Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder novel Chapter 291

Chapter 71 : Trapped in the Desecrated Grave

Troy 

I shook out the pants I had been wearing before I shifted, sliding what was left of them over my legs. My shirt was a goner, torn to shreds from the sheer size of the beast that came into play when Maeve collapsed in my arms and Damian made his move.

Thad done what I could to protect her, but Damian had planned for everything. I reached up to touch the gash on my shoulder, the skin prickling with heat as I ran my fingertips over the wound, wincing at the pain. A silver knife of some sort had been thrown, missing my throat by inches and lodging itself in my shoulder, knocking me off balance and giving Damian an opening to grab Maeve and move out of the way before Rex brought the whole damn tunnel down over my head.

Bastards.

Rex had, however, dropped the lantern during his mad dash to the tunnel’s opening. I picked it up, wiping dust from the plastic cover that housed a battery-powered lightbulb, and looked over the tangle of rocks and splintered wood that was standing between me and saving Maeve.

I said a quick, somewhat sarcastic prayer to the Moon Goddess, asking her to keep the lantern lit since this was part of her predestined grand master plan. Then I turned toward the darkened recesses of the tunnel that led back into the wide, triangular room that Damian had torn to shreds looking for the moonstone.

Someone else had been inside the tomb, and they hadn’t used the entrance.

That meant there was another way in, and out.

I set the lantern down and pulled on my boots, looking around at the walls of the tunnel. They were etched with symbols from a language long forgotten. I had seen some of it on the map but couldn’t make sense of any of it. Whatever I was looking at was totally and completely useless to me now.

“F*ck,” I whispered as I stood to my full height, wincing as my shoulder throbbed and blood began to trickle down my chest. Had the knife landed a little lower, or a little higher, I would have been dead in an instant.

The only solace I had was that Pete hadn’t been in the clearing when the tomb’s door came down. He was gone, and I could only hope that he had gone back to camp to get help.

I began to walk forward into the tomb, taking my time to peer at the symbols and the contents of the many broken vases and clay pots. I was surrounded by gold, a true pirate’ s treasure, and couldn’t help but smirk as I picked up a small but heavy golden icon of what looked to be a man wearing a low, flowing cloak. I slipped it into the pocket of my jeans and tightened my belt against its weight. I’d give it to Keaton to sweeten the apology he would no doubt be expecting for the mess I had led him into.

I didn’t know how much time I had spent milling around the room, kicking clay and sifting through piles of sand that had filled the vases. It wasn’t until I found the altar that I realized we had overlooked something major, something Maeve had mentioned in the many stories she had told me about her parents over the course of our journey. Something about a flower, but a specific one.

I knelt and ran a finger along the carving of a lily at the base of the altar, tracing the stem to where the altar met the cracked tile of the ground. “A moonlight lily? Is that what it was called?” | asked aloud, looking around as if the Moon Goddess was going to appear before me and answer my question.

Maeve had told me the story of the battle, which had been one of her favorites when she was young. Her mother needed the flower to save her father’s life, and it only bloomed at a specific time, under a specific moon.

And Rosalie’s blood had been needed to activate whatever powers the flower held.

“Well, why not-” I pressed the palm of my hand to my chest, the blood oozing between my fingers as I pulled it away and placed my hand firmly on the carving of the lily. I didn’t have special blood, I knew that much, but I had nothing to lose at this point.

| stood there with my hands pressed against the altar for several minutes and nothing happened. Frustrated, I pushed my hand against it with all my might, grunting with effort before pulling my hand away. 

The altar had moved, shifting a fraction of an inch across the tile, a puff of dust in its wake.

I stood, using all of my strength to push against the altar with my full force, straining against the sheer weight of what must have been a solid chunk of granite. The altar crunched and splintered the tiles as it slid across the ground, revealing part of a trapdoor.

“Great,” I huffed, catching my breath. I wiped sweat from my brow and ran my fingers through my filthy, dust covered hair. I felt like a little boy, bursting with childlike

anticipation as I pushed against the altar once more, revealing the trapdoor in its entirety. The wood was ancient and broke easily when I slammed my foot through it, revealing a staircase leading down into nothing but darkness.

I held the lantern over the hole, noticing a set of shoeprints in the thick layer of dust covering the stone steps. Someone had walked up and down the staircase several times, always stopping roughly six steps away from where the trapdoor used to be.

My chest tightened with anxiety as I looked at the prints, knowing with all of my being that someone had been trapped down there, much like I had been trapped in the main part of the tomb myself. I swallowed my fear and stepped down into the darkness.

The skeletal remains of the man were resting against the corner of the square room. In the center of the room was an open sarcophagus made of pure granite, its lid broken into pieces on the ground at my feet.

I was having a hard time catching my breath as I looked from the sarcophagus to what was left of the man who had gotten trapped within the burial chamber of Lycaon himself. What a way to die. I didn’t like this, not one bit.

I stepped forward, peering gingerly into the sarcophagus and let out my breath when I saw it was empty. 

I jumped to my feet as his bones gave way, splintering into a heap of bone fragments and dust at my feet.

I gave the skeleton once last, weary glance before ! slumped against the far wall and set the lantern on the floor. I looked around, seeing no other way in or out of the burial chamber than the stairs. That meant the dead man had made it into the burial chamber from above and had been purposefully left down here. How he had gotten into the tomb itself was a mystery.

I dusted off the book and opened it, finding it in a fairly good shape for its age, which based on the last entry was over three hundred years ago. The paper was yellow but sturdy, and the ink he had used to write was still legible although it had faded to a pale gray. I scanned through it, reading whatever pages weren’t stuck together, and found out the dead man’s name, Charles.

‘May 5: The rain has finally stopped, but now we are down five crewmen. A strange sickness has gripped the camp, and it has taken some of our best archeologists into early graves. At first, I believed what the camp doctor told us; it was only a flu. But the men who died were the ones who had removed the stones blocking our entry to the temple. I mentioned that it was odd but was dismissed by Casimir. He is ready to continue exploration of the site and is sending some men inside the temple in the morning. I must go with them, as I am the only one who can read the ancient Lycaonic script found all over the site.

‘May 6: To whomever is reading this, heed my words. Whatever is inside of this temple is cursed beyond a reasonable doubt. No sooner did we breach its walls into what looked like an ancient room for worship did two of our men succumb to fits of tremors so violent they cracked their skulls on the tiles, killing them almost instantly. Had it only been one man, I would have had my doubts, but two was proof enough that we were not meant to be inside these walls. Casimir wouldn’t hear my protests, and instead pushed forward. He bypassed the riches in plain sight and began to roughly dismantle the altar, pulling it from the very ground. Again, my words of harsh reproach were cast aside, and within an hour his men had pushed the altar sideways, revealing an entrance to what I now call the stairway to hell, to my own demise.