Chapter 159: The Hunter becomes the hunted

“They know we’re here.”

Líng’s voice was barely a whisper, but everyone heard her.

The group had pressed themselves against the base of a massive stone wall, the temple’s outer boundary. Moss grew thick on the ancient carvings. The air was damp and heavy and smelled of rot.

“What do you mean, they know?” Zhāo Yàn hissed.

Líng’s gold eyes scanned the darkness. Her scales had rippled back across her arms, her pangolin form bleeding through her human skin. She was ready to shift at any moment.

“Guards are moving. Not patrolling. Searching. Someone tipped them off.”

“We just got here,” Mo Xiao said. “How could they—”

“Does it matter how?” Bai Yue interrupted. Her voice was sharp. “They know. We adapt.”

Han Shān said nothing. He was staring at the wall, at the faint glow of torchlight seeping through a crack in the stone.

“Ruì Xuě is in there,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Líng said. “And so is she. Li Hua. She’s waiting for you.”

Li Hua?

Bai Yue’s head spun at the sound of the female that has once ambushed Thousand Fang. So she was behind it?

“Then let’s not keep her waiting.”

Han Shān raised his hand. Ice crystallized around his knuckles.

“No,” Líng said, grabbing his wrist. “Not through the front. She expects that. She wants that. There’s another way.”

She led them along the wall, past crumbling statues of jaguar warriors, past dead vines that had once been gardens, past a collapsed archway that opened into darkness.

“The old drainage tunnels,” Líng said, dropping to her knees and feeling along the stone floor. “The temple was built over a natural spring. The water still flows. There’s a passage that leads to the lower chambers.”

“How do you know?” Yàn Shū asked, his glasses fogging in the humidity.

Líng glanced at him. “I told you. I’ve been watching these paths for a very long time.”

Her fingers found a gap in the stone. She pried, and a section of the floor slid aside, revealing a dark hole that smelled of cold water and ancient earth.

“Follow me. Stay low. Stay quiet.”

She dropped into the darkness.

The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for Mo Xiao’s shoulders. Water rushed past their ankles, cold and fast. The walls were slick with moss. Every few steps, someone slipped, and a curse echoed off the stone.

“How much further?” Zhēn whispered. She was clinging to Bai Yue’s hand, her small face pale in the darkness.

“Almost there,” Líng said.

They emerged into a larger passage, the ceiling high enough to stand. Torches flickered on the walls, casting long shadows.

And then—

Thump.

A door slammed shut behind them.

Thump.

Another door, ahead.

They were trapped.

“Well, well.”

A voice. Female. Familiar.

Li Hua stepped out of the shadows, flanked by a dozen armed jaguars. She was wearing the iron crown, and her smile sent Bai Yue’s skin crawling.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t know about the tunnels?” she said. “I’ve lived in this temple for two years. I know every stone.”

Líng shifted, scales rippling across her body, her claws extending. “You knew I was listening.”

“Of course I knew. You’re not as subtle as you think, little pangolin.” Li Hua’s eyes swept over the group. “But I appreciate you bringing them to me. Saved me the trouble of hunting.”

Han Shān stepped forward. Ice crackled.

“Where is my son?”

“Safe. For now.” Li Hua tilted her head. “Whether he stays that way depends on you.”

“Release him.”

“No.”

Han Shān lunged.

The jaguars moved.

Chaos exploded in the narrow passage.

Han Shān’s ice slammed into the first wave of guards, freezing them mid-stride. Mo Xiao shifted, his panther form tearing through armor and flesh. Zhāo Yàn’s tails lashed, weaving illusions that sent jaguars stumbling into walls.

But there were too many.

For every guard they dropped, two more appeared. They poured out of side passages, from behind false walls, from grates in the ceiling.

“We need to move!” Líng shouted, dragging Yàn Shū away from a jaguar’s blade. “We can’t fight them all here!”

“Then where?” Bai Yue demanded, ducking as a spear whistled past her ear.

“There’s a chamber ahead. Bigger. More space. We can—”

SCREECH.

Everyone turned.

Glimmer had shifted. The young dragon’s green scales blazed in the torchlight, her wings spreading, her jaws opening.

“No!” Líng shouted. “Not here! The ceiling will—”

Glimmer breathed fire.

The blast was beautiful and terrible, a torrent of emerald flame that lit up the passage like noon. The jaguars screamed, scrambling back, their fur smoking.

But Líng was right.

The ceiling cracked.

Stones rained down. Dust filled the air. The passage shuddered.

And then—

THWACK.

An arrow, black-fletched and humming with dark magic, slammed into Glimmer’s wing.

She screamed.

The sound was awful, high and keening, a sound no dragon should ever make. She stumbled, her wing crumpling, her flames sputtering out.

“GLIMMER!” Yòu Lín shrieked.

He ran toward her.

“Yòu Lín, NO!” Bai Yue grabbed him, holding him back as more arrows flew.

Glimmer collapsed, her green scales dimming, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Glimmer,” Yòu Lín sobbed, struggling against Bai Yue’s grip. “Glimmer, wake up. Please. Please wake up.”

Han Shān saw the archer.

A jaguar, perched on a ledge above them, already nocking another arrow.

Han Shān raised his hand to freeze him—

Something slammed into his side.

Not an arrow. A blade.

A jaguar had come from behind, thrusting a dark dagger between his ribs.

Han Shān staggered.

Blood soaked through his white fur, dark and hot.

“PAPA!” Zhen’s voice.

Han Shān tried to move. Tried to raise his hand. But the ice wouldn’t come. His vision was blurring at the edges.

He looked down at the dagger.

Dark veins were spreading from the wound, climbing up his chest, his neck.

Poison.

He fell to his knees.

“Han Shān!” Bai Yue screamed.

She ran to him, catching him before he hit the ground. His blood soaked into her tunic. His eyes were open, but they weren’t focusing.

“Bai Yue,” he whispered.

“Don’t talk. Don’t move. Yàn Shū—YÀN SHŪ!”

The scholar was already there, his hands pressing against the wound, his face pale.

“The poison,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t have the herbs. I can’t—”

“Figure it out!” Bai Yue screamed.

Yàn Shū’s hands trembled.

Li Hua watched from the shadows.

She watched Bai Yue kneel in the blood of her mate. She watched the dragon crumple, the cubs scream, the fox lord’s illusions falter as his focus shattered.

She watched it all.

And she smiled.

“Bring them,” she said to the remaining guards. “Alive. All of them.”

She turned and walked back toward the throne room.

Behind her, the passage was chaos.

In front of her, victory.

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