Her heart hammered like some frantic syncopated rhythm against her ribs while she stared into waiting darkness. The logical part of her brain screamed, the part that believed in facts, in evidence. It cataloged just how impossible what she had seen was: a door opened by blood, a command whispered to stone. But the other part, the relentless side of her, the journalist who chased stories into gang hideouts and corrupt back rooms, screamed louder. This is the story. Go. She gave Damien a sharp, determined nod and stepped across the threshold, leaving the familiar world behind. The change was instantaneous and absolute. New York City night sounds--the distant sirens, the thrum of traffic--were sliced away as though by knife. A deep silence descended, as heavy as if it were suffocating against her eardrums, the air growing cool and still, bringing a dry, clean smell, like that which Damien had described, ancient paper, leather, and faintly, musky but strangely clean, purely predatorily, undertone. The heavy oak door swung shut behind them with a soft, final thud, sealing them in. For a terrifying moment, they were plunged into absolute blackness. Then, light bloomed. It wasn't electric. It was a soft, silvery luminescence that seemed to emanate from glowing veins of lichen growing in cracks along the stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows as they began their descent.
The staircase was steep, carved from the living rock, each step smoothed by the passage of countless years. Selena kept a hand on the cool, damp wall, her senses on high alert. Beside her, she could feel Damien moving with confidence anew, here, within the dark, the scent of his own kind about him, a creature in its environment rather than the cornered CEO. After what felt like a hundred steps, the staircase opened into a cavern so vast it stole her breath. It was a library, but not like any I have ever seen. It was a cathedral of knowledge, a place grown rather than built. Immense shelves carved directly into the rock walls soaring into a darkness so complete she couldn't see the ceiling. Into these shelves were crammed books of every conceivable size, from tiny, palm-sized volumes to huge, iron-bound tomes that looked far too heavy for any single person to lift. In alcoves, scrolls were stacked in clay urns. In the center of the cavern, long tables were covered with star charts and ancient, hand-drawn maps, held flat under massive, uncut crystals whose glowing light pulsed with that of the lichen on the walls. It was a dragon's hoard of history. It was a place with feeling.
It has long been since the scent of Voss blood and human ambition perfumed these halls." The voice came from the shadows, seeming to emnate from the stone all around them. It was not loud, but resonant as though age had thrown the speaker into a deep vault of silence for a thousand years. There were no surprises in it, only dry, weary observation. A figure stepped out from behind a towering shelf of books. Selena braced herself for a monster, for a hulking beast, and this certainly was not what she had prepared for. He was old, skin frail like parchment, long, spidery hands; he walked slightly hunched, a bit thin in a simple, dark scholar's robes; he looked gentle, unassuming almost like some soft librarian but then as he lifted his head, Selena's breath caught in her throat. His eyes. They were the burning, intelligent, golden-amber eyes of a wolf. They were ancient, filled with a terrifying wisdom and a complete absence of human sentiment. They held all the monstrosity his frail form lacked.
He looked first at Damien, analyzing him. "The reckless bloodline. You wear the curse of the blood moon like a fresh wound. You are loud, boy. Your soul screams." Then, those predatory, golden eyes swiveled to her. His penetrating gaze could tear through what she hid, unveiling her very human heart. Then he took a long, slow sniff of the air. "And you bring an anchor," he murmured, a flicker of something—amusement? Interest?—in his ancient eyes. "A human mate, unbitten, to the very heart of the Lycaeum. How wonderfully, predictably reckless. Your father would be appalled." He knew. He knew everything without them saying anything. Refusing to be intimidated, Selena found her voice, stepping forward slightly. "My name is Selena Cross. And you're Corvin. We're here because Damien is being hunted. We need to know why." The old man-wolf-thing smiled, a dry rustling like dead leaves skittering across pavement. That was a smile without any warmth in it. He glided toward one of the massive tables, running a long finger over the surface of a crystal. "You do not need. You want," he softly corrected her. "You have opened my door with the key of blood, and for that, you have earned an audience. But knowledge is the oldest and most valuable currency in the world, child." He turned his full unnerving attention to her, amber eyes seeming to glow brighter in the dim light. "The Lycaeum is a library, not a charity. Every secret held within these walls has its price." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the vast silent chamber. "The only question is, what are you prepared to pay?"