CHAPTER EIGHT
Lore stood on a mound of rubble amongst the ruins of Boldt Castle. The blades from the lowering helicopter made wind whip his torn clothes and ruffle his hair. He glanced around, surveying the damage the plane had caused. Hatred filled him to the brim.
He cried, shaking his fist at the gaping hole in the side of the ancient castle. Then he took a deep breath. There was no time to waste. His people would be dead, eradicated, by the end of the night. Their only hope was to find the girl who had stolen his cousin’s heart. And that meant killing anyone who stood in their way.
But the Immortalists were panicking, startled by the presence of the helicopter. They began zooming around the great hall, some streaming out of the castle altogether, running off to their inevitable deat
