Chapter 21 #2
I lurch upright, grabbing for balance as the carriage sways beneath me.
My gaze darts wildly from side to side as I wipe the fog from the window with my sleeve and press my face close to the glass.
Towering silhouettes line the road on either side, long and warped, swaying unnaturally.
Trees, I tell myself. Just trees. But then they move, closing in around the carriage.
A deep voice booms from outside. “Sprites! Quick! Get the nets!”
The sprites answer in a rush of frantic chatter, their sharp voices tumbling over one another.
At first it sounds angry, defiant. Then it turns fearful.
My fingers dig into the velvet cushions, knuckles aching as I strain to hear over the chaos.
I catch the unmistakable sounds of men grunting, boots crunching through snow, and then, all at once, the noise cuts off.
I sit frozen, breathing hard, my pulse roaring in my ears as the quiet presses in until it feels heavy enough to crush me.
Move, Neve.
I scan the carriage desperately for something to defend myself with, but there is nothing. Only pillows, blankets, and curtains.
Then the door swings open. I do not think.
I seize the only thing within reach, my book, gripping it with both hands as I draw it back over my shoulder and swing with everything I have.
The impact lands solidly against the man’s face.
He groans and stumbles backward, swearing, and that is all the opening I need.
I leap from the carriage, landing on top of him as he crashes into the ground.
He buckles beneath my weight, falling flat on his back with a grunt of pain.
I straddle him, pinning his arms with my knees, and scream as I bring the book down again and again, striking wildly, desperately, fear lending strength to every blow.
He goes still.
For one wild, breathless moment, triumph flares in my chest. Then I look up.
Shapes emerge from the darkness, forming a loose circle around me. One by one, men step into the faint spill of moonlight, faces rough and scarred, eyes gleaming, daggers glinting in their hands.
At least a dozen of them.
Hands seize me.
They hook under my arms, wrenching me upright before I can even draw breath. I kick and thrash, screaming until my throat burns, but they are too many, too strong. They drag me through the snow and dirt, over roots and frozen ground.
Then they throw me.
My back slams into a tree hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. My head snaps back and cracks against the bark, and the world explodes into white.
I gasp, a thin, broken sound, as everything blurs and spins. The forest tilts. Shapes smear into one another. For a moment I cannot tell which way is up.
Through the haze, I see the sprites.
Their small bodies are tangled in nets near the wheels of the carriage, wings pinned, limbs twisted at terrible angles. They lie unnaturally still, and panic claws up my chest so violently I nearly retch.
“This is the winter bastard’s carriage,” a voice says somewhere to my left.
Another laughs. “Look at it. Furs. Velvet. Silver worked into the frame. Even the wood paneling will fetch a pretty coin once we break it down.”
“Then get to it,” someone snaps. “Before he shows up.”
A colder voice cuts in. “What do we do with her?”
“She’s human.”
“Look at what she’s wearing,” another sneers. “Not like us. He dressed her up pretty.” A pause. A cruel chuckle. “Probably one of his little playthings.”
My stomach drops.
“That makes her just as bad as them,” someone says. “Gut her and toss her in the bushes.”
Hands grab at me again. Rough. Careless. They pull at my coat, my sleeves, fingers roaming where they have no right to be. I try to fight, try to scream, but my body refuses to obey. The world won’t steady.
Something warm trickles down the side of my face.
I lift my hand clumsily, my vision swimming, and touch my cheek. When I look down, my fingers are slick with blood in the dim light.
It pools in my palm, black against my skin.
“She’s wearing fine furs herself,” someone says. “And that wool. Looks expensive.”A laugh follows. “It’d be a shame to ruin it. Strip her first.”
My eyes flutter shut as hands tear my coat from my shoulders, rough laughter and the rank stench of them pressing in until it fills my head, until there is nothing else.
Then a howl rips through the forest.
It is deep and vast, a sound that feels as though it splits the night open. The ground trembles beneath it. Snow shudders loose from the branches above, cascading down around us in a white rush.
Every man freezes.
Hands drop me carelessly. My coat falls beside me. I lie where I am, dazed, half-conscious, gasping in the dirt.
Then they scream.
“Run!”
Everything becomes fragments. Flashes of bodies fleeing.
A blur of ivory fur tearing through the dark.
Gleaming teeth. The carriage door splattered red.
I cannot tell how long it lasts, seconds or minutes or an eternity, only that the forest fills with horror and then, just as suddenly, with silence.
I lie still as heavy breathing ghosts over my face. Hot breath brushes my neck. Something nudges my cheek.
I force my eyes open.
Mismatched eyes stare back at me. One gold. One blue.
But it is not Luceran’s face.
It is the face of the great white wolf.
He stands over me, enormous and terrible and beautiful, his fur spattered with red, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left.
I do not scream.
Because I am not afraid.
Not of him. Not of my protector.
He will come when I need him, and the unshakable certainty of that settles deep into my bones. A knowing as old as the dark itself, that I will never need to fear what lurks in the shadows again.
He nudges beneath my arm, a gentle insistence, urging me to move.
I try to stand and my legs bow instantly, useless beneath me, but he is there at once.
I wrap my arms around his thick neck, bury my fingers in his coarse fur just to stay upright, and he moves with me, slow and careful, his great paws padding softly through the churned dirt as he guides me back toward the carriage.
He helps me inside, his massive head braced against my side to keep me steady. I collapse onto the velvet cushions, the world tilting and dimming at the edges.
Then he shifts.
I feel it more than I see it, the ripple of power, the reshaping, fur and fangs dissolving, the wolf giving way to the male beneath.
Luceran stands where the beast was, bare and blood-smeared and terrible in his quiet fury.
He tears a blanket free from the seat and wraps it around his waist before climbing in beside me.
Strong hands turn my head gently. He examines the wound at the back of my skull, his jaw tightening as I murmur something incoherent, my thoughts slipping away, my eyes too heavy to keep open. Then I feel the brush of his tongue against my temple.
Is he cleaning the blood away?
The thought barely forms before his voice reaches me, low and urgent, cutting through the haze as I struggle to keep up with what is happening.
“We need to get you back to the castle.”
Instead of his tongue, his lips brush my forehead, the kiss lingering just long enough to steady me before he pulls away.
Through the open carriage door, I catch him in flashes through half-closed eyes, his towering form moving with surprising care as he lifts the sprites from the snow.
When he returns, he lays them gently on the opposite seat, tears the nets apart with a low, restrained growl and flings them into the dark before placing one large hand over their small bodies.
Frost curls from his skin, pale and luminous, spilling into them in swirling waves.
They gasp.
Blue eyes snap open as they cough and sputter, wings twitching weakly while they struggle upright. When they see him, they bow without hesitation, and he inclines his head in quiet acknowledgement.
Then he steps from the carriage and closes the door behind him. I feel the shift of his weight as he climbs onto the driver’s bench, the reins settling into his hands.
The last thing I see before I pass out is his silhouette against the snow, ivory hair streaked with red and streaming behind him like a battle banner as he snaps the reins and the carriage surges forward.
Home.
We are going home.