Last night, Bloodfang had used his powers twice, resulting in Voren's weakness, a bone deep exhaustion that had settled into every fiber of his being.
But now, he was energized thanks to not having used any, his body humming with renewed strength, his senses sharp and clear, pure readiness flooding through him.
Even if he was still no match for the Lycans, his wife was right beside him, her presence a steady anchor in the storm. But he wanted as much as possible to handle Battal on his own, to be the one who made him pay. Pure personal resolve burned hot in his chest.
"Battal, you have arrived on time." Voren said casually as he turned to Corvine, his voice light, almost conversational, pure cold control masking the fury underneath. "Throw me the sword."
Corvine obeyed, and Voren caught it, looking at the blood on the blade with a smile at the corner of his lips, a cold, dangerous curve that didn't reach his eyes, pure lethal focus in the expression.
