with coloured glass. Everything else was quite bare, and there was no hearth, so it felt anything but warm and cosy.

I glance at Hakon, who bows in deference. He has always remained at a respectable distance from me, most likely not wishing to get caught in Deyanira’s political web and because he is solely focused on aiding Alaric and the royal pack. He is my brother’s second in any war. With short, sandy blond hair, strands brushing the top of his forehead, a scar slicing up from his jaw to cheekbone, and dark brown eyes, he was a menacing man to look at, even if he was only a few years older than Alaric.

This evening, none of the councilmen join us, leaving only those Alaric truly trusts in the room. I am grateful. The council would only argue and belittle me for being here, wasting everyone’s time. Alaric’s circle was small with his Beta, Hakon, his aide, Rynak, and the warrior brothers who had yet to arrive. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"Hakon," Alaric greeted. "Where are they?"

"Alpha!" Sigurd and Ivar, the warrior brothers, both red-heads, entered the chamber behind us. They were the ones to report the attack on Mornfell.

With long dark red locks, a few braids tangled together into a knot at the back of his head, the rest falling down past his shoulders, Sigurd still looked manly with a strong, square jaw and stubble running along his jaw and cheekbones. On the other hand, Ivar’s hairstyle also stood out, with both sides of his head shaved, hair on top pinned back into a high ponytail, and leather ties wrapped around, creating loops down his back. They were tall, broad-shouldered, packed with muscles, ink covering parts of their bare chest and arms.

"What details do we have about this attack?" I look at Alaric, then follow his gaze to Sigurd, ignoring the state of undress he is in.

The Were kicks the dirt off his feet by the door before putting on some breeches and a tunic. Sigurd and Ivar had raced through the mountains from their post after one of the survivors managed to alert them to the attack. It happened between midnight and the dark hours of the morning before sunrise.

"There was no army," Sigurd continues his report, combing his fingers through some of his tangled red locks down his chest. "None that has left any traces at the scene besides the bodies."

"Someone who wants to cover up this mass murder?" Alaric turns to the table, eyes flashing, and Rykan follows his silent command, rushing forward and unrolling a map the size of the table that is almost the size of the room while Beta Hakon steps closer. Sigurd and Ivar, now clothed enough to be decent, flop down in the chairs, clearly tired from the long journey through the snow.

"That doesn’t make any sense," I murmur, palming my hands on the table, looking over the map as I observe all the areas, not just Mornfell—in case there are any other escape routes I might miss.

It also reminded me that I’d deemed it easier to go to the Huntsman than sneak into this strategy room and steal a map. "So, the town has been left untouched?" I glance at the two warriors.

We have spoken many times in this room, and like with Alaric’s servants, Sigurd and Ivar treat me with nothing but respect. If only high society was the same.

"Yes. There is also something quite disturbing about the bodies left behind," Ivar answers as he flicks off some frosted ice from the end of his ponytail.

"Almost all of them have their throats ripped out or hearts missing from their chest," Sigurd adds as he rubs the side of his jaw.

"Throats ripped out?" Beta Hakon trails off and glances at the Alpha King.

"This is the third village now to report back with similar findings," Alaric states, his hardened gaze roaming over each person’s face in the room. "It is the first to report an attack at such a scale."

My brows raise in surprise. "Third village?" Alaric had kept me in the dark about this.

Was that why he did not imprison Eryx? He doesn’t suspect the Southern Were? That is surprising. The Alpha Prince was our enemy and had committed heinous acts before. Not to mention the long, never-ending war between our kingdoms.

"How many had their hearts ripped from their chest?" I ask.

"We did not count. There were too many bodies," Sigurd answers.

"How were they ripped? Not meticulously like a blade has been used?" Everyone’s attention falls on me. Granted, they all seem a little worried, as if my sanity is non-existent. Maybe it is; I have been sheltered in this palace all my life with Deyanira, it takes a toll on the soul.

"I don’t know how else to describe someone’s heart ripped from a chest..." Ivar replied, his voice had a mocking lilt to it.

It takes great effort not to roll my eyes. I push away from the table and stare back at the warrior. "The more detailed description, the better. The more we know, the quicker we can figure out who did this."

"Carving out a heart, though?" Sigurd questions, scrubbing his jaw.

"I ask this because I wondered if this is some sick serial killer."

"Her Highness is right." Hakon nods, arms crossed, as he looks at the brothers. "There are other possibilities as well. Some still follow the old ways, sacrificing their brethren for the Gods."

I nodded to the Beta’s words, thinking in the same direction. I was grateful he spoke up, though frustration still tightened my skin. Sigurd and Ivar weren’t convinced until Hakon agreed with me. Their respect only goes so far.

It was understandable as well. Hakon had years of experience as a Beta and in the field, whereas I was just a princess who read books in the comforts of the palace.

"To kill so many in a matter of hours..." Ivar trailed off, shaking his head. "No, carving out hearts from multiple people would take time."

"Maybe it was multiple serial killers," Sigurd mused, crossing his ankle over his knee and holding it in place with his hands.

"What other villages were attacked?" I wait as Alaric places three shiny black pebbles on the villages.

Mornfell was the closest village. "They’ve been getting closer..." I trail off when Rynak and Alaric’s eyes flash, and they stare absentmindedly for a few moments. They’d been called into a mind link.

"That cannot be... What manner of creature can do that?" Rynak gasps, his features paling.

Alaric’s expression has hardened, and the lines on his forehead form while we wait to hear what he says.

"More bodies have shown up in the isolated houses near the settlements," he says grimly, eyes flashing as do Hakon’s, Sigurd’s and Ivar’s, connecting them to some memory that has all their expressions hardened.

Alaric’s attention flicks to me as he explains what they can all see, "The bodies are deflated, hollow, and the skin is stretched thin over bones."

"It’s like they have been drained of blood," Hanok murmurs, finally taking a seat, hunching over, almost defeated by what he has seen.