22. Randi
Chapter 22
Randi
R un. Erik’s dying plea beats in my chest, my legs burning and my feet on fire. I refuse to stop—or think about the fang marks on my shoulder seared with the serpent’s magic.
Wolves’ howls bounce off the trees, echoing in an endless maze of pine. My dragon gave a valiant effort to help me escape when I was captured by the serpent but just as quickly, she has faded, going dark inside me again. It feels as if the shadows watch me, turning my beloved forest into a spy for the serpents.
The Northern Forest is rigged with the king’s traps, and I try to spot them as I go, but I can’t see shit without my dragon's sight. I stumble and force myself back up, cursing how disoriented I feel.
A howl rings out behind me. Too close. I refuse to look over my shoulder.
The wolves are closing in. The serpent has claimed me. My dragon is gone. None of that matters as much as finding my mates.
In the distance, men’s voices.
My breath saws out of me, but I push myself faster.
More howls. Shouting.
Fuck.
Instead of the sounds I expect to hear, the forest explodes with the cut-off shrieks of slaughter.
Not my wolves. Not my wolves. The mantra is the only thing holding in my scream. It can’t be them. It can’t.
I trip over a fallen tree, a rock slicing into my palm. I claw at the dirt as I brace myself, stumbling until I find my feet again. The trees hide the moon, and the sounds of battle fall silent.
Dead silent.
Forcing myself to keep moving, I run through the thick forest until the gurgling sounds of water provide hope. I veer toward the sound, praying my wolves will be at the cave.
They have to be there.
The forest thins, the gurgle of rushing water growing louder, and I spill onto the riverbank. Light returns, the moon allowing me to see bodies strewn along the rocky shore. My heart pounds, fear pushing my legs to run.
Dead wolves are scattered along the rocky bank. I don’t stop, following the trail of foaming mouths and broken necks until I reach a furry mass lying facedown on the rocks, his body half covering a white-and-grey wolf.
I suck in a breath, my hand trembling as I reach to check for a pulse. Gunnar’s dark fur is matted in blood, his left leg badly mangled where the teeth of a snare are clamped into his flesh, the metal chain wrapped around it. Along his side are bitemarks, so many they overlap. His pulse is faint, but it’s there.
A sob builds in my throat, but I swallow around it. Trying not to hurt Gunnar, I push against his bulky frame until I can check on Fennik beneath him. He is breathing, though his fur is speckled with blood and a nasty-looking bite has torn a chunk from his side.
My eyes close for the briefest moment in gratitude, an old prayer spilling from me without thought. Even as I pray, rage for what happened tonight bubbles from my gut, spewing and spitting. I want to turn around on a fiery scream, blaze a path to the treacherous king, and take his pelt.
I call on her, trying to force her to rise like she did for a moment back in the forest when she tried to protect me from the serpent. She stays silent inside me. I’m weak without my dragon, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have to get us the fuck out of here before any more wolves find us.
I try waking Gunnar, but he doesn’t stir. Cursing, I survey the shore for divine inspiration. How the hell am I going to do this? I flit between looking at my mates and back at the riverbank when an idea strikes.
It takes more time and grunting than it would with my full strength, but I’ve never been more grateful for training in my human form. The stretcher I rig with Gunnar’s uniform tied between two broken logs is rough. I’m winded, in pain, and paranoid by the time I get Gunnar face up on the stretcher. My eyes keep skimming the tree line, my hair standing on end. It feels as if eyes are everywhere.
I force myself to ignore my nerves and work faster. Fennik is next. His weight is staggering, and it takes multiple tries before I can heave my wolf onto Gunnar’s chest. The move isn’t graceful, and the thudding weight makes Gunnar moan in pain.
Getting the contraption into the water is something else altogether. I fail again and again, cutting my leg on a rock before I get the mass into the water. The river is icy, and the water is fast. The weight of the stretcher is an unmoored anchor against the swirling currents, and the rocks underfoot jab at my wounded feet.
Still, we move quickly, keeping to the shallows by the river’s edge until the current slows. I’m able to get us across a slower part of the river without anyone drowning, though it’s touch and go for a moment in the center when I have to rely on swimming.
My teeth are chattering when I make it to the rocky bank. Icy fear makes my body rattle. I collapse on the shore, unsure how the fuck I’m going to gather the strength to keep moving. The cave is at least a mile from here, maybe more.
A scream bubbles from my throat, and I dig deep, pulling my wolves’ heavy masses from the water with power fueled by rage.When I manage to get us on shore, hot tears replace my fire. I fall to my knees, resting my head on one of Gunnar’s furry thighs.My strength is gone, and I’m alone. My vision dances, and I close my eyes, chilled down to my marrow.
I don’t know how long I cling to the edges of lucidity, my mates unmoving beneath me, before something warm envelops me in a velvety cocoon. It’s so deeply comforting that my muscles relax and my teeth stop chattering. The shadows weave around me, so soft and strong.
My eyes flutter, and I look up into violet eyes set in a delicately beautiful face blemished only by an angry red claw mark. My mark.
After all this time waiting, is this what fate brings me? A serpent mate I can never trust? One who is already working with the Alpha King to capture me?
The stone in my gut and the tightness in my chest fight the truth. Despite my mistrust and hatred of the serpents, the brand glowing brightly on his chest is loud and clear.
“I won’t hurt you,” the serpent lies.
The sound of his voice is just as jarring as it was the first time I heard it. It’s deeper than I would have expected for such a delicate face, though I guess that’s all part of the illusion. The sharp, ethereal features that are so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. The warmth of his voice. The seductive softness of his shadows and the sincerity in his eyes.
It’s all lies. He’s covered in blood, his forehead a maze of deep veins that tell me he’s been feeding on our misery.
I shove against his hold, but his shadows don’t fight. They caress where I struggle. My limbs grow heavy. I know it’s part of the illusion, but the relaxation and warmth are so inviting, so deep, that my thoughts quiet.
“Sleep now, my little dragon. I’ll keep you safe,” the warm voice reassures.
I don’t believe the lie, but all the fight has been sucked out of me. Darkness rushes over me, capturing me in its current.