The beast was almost through the door despite the pain each blow sent
through the grotesque distorted limbs. A drive for revenge and bloodlust had
taken
hold, for the wolves too were bound in flesh as Kurnos was bound in mind. It
was the wolves, the daemonic part of the beast which assaulted the door as
though in pursuit of some hapless little rabbit again or had caught the scent
of some important secret to be ferreted out and put on display. With their
attention upon the door and the warm fleshy bodies just beyond, Kurnos felt
himself regain a sort of separate consciousness and, as a raging murderer
suddenly recognizes the gravity of some terrible deed, so Kurnos began to
awaken
once more. For the first time, he began to realize what exactly had become of
him. He remembered the words of the wise and fearsome Lord Santino and the
grim
warning: “Your body will hold the essence of them all. Your spine will twist
and your hands curl into claws….”
It was something like a mewl which the beast uttered for an instant, but the
furious snarling and malicious laughter which replaced the tiny sound
appealed to the imagination. Within the wolfish form, however, Kurnos felt as
though he stood outside of himself, watching the entirety of the scene play
out
before him. He should have heeded Santino, should have never agreed to summon
his dark teacher from his worldly travels, most certainly never should have
trusted that backstabbing Marquis! The entire scene was playing itself out
with
unplanned precision. Could Santino, knowing how rash and full of hubris his
young apprentice could be, have planned out this entire ordeal?
Kurnos remembered the rumors concerning Lord Santino, the dark master of the
black arts and rumored to be something undying. No one knew from whence he
came or of what family he hailed. He came and went as he pleased, mysterious
and unpredictable as the wind, taking interest in only the very best and
brightest of mages. It occurred to Kurnos that Santino had paid him a great
deal
of attention and, even more unusual, had come when his youthful pupil employed
by an aged Marquis had summoned him. Quite unusual indeed.
And what of the castle in which Kurnos now found himself? It was obviously
of special significance, for why else would the destitute child of the greedy
Marquis return here for help? Such a boy could never have defeated the daemon
wolves without aid, and the aid must have come from this castle. As the door
finally splintered and the beast slouched into the space so long deprived of
him, Kurnos wondered if Lord Santino had ever been here.
Just on the other side of the door and gazing with eyes like liquid fire was
a cat which was more than he appeared. The magician was briefly fascinated
until he caught sight of Lestat. For the first time in what felt like ages,
Kurnos saw the frightened child of the Lioncourt family, the one who had hurt
him somehow. The thoughts of earlier, human thought, were banished in the heat
of pure rage which sprung with daemonic heat from the minds of each wolf. He
is the enemy, they seemed to say, and we should feast upon him. Kurnos
gleefully agreed, all sense of self abandoned. The wolves needed him. Though
they
recoiled at the sight of the magic weapon in his hands, the human with which
the demons had merged was capable of looking upon the object without fear. So
it was that with the urging of the beasts Kurnos stalked toward his prey.
The monster was through the door just as the man, kneeling on the floor with
the cat in his lap, slit the feline throat. The scent of blood hit the
nostrils of the beast and, maddened, it sprang at the man who had done them
such
wrong. As he leapt, Kurnos felt Lestat strike him with something small and
limp, but the demons within him paid little attention. They lifted their
victim,
shaking him from side to side in a frenzy before sinking their fangs into
the flesh of his shoulder, breaking the collarbone with its powerful jaws and
laughing as the prey cried out in pain. The taste of blood then, real human
blood, hit its tongue in a hot splash. The man was fighting, but without much
conviction. For Kurnos this kill would be as easy as slaying the men and women
of the Lioncourt castle.
But something was wrong. The room seemed suddenly too bright. The beast
released Lestat from its jaws, confused by what was happening, but still not
quite ready to let him go. The wolves were hissing, their evil voices
demanding
that Kurnos stop what was about to happen. The painting, they raged. The
painting must be destroyed! Kurnos turned around and around, looking for a
painting which could be the cause of this pending disaster, unsure himself as
to
what would make the wolves so afraid. The painting! Destroy it!
But there was no painting to be found. Had there ever been a painting?
Kurnos hadn’t thought to pay attention. The light seemed to come from
everywhere,
bathing everything in a brilliant white glow too bright for the creature’s
eyes. The beast that had on
