15. Flavia
Flavia
T he scent hit me before the sound—wild rosemary mixed with old blood and something that spoke of transformation. My tongue flicked out involuntarily, tasting the air as Ysu’s massive form stiffened beside me.
“We are not alone,” he said, though his tone suggested he’d known this long before I’d sensed anything.
Through the pre-dawn mist came footsteps, deliberate and unafraid.
The figure that emerged from between the ancient oaks moved with lupine grace.
A woman, tall and scarred, with hair the color of dried blood woven into complex braids.
But it was her eyes that made my breath catch—golden, with pupils that contracted to vertical slits when they found mine.
“Sister,” she said in the old tongue, and the word resonated through my bones like a struck bell.
Ysu’s chittering filled the grove, a warning of violence. His arms spread wide in a threat display. “This is my territory, wolf-child. You trespass.”
The woman—though perhaps that term no longer fully applied—smiled, revealing canines that belonged in no human mouth.
“Peace, ancient one. I come not for your web or prey, just for the newly born.” Her golden gaze returned to me.
“The deep forest calls its children home. The guardians gather at the new moon to discuss the Roman plague.”
“She goes nowhere.” Ysu moved between us, his form expanding until he loomed over the wolf-woman. “The serpent is mine.”
“Is she marked?” The woman tilted her head, nostrils flaring, as she emphasized the word. “I smell only venom and pleasure, spider. No true claim that the forest would recognize.”
The grove exploded into motion. Ysu struck with all his arms simultaneously, but the wolf-woman flowed around his attacks like water.
She moved on all fours now, her form blurring between human and beast with each leap.
Their battle carved gouges in ancient trees, sent birds screaming from their roosts.
The spiders at Ysu’s command stirred the forest floor, trying to climb her, but she shook them off.
“Stop!” My voice was strong, and both combatants froze mid-strike. The serpent in my belly uncoiled, tasting the violence in the air with appreciation. “I am not a bone to be fought over by scavengers.”
The wolf-woman laughed, a sound like wind through mountain passes. “Well spoken, sister. You see? She has her own voice. The forest chooses well.”
“The forest.” Ysu’s mandibles clicked with barely contained rage. “Always the forest. As if trees and soil have precedence over the one who gave her new life.” He turned to me, all eight eyes blazing with an intensity I hadn’t seen before. “Tell her, my neidr. Tell her who you belong to.”
The words hung between us like a challenge, a plea. I felt the answer lodged in my chest, words I wanted to speak but couldn’t force past the wall of my own terror. Simple words that I knew would ease the anguish that marred his face.
But I couldn’t.
“I belong to myself,” I said instead.
The truth was more complicated. Part of me did belong to him—the part that had learned to trust another, that had discovered strength in his patient teaching, that craved his embrace. But there was another part that remembered what belonging to someone had meant before.
I wanted to be Ysu’s. Wanted to claim him in return. But every time I tried, my throat closed. My mind filled with echoes of Tiberius saying mine , of centurions dividing me between them like spoils of war, of years when belonging meant nothing but pain.
“Not enough.” The words tore from Ysu, broken and desperate. He reached for me with shaking hands, pulling me against his chest, his grip crushing.
“The wolf is correct,” he said, “The forest will continue to call you, to try and claim you for itself. It would use you, as it has used me. It recognizes no one-sided oaths, no promises. It speaks only in the language of the old magic, a language written in blood.”
I felt it then—the pull I’d been fighting for days. The forest’s ancient hunger reaching through my blood, whispering promises of power, of belonging to something vast and timeless. It had been growing stronger, and I realized now why Ysu had grown increasingly desperate.
The wolf-woman nodded as the wind picked up, whipping my hair into my face. “The forest can no longer wait. It calls upon the debt your blood owes.”
“What debt?” I asked, but Ysu’s arms tightened around me, and my feet left the ground.
“Her debt is to me now, wolf. The forest may not recognize oaths, but it will recognize that which is written in flesh.”
I stiffened.
“Ysu, don’t…”
“I’m sorry, my neidr,” he said, desperation bleeding into his voice. “The forest will never stop calling you, not until it has driven you mad. I would not have this place become your prison, as it is mine.”
I could feel the truth in his words, feel the forest’s patient malevolence pressing at the edges of my mind. But despite the ancient magics winding around us, all I could think of was laughing faces as my flesh was torn apart.
“Don’t, please…” Don’t make me see him when I look at you. It came out as a sob, but he didn’t stop.
His fangs found the juncture of my neck and shoulder, piercing deep. I felt the pulse of his venom as it flowed into me. But this was different from before—not a hunt. This was a claiming. I felt it moving under my skin as if it had a will of its own.
Markings bloomed across my skin—black lines that traced from throat to collarbone, a mirror image of his web. I squirmed, but he held me tight, and I was still too weak to overcome him, especially when my heart was breaking.
The forest’s call dimmed, its hold on me loosening as something stronger took precedence.
When Ysu pulled back, his eyes held no cruelty, but I could see the triumph in his eyes. “Now any who look upon you will know. The forest may try to call you, but I claimed you first.”
The wolf-woman watched with an expression caught between amusement and pity.
“The spider shows his true nature at last. Driven to madness, as the old stories warned.” She shook her head, braids swaying.
“Keep your bride then, weaver. But know this—when the stones sing and the moon darkens, she will be needed. War will come for us all, no matter your allegiance.”
She turned to leave, then paused. “Sister,” she called to me. “When you tire of silk chains and pretty scars, remember that you have kin who understand the burden of transformation. We gather at the standing stones when his grip grows too tight.”
Then she was gone, melting into the forest. Ysu’s arms remained locked around me, his breathing gradually slowing from combat-readiness to something more controlled.
I reached up, my fingers tracing the new marks on my skin, feeling how they pulsed with his venom, his claim.
A mark of ownership, one I swore I would never allow again.