Direbound (The Wolves of Ruin #1)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

V enna almost doesn’t make it up the last stretch. It’s a black sheet of slick ice, at times so steep that it’s concave. My feet dangle in total open air as I reach for the next grip. I’m convinced that every inch I gain will be my last.

Venna climbs for a while on her wounded shoulder, but she’s falling behind us, favoring the unwounded arm more and more. I barely need the yank on my tether rope as a signal from Izabel; we both sense that she’s flagging and pause on our climb, clinging to the sheer wall, waiting painful minutes for Venna to reach us.

Adjusting the lengths of our rope and re-knotting them around our harnesses, Izabel and I tether ourselves to Venna’s with equal slack between us, so that we can climb in tandem, pulling her up with us as she uses her feet and a single pick to brace herself.

We haul her up the final stretch by sheer strength of will.

When we reach the actual summit, I’m so exhausted that I briefly consider laying down and letting the direwolves eat me as a snack.

At least it would be fast.

We all stumble forward, putting distance between ourselves and the nightmarish drop behind us. Venna and Izabel fall to their knees, arms around each other, faces creased with exhaustion and relief.

The temperature is dropping, and as high up as we are, I doubt it gets above freezing even at the sun’s peak. Even when it’s not a blizzard. My skin hurts from the cold, even beneath my thick clothes.

I should probably keep moving my body in order to keep myself warm, but it’s hard to make myself care, I’m so tired.

The summit stretches out before us, a long, barren plateau stretching across the highest ridge of the mountain. After a while, the snow eases enough that we can see dips and hollows and stubborn scrubby plants that somehow hang on in this desolate place.

As the storm calms down, we see something else, too: other climbers.

Lots of them.

We’re very far from the first to arrive.

A flash of worry hits me, and I look over to Izabel and Venna, wondering if they’re thinking the same thing, that we may have arrived too late for them to bond. Will the direwolves think that she and her sister are too weak, that they arrived after all these others?

Or will their persistence be rewarded?

Then the shadows and tricks of the stormy light start to materialize around us, and thought becomes impossible.

Direwolves—dozens of them. They’re massive. My head doesn’t even reach up to their shoulders. Even having seen direwolves and their Bonded before, I’m unprepared for their size and majesty, the way they dominate this desolate, eerie landscape.

I hang back, observing, as Izabel and Venna both rise, their faces set with pain and purpose.

“Don’t forget,” Izabel murmurs to me. “You don’t approach them directly. Don’t look any of them in the eye, or reach for them, or do anything else to indicate your interest. They choose you, not the other way around.”

She steps forward before I have a chance to remind her that I’m not here for that. That I’ve already achieved my goal— I’ve survived . And I’ve gotten these two women up with me, to achieve the goal they’ve been planning for since they were children.

I’m happy for them. Even though I think their goal is nuts.

The twins walk forward, into the mass of bodies, human and wolf. Venna stops and cocks her head—as if she is listening to someone speak, although I haven’t heard a sound. Moments later, a towering gray direwolf pads up to her, staring down at her for a frightening moment before dipping its head.

Relief floods through me, and then I squint, the stormy afternoon light doing something strange to my vision. It almost looks like?—

It’s not a trick of the light. The man directly in front of me bonds, then, too, and his hair changes as I watch, a streak of silver threading through his tangled locks. A perfect match for the wolf that towers over him.

I search the area for Izabel, hoping she’s also found a wolf who’s willing to bond. My chest warms when I catch sight of Henrey in the distance, also standing next to a brown wolf, his hand tangled in its fur. He made it. He’s alive.

I take a few more paces, trying to get out of the crush, avoid being noticed. A few times a wolf approaches me, and there’s a strange sensation, almost like a press on my mind, but I block it out.

No, not me , I think, focusing all my attention on the words. Not me, I’m not here to bond .

Whatever I’m doing, it seems to work. Any wolf that looks my way soon moves off toward another potential match.

When I look back at Izabel, Venna’s rejoined her side, a massive wolf of her own padding after her. Their wolves look different, I realize; Venna’s is dark gray, while Izabel’s is a light silver. They also have new streaks of color in their hair—silver for Izabel, deep blue for Venna. Does that mean…

Four different packs, Lee said. My eyes dart back and forth as I notice the newly Bonded pairs coming together into clusters, like with like. Venna and Izabel must have joined two different packs.

Ice gives way under my foot as I take another step backward, away from the Bonding, and I stumble and catch myself awkwardly, ankle almost turning as I fall through the top layer. My foot crunches down into snow and shards of ice.

I’m distracted, freeing my foot from the tangle of vicious ice, so I almost miss the moment that Jonah crests the mountain and pulls himself up, walking purposefully toward the direwolves despite his many clear injuries.

My mouth twists as a coal black wolf approaches him almost immediately. The wolf looks vicious, nasty. A perfect pair. Jonah shouts in triumph, and his wolf snarls. Jonah’s dark hair gains a blood-red streak, the same color that Stark Therion has in his hair. So Jonah must have joined Daemos.

And at the same time, the angry wound on Jonah’s face stitches itself closed. Healing magic from the direwolves, I realize with a jolt. I’d heard rumors of such a thing but always assumed it was an exaggeration.

Everyone around them takes a step or two backward. Disgusted, I look away.

That’s when I see her for the first time: a direwolf who stands apart, her silver fur gleaming in the dim light.

Unlike the other wolves, who prowl around in search for the right rider, or stand watchfully by their new human match, she doesn’t move. Something about the set of her stance, the slant of her golden-yellow eyes, communicates her disinterest—and her authority.

She looks simultaneously older and more powerful than any of the others. I take a step toward her before I realize what I’m doing, then stand stock still as she turns her head toward me, studying me with ancient eyes.

Not me , I think. I’m not here to bond .

My feet feel frozen to the ground as she rises, padding slowly toward me, her massive feet striking the snow silently in her grace.

From the corner of my eye, I see the wolves and their riders still, as each of them notice her movement toward me.

“It’s Anassa,” whispers one of the men near me, his gaze as focused on the massive silver wolf as everyone else’s. “She never bonds. They say she’s been here for hundreds of years…”

She draws closer, steadily and confidently, and I can’t look away from her eyes. They shine like golden stars in the sky on the coldest evening of the year. Her gaze sears into me, and then suddenly my head seems like it’s being crushed, squeezed.

Not me, I don’t want to bond , I repeat in my mind.

Pain spikes and I yowl, falling to my knees, but never taking my eyes from Anassa.

The pressure in my head builds and my vision whites out. But in my mind, images swirl. Anassa, running in the moonlight, racing down the mountainside, faster than wind. A sun rising, rays blinding and beautiful. A crown, its metal glinting, then drenched in blood.

I cry out.

My senses undulate, as if my spirit has suddenly broken free of the confines of my body. I’m in the rock, sensing the vibrations of the thousands of creatures and plants that cling to my surface. I’m stretching upward, a pine tree, centuries old, reaching for the stars. I’m inside Anassa, my sense of smell almost painful in its keenness, the world a rich feast for my senses, its secrets laid open to me.

Sharp heat stabs behind my eyes, and then gradually fades, leaving behind a steady pulse of dull pain, surging in time with the beat of my heart.

The wound on my chest from the ice pick warms—and heals .

The direwolf’s breath is hot on my face, her massive presence above me. Unthinking, I fling out a hand, as if I can somehow stop her coming, stop this.

My hand hits silver fur, and like they have a mind of their own, my fingers close, grasping thick strands, pulling me up to stand.

The pain in my head slowly eases, and I blink, unsteady, clinging to the wolf’s fur as a lifeline.

What the fuck just happened?