Chapter Seven Edith
The hunter has me in a viselike grip, as if trying to keep me from running away. I guess he doesn’t realize that at this point, it’s all I can do to remain standing.
“What have you done?” The hunter’s voice is harsh and low. Some distant part of me realizes this is Amund, but I can’t seem to focus.
I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.
Yesterday, Emilía was showing me around Skallagrim, laughing loudly.
Now she’s lying in the grass before me. Dead.
I don’t even know how I got here. The last thing I remember, I turned around to go warn Emilía, fearing she could be in danger.
Then… nothing. Not until I came to standing over her body.
I try to speak, but my throat is thick.
Words won’t come.
My heart beats so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I can’t tear my gaze away from Emilía’s horrific wounds. Even though she’s lying right in front of me, my mind can’t make sense of what I’m seeing.
I blink, and Mom is lying there instead of Emilía. Grass becomes bedroom carpet. I’m a child again. Terrified. Alone. I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, Mom is gone, replaced by Emilía.
“Something attacked her,” I finally get out.
The words sound as weak as I feel.
I manage to tear my gaze away and look at the hunter, at Amund. He’s dressed head to toe in leather. Tall leather boots, leather pants, and leather armor covering his broad chest. Weapons hang from his hip, and a bow is slung around his back. He glares down at me with a severe expression.
“Someone did,” he says.
The accusation in his voice is cutting.
How did I ever think he was kind?
“I can’t even go berserk,” I tell him.
Amund looks me over. “You don’t have to fully transform to be dangerous.”
I stare at my shaking hands. They’re covered in something dark and sticky. My nails are still round though. But claws can come out at any time. I didn’t mean to actually hurt Jason either. Helly’s words come back to me: And then, someday, it will happen again.
I came to Skallagrim because of a violent outburst.
Now I might’ve killed someone.
“I didn’t do this,” I say, still struggling to speak.
“Why else would you be covered in her blood?” Amund demands.
Shaking, I glance down at myself. Blood soaks my clothes, my hands. My eyes dart toward Emilía. I would never be capable of that… would I? I think of Jason’s bloody cheek. The chair in the principal’s office that I snapped with a strength that wasn’t my own.
Suddenly, I’m not so sure.
“I-I must have been checking her pulse,” I say, trying to convince us both.
He makes a small, disbelieving noise. “No one could survive an attack like this.”
I swallow hard. I know that firsthand.
Amund gives me a long look. Clearly, he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He’s already made up his mind that I did this. Even if I can’t remember what happened. Or what didn’t. My legs wobble, and I nearly collapse.
Before I can, he catches me around my waist.
My skin feels hot under his grip. Amund is a hunter. Am I going to end up like that dead wolf draped across his horse? He said they hunt berserkir who lose control… Would that apply to me if he thinks I killed Emilía?
“Let go of me,” I say, trying to pull free.
His grip only tightens as he scowls at me. “I can’t do that.”
A low growl climbs my throat. There’s something animal inside me, whether I want to admit it or not. Showing that now will only endanger me. I can’t let what happened with Jason happen again. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.
If I haven’t already.
My chest rises and falls rapidly. Assault with a deadly weapon was bad enough. But murder? If I killed someone… maybe I really am just like my dad. Maybe it’s already too late for me. With a burst of strength, I rip out of Amund’s grip.
His eyes widen. He didn’t expect that, I guess.
Neither did I.
I shake my head so hard my hair sways. No, I can’t even let myself consider it. “I have to go back to my dorm.”
Amund steps into my path, blocking my escape. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m telling you,” I say, desperation rising. “I-I didn’t kill her.”
At least, I really, really hope not.
“Save your excuses,” a new, deeper voice says.
An intimidating man emerges from the darkness. The other hunter from yesterday.
Even with my heightened hearing, I didn’t hear him approaching.
He’s clad in dark leather too, but his cloak billows as he heads toward us.
His sharp jaw is subdued only by a neatly trimmed beard, and one side of his dark brown hair is shaved more than the other, adding to the severity of his appearance.
The older hunter looks like a walking weapon. The little hairs on my arms rise in response. He is dangerous in a way that Jim and Principal Matthews never were. This is a man who would hurt someone without hesitation. Especially me.
“What happened here, Amund?”
Amund stiffens. I’m guessing this must be his commander. “By the time I arrived, the student was dead already,” he says tightly. “But this berserkr was still here, so I restrained her until you arrived.”
The commander narrows his gaze. “She doesn’t look restrained to me.”
I back away from them slowly, ready to run.
Amund grabs hold of my wrist before I can get far.
“It’s been years since the last attack,” the commander says with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his beard. “Why did this have to happen now?”
He crouches down, examining Emilía’s mangled body. I try my hardest not to glance at her gruesome injuries again. The commander doesn’t seem disturbed in the slightest by a student’s death. So much for Skallagrim being safe.
I fight to free myself from Amund’s grip.
“Take her back to her dorm,” the commander says. “Ensure she doesn’t leave.”
Amund nods stiffly. “Yes, Father.”
That’s his dad? I blink a few times, glancing between them.
Now that I’m looking, I notice some of the same severity in Amund’s features that his dad has too.
Yet Amund doesn’t strike terror into me the same way his dad does, even though they’re both hunters.
Even though both have probably killed countless berserkir.
Amund should scare me. I need to remind myself of that.
“Let’s go,” Amund says, pulling me back in the direction I came from.
My legs barely move. Whatever strength I seemed to have earlier has left me in an instant.
“What about Emilía?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach. “What will—”
His fingers tighten around my wrist. “We’re dealing with it.”
Amund doesn’t let go as he escorts me inside Odin Hall, up the stairs, and down the long, dark hallway. My head hammers with each step. None of this feels real, except for Amund’s firm grip. After what I saw, I’m glad to have someone else with me—even if he’s a hunter.
“That was my room,” I say, realizing we passed suite 223.
Amund releases me. “You’re going to open this door,” he instructs calmly. “You’re going to go inside your room and stay there until I come and get you in the morning. Do you understand?”
I nod numbly. Where would I even go?
All I want is to curl up in bed and cry.
The key is slippery in my fingers, still slick with blood. I’m shaking so hard I can barely line the key up with the hole. I stare at it blankly, wondering why my hand won’t seem to work.
Wordlessly, Amund helps me unlock the door.
I stumble inside my suite.
Thankfully, Tala’s door is closed, and I can still hear her steady snores.
“Don’t even think about leaving,” Amund repeats from behind me, his voice a low rumble. And with that, he shuts the door to the suite.
Leaning my back against the door, I look around the dorm in disbelief. The bright plush sofa. The wooden table. The coats hanging by the entrance. Slowly, I slide down until my tailbone hits the floor. Realization finally sinks in. Emilía is dead. Murdered like my mom.
I stare at the empty white wall in front of me.
Tears won’t come. I can’t even cry.
What’s wrong with me?
I look down at my trembling hands. My palms are still smeared with blood.
So is my tank top. My joggers. Did I kill her?
I… don’t know. Even if I didn’t, who would believe me?
This time I won’t just be expelled. I’ll definitely get thrown in jail.
Patricia and Jim will never adopt me. I’ll never see Bea again.
Maybe it’s already starting. Maybe I’m already losing my humanity.
Clean. I need to get clean. Stumbling into the bathroom, I rip my clothes off, tearing through fabric in my desperation to get rid of them, and stuff them into the bottom of the trash bin, hoping no one else will find them.
I scramble into the shower.
With a squeal, ice-cold water shoots over me, making me gasp.
I scrub my body until all the red swirls down the drain.
No matter how hard I scrub, there’s blood in the cracks of my palms, staining my skin.
Emilía’s blood. I can still see her lying there.
Her mouth open in a scream. I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw and red and painful.
When I finally finish, I hesitate to look in the mirror, afraid to meet my own eyes.
Afraid what I’ll find reflected there. Slowly, I take in the slope of my shoulders and the slight swell of my breasts.
I run a hand over my skin, making sure it’s still mine.
Like I’m afraid that my flesh itself is something I can shed.
I’m still just a girl. Not an animal.
Not yet.