Chapter Twenty-Two
Calista
Now lie down. His words filled the cave like heat spreading beneath my skin.
Everest motioned to the spot right beside him.
“Excuse me?” A surge of warmth raced up to the tips of my pointed ears.
“You heard me. You’re still shaking, and you need to rest.”
“I do not need—”
“Calista.” He flattened the word, not with command, just certainty. “I cannot carry you by law, but I can keep you warm. Let me do the thing I am allowed.”
He was not seriously going to cuddle with me, was he?
I eyed him suspiciously, crossing my arms. I didn’t need that.
He’d already saved my life, I didn’t want to owe him more.
The longer I sat there, the more my resolve waned.
The pride that rose was thin and useless against the wind.
Eventually, exhaustion and the cold won out.
I turned on my side and curled the cloak around my ears.
Everest stretched out behind me, careful at first, as if I were a creature he didn’t want to startle.
I held my breath as he inched closer. One forearm slid under my head, and his other arm banded across my middle, gathering me into the firm planes of his chest. The heat of him soaked straight through my spine and tiny sparks rippled across my body.
I almost groaned in pleasure as every muscle that had been clenched since the boats dropped us upon the Shoal loosened all at once.
His breath touched the crown of my head. “Better.”
Yes, of course this was better. It was for warmth. That was all. My heart pounded a foolish rhythm. Instinct reared up, hard and unhelpful, and I wriggled against his hulking form. “Wait.”
He didn’t tighten his hold, he simply didn’t let go. “You’re safe with me, little wolf. It’s my duty to keep you breathing, remember?”
It was the same sentence he had used before. Somehow it landed differently here with my back to his chest and his heart steady against my shoulder blades. My fight drained away as quickly as it had come. The tremor in my hands eased, and in that moment, I realized I was starting to trust him.
How had that happened so quickly?
“Tell me more,” I murmured. “About him.” Because for some ungodly reason, I needed to know more about Savage. I needed his presence here between our bodies. Unbidden, my hand slid into my pocket, fingers grazing Savage’s sigil.
“The king?”
“Yes.”
Everest was quiet for a few breaths. I felt the sound rather than heard it, a low hum along my spine. “He once cut out a man’s tongue for calling you the Hollow Queen.”
A huff of a laugh escaped before I could stop it. “I was there for that one.”
“Ah, that’s right.” I could almost feel his smile behind me. “And do you know why he did it?”
“To prove a point,” I offered.
“He did it because if words like that are permitted to stand in a Court, other words follow and then other hands.”
I understood why he’d done it and yet, it still surprised me all the same.
“Our king has teeth,” he continued, “but he also carries blankets out to the oarsmen himself when the first freeze comes.”
“Kings do not carry blankets.”
“This one does.” He shifted behind me, carefully.
“He tells stories badly, but he listens well. He hates the way Wolvryn elders hide behind tradition and pretend it’s duty.
He is not overly kind, but he is fair when he remembers to be.
” Everest paused. “He is trying. I don’t know if that matters to you. ”
It did. I was too tired to say it out loud though.
“Thank you for telling me.” I never expected real answers, and somehow, I could tell they were.
“The next few nights will be rough with moon-mad wolves, hunters, and storms, and you’ll need something steady to hold on to.”
I drew in a breath, preparing myself to face all of it. “Everest… tell me something about you.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught his mouth twitch like he wasn’t used to talking about himself. “I’m not that interesting. I’m a blade. I point where my king tells me to.”
“There must be more.”
He shifted behind me, then stiffened. “Savage is a good male. The kind that carries the weight so the rest of us don’t have to.
Devotion to him isn’t duty for me.” His voice dropped, rougher.
“It’s a choice.” Then his mouth brushed my hair, his warm breath sending goosebumps down my arms. I didn’t think it was on purpose, but goddess.
.. “Sleep, little wolf. I’ll keep watch for the first half. ”
“I can—”
“You can win the crown,” he said. “You can let me have this hour.”
Sleep crept in like a tide, slow and relentless. The cold pulled back from the edges of me. His arm around my ribs felt like a boundary the dark couldn’t cross. Slowly, I let my eyes close.
“Everest…” I mumbled.
He made a sound that might have been a yes or a promise. “Sleep.”
The last thing I felt was the steady draw and rise of his chest against my back, the weight of his hand at my waist, and the way the wind lost its voice when it met the mouth of our small cave.
I woke to heat, cedar and the quiet weight of a body around mine.
I kept my eyes closed, greedy for another heartbeat of the best sleep I had taken in years.
Everest’s arm was still heavy at my waist, his knees tucked behind mine, our legs tangled under the weighty fur cloak.
My cheek rested on his forearm atop a series of dark runes engraved in his skin.
Every breath I drew tasted like frostmint.
It should have been awkward. It should have felt wrong.
But it wasn’t and it didn’t. Guilt nipped, small and sharp.
And yet I couldn’t understand why. I had invoked the Blood Hunt so that I could finally have a choice.
Whatever this electric pull was toward my guard, could not be it.
It had to be the turmoil, the cold, the fear. Nothing more.
I started to slide free, but Everest went stone-still behind me.
The cave suddenly breathed differently. A scrape outside, the soft crumble of frost. My Wolvryn guardian didn’t speak. He only shifted his palm to my hip, a silent warning to keep still.
I did.
Another sound, this time closer. Then a shape filled the cave mouth and blocked the night. What in all the realms was that?
It moved like a bear, but its shoulders were higher and bone plated its neck. Curved horns ridged from its skull, and thick spikes stood along its spine like a row of knives. When it opened its mouth, there were way too many teeth.
Everest rose in one smooth motion, bringing me with him and placing me behind his body. His voice was low but steady. “Stay behind me.”
I glanced around his broad shoulder and found the beast’s clouded eyes. A flicker of recognition flared in my mind.
Ma. I knew that cloudy gaze. And where else had I seen it recently?
“The beasts in the north go strange near the full moon,” he whispered. “It’s the same pull as the Wolvryn. They get meaner, hungrier.”
But was it that? Or was it something else entirely?
“I suppose you’ll attribute that to your starved gods too,” I muttered.
“I attribute everything to the gods.” He pushed me against the roughhewn cavern wall. “Stay back.”
“I’m not hiding.” I reached for a crescent. What if this creature had the same affliction as Ma?
“You’re not.” He drew steel. “You’re staying out of my way.”
The beast snorted steam and shouldered in.
Claws raked sparks from stone. It smelled of wet fur and rot.
Everest stepped wide, axe in his right hand and while the other remained open to draw the charge.
It took the bait and lunged hard. He pivoted and slashed for the neck, steel ringing off the bony plate.
The blow turned but still bit deep enough to make the bear scream.
“Go for the eyes,” I shouted.
“On it.”
It came again, faster, head low. I slid to Everest’s flank and whipped my rope.
The ring grazed a horn and snapped free.
Useless. I let it drop, switched my grip, darted in front of Everest and threw a crescent instead.
The curve hit its mark, and the wild thing roared, echoing across the cave.
Blood sprayed hot across my cheek, and my stomach roiled.
It wasn’t a kill shot, but it was enough to blind one eye.
The beast reared and one hooked claw swiped wildly.
The strike brushed my shoulder and ripped straight through my cloak.
Gritting my teeth, I ignored the sting. The weighty fur fell off, and cold air hit my bare skin.
I stumbled back, breath gone, and now I felt the gash across my shoulder.
Everest’s eyes widened at the trail of blood, fury pounding through the darkness. His snarl was not human.
He slammed forward. No wasted steps, no show. He drove the point of his knife up under the animal’s jaw and into the soft roof of its mouth with both hands on the hilt, shoulders locked. The creature convulsed, jaw snapping and fangs bared, but Everest held as still and immoveable as a mountain.
The animal wrenched once, hard. Blood seeped through his teeth, dribbling down his maw. Its eyes flashed, that white fog over its pupils, and then widened. Its enormous body crashed to the cave floor, shuddering for only an instant. Then everything went eerily quiet.
For a second, there was only the sound of our breathing and the drip of blood.
Everest yanked the blade free and turned to me at once. His gaze dropped to my shoulder, and anger twisted his expression.
“It drew your blood.” His nostrils flared, eyes burning with… fear?
“It did not. It’s barely a scratch.” I allowed him a quick glance to confirm before pulling the cloak up back over my shoulders.
I’d hate for him to catch a glimpse of the scars beneath.
Swallowing hard, I ticked my head at the motionless beast blocking the entrance, forcing a change of topic. “You killed it.”
“Mmm.” He nodded nonchalantly. “I protect what I am sworn to protect.” He wiped the blade on the beast’s pelt and sheathed it. “And I do not like anything raising claws at you.” He suddenly pulled me into him without asking.
His chest was pressed to my front, heat and strength and the heavy thud of a heart that matched my own. For two breaths, I let myself lean into him, then I forced myself to stand on my own. Because that was what I’d always done.
“What was that thing?” I finally asked.
“Frozen tusk-bear. It shouldn’t be this far south, and it should not have horns like that. The moon is near which pulls the worst forward, even in other beasts. But this… this is different.”
“Because of the lunar rage?” I ventured.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you know of that?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Not much. Only that they say it’s getting worse and the Wolvryn who have it tend to disappear.”
“Disappear,” he grumbled. Then he glanced toward the cave mouth, listening. “They die, Calista."
Die? "What do you mean die?" My thoughts whipped to Ma.
"Exactly what I said," his words were clipped. Short. The message was clear: this conversation was over. Except it couldn't be, not when I still had so many questions.
"How do they die?"
"The illness takes them quickly," he said, pushing the words through clenched teeth. "Those infected only have a moon cycle, maybe two, before the rage takes hold and they ... are no longer themselves."
"They forget who they are."
He laughed, humorless. "That's only the first symptom. If we're lucky, it can be spotted in the days leading up to the full moon, and those infected can be contained before the fury consumes them."
Only the first symptom? Ma had been living with the affliction for years. It couldn’t be the same then. "Just one moon cycle?" It didn't make sense. "That can't be."
He eyed me. "You seem to know more about this than you said."
I shrugged, noncommittal, praying he couldn't hear my heart racing. "I listen better than most."
He said nothing, those blue eyes studying me as if he could read the lie. "Let me clean your sword. You shouldn’t touch its blood if you have any open wounds. It would be a risk."
A risk? Suri and I had been living with Ma for years. Surely, we’d come into contact with her blood at some point. Neither of us had ever been affected.
"Not for me." I tossed him a grin. “I’m Hollow remember? There’s no Wolvryn to infect.”
He cocked his head at me, considering.
“Maybe I should be cleaning your weapon.”
“I don’t think so.” He eyed me warily.
If I pushed this further, I risked more questions from my discerning guard. And he could never know about Ma. No one could.
"We shouldn't stay much longer. This will have drawn attention." He ticked his head at the beast, which bled out on the floor a few strides away. “There may be more out there.”
I nodded and turned, my mind circling back to the lunar rage, then to Ma.
It couldn’t be the same illness. Her Wolvryn had not emerged in years.
It had unraveled her mind, yes, but not in the way Everest had described.
Even so, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe some dark thread connected them.