Chapter Thirty-Five
Calista
The hut felt wrong without him. Not just quieter.
Empty. The storm still screamed at the walls, still rattled the roof and hissed snow through every crack it could find.
But Everest’s absence left a hollow that the fire could not fill, a cold pocket in the room where my anger had been screaming only moments ago.
I sat on the narrow bed wrapped in his fur, staring at the door. I willed it to open and reveal him standing there, soaked and chastened and ready to pretend we hadn’t almost shattered something we could never put back together.
It never did.
Minutes stretched thin.
I ran a finger over my mouth, the ghost of his lips still tingling. My anger cooled into something uglier, something that crawled under my ribs and made me restless.
Guilt.
Because I had pushed. Because I had wanted him. Because I had watched him snap and then I punished him for trying to do the right thing.
You belong to my king.
The words kept striking the same bruise inside me. No one was allowed to own me, I told myself. Not the crown, not the Court, not Savage, not Everest.
Even Savage had realized the same. Perhaps, someone needed to remind the stubborn Black Wolf.
Goddess, I’d been a fool.
And yet some small part of me still wanted Everest to pick me anyway, law be damned.
The storm groaned and the hut shuddered. A gust hit so hard the door flexed inward. I clenched the fur tighter around my shoulders.
Selraya, what am I doing?
Everest was out there in this storm. Because of me.
I shoved myself off the bed, teeth gritted as my ankle twinged. The bolt was set from the inside because I’d latched it shut in a fit of anger. Now, my fingers hesitated on it.
If I opened it, the cold would knife in and smother what little warmth we had. If I didn’t… I would sit here and rot in my own shame. I slid the bolt free without another thought.
Wind slammed the door outward the moment I cracked it, and snow lunged into the hut in a white blur. The cold hit like a slap, stealing my breath and making my eyes water instantly.
“Everest?” I hissed low, eyeing the endless white for hunters. His name was swallowed by the storm. “Everest?” A little higher this time, a hint of desperation lacing my tone.
No answer.
The only response was the wind’s howl and the distant, dull boom of ice shifting somewhere beyond sight. I pulled the fur cloak tighter, stepped out, and dragged the door mostly closed behind me. Not latched, just near enough to keep the hut from becoming a snowdrift.
The world outside was a smear of white and shadow. Snow raced sideways, stinging my cheeks and catching in my lashes. The ground had gone slick beneath a new layer of powder. I stepped carefully, testing my bandaged ankle. The last thing I needed was to fall.
“Everest!” I called again, louder now, despite knowing better.
Still nothing.
Curse all the gods! Where are you, Everest?
I scanned the near darkness, squinting into a blur of wind and trees. The storm made it hard to see more than a few body lengths, but I caught signs of him anyway.
A set of footprints beside a tree, already half covered in snow leading away from the hut. They were deep and heavy, had to be Everest’s.
Relief loosened my throat at the sight. He hadn’t just vanished into the night. He’d gone somewhere with intention. To cool off…
I followed the prints, moving faster than I should, the fur cloak dragging behind me like a shadow.
The barely visible tracks wound through the pines and toward a darker slope where the land dropped at the coast. The closer I got, the stronger the smell of salt and tar became, threading through the snow.
And something else.
A sharp, animal musk that rose and fell through the air. My stomach dipped. Everest?
The prints led into a clearing half sheltered by rock. Wind tore through it anyway, but the snow thinned here, scoured by gusts. I stepped onto the exposed stone and froze.
The tracks suddenly ended.
Not because he’d disappeared.
Because something else had happened.
The snow around the edges was torn up, gouged. Claw marks scored the stone like a beast had raked it. A few dark drops dotted the ice crust, instantly turning to tiny red coins before snow swallowed them.
My pulse kicked hard.
“Everest…” I whispered, and his name came out like a plea.
A sound rolled out of the dark.
Low. Rough. Not quite a growl.
My spine went completely rigid.
It came again, closer this time, followed by the crunch of snow under a heavy step that did not sound human. Then a shape moved at the far edge of the clearing, too big, too fast, and for one heartbeat my mind refused to name it.
A wolf. No.
A Wolvryn.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was only a glimpse, a shadow weaving between trunks, then gone again, swallowed by the snowstorm. I didn’t see its eyes. I couldn’t make out much at all. Just the size and the weight of it, the way the air itself seemed to bend around its body.
Everest had said Selraya wakes what is sleeping.
Was it him or some other Wolvryn in fur?
I backed up a step, heart hammering. Then I turned and ran. Toward the safety of the hut.
I pumped my arms wildly, crashing through the snow-covered trees. They blurred all around me, endless twisting labyrinths of green, brown and white. My breath sawed out of me.
Then another sound cut through the storm. A harsh laugh. This one was male and much too close.
I spun, and pain shot up my ankle as I pivoted too fast. A figure stepped out from behind a pine as if he’d been there the entire time.
The male was tall, easy in his body. Braided black hair damp with snow and cutting eyes that made my skin crawl. Trystan.
My mouth went dry. “You.”
His smile was quick and sharp. “Me.”
My hand went instinctively to the rope at my waist. “How did you—”
“Find you?” He lifted a shoulder. “I have hunted this land longer than you’ve been wolfless, little Hollow.” His gaze dragged over the fur cloak around me. “And you smell like Frostcrag’s shadow.”
Ice slid down my spine. “Where is Everest?”
Trystan’s eyes gleamed, amused. “Is that what you call him when you’re alone?”
Rage flared fast. “Answer me.” Something like a growl vibrated my throat. “If you hurt him—”
He took a slow step closer, drawing his sword. “No idea. I heard a door open, and then I heard a female’s foot drag in the snow. So I followed.” His gaze dipped briefly to my ankle. “And I thought, there she is. The prize.”
I shifted my weight and kept my blade hand ready, eyeing his weapon. “You’re not supposed to use force...”
Trystan’s smile widened. “Supposed to. No.” He tapped the knife at his hip. “And your guard isn’t supposed to touch me unless I draw blood. And you’re supposed to reach Frostcrag before the full moon. So many bothersome laws.”
My heart pounded. The snow pressed in, turning the clearing into a small, violent world. The Frostcrag sigil clasp felt heavy against my thigh, grounding. To lead you home. I lifted my crescent. “Back off.”
He chuckled, and it wasn’t warm at all. “You really think you can fight me alone?”
“I’ve fought worse.”
His brows rose. “Have you?”
I didn’t give him time to keep talking. Talking made room for fear. I lunged.
Instead of the blade, which he expected, I snatched the ring at my hip. The rope snapped out, looping for his wrist. Trystan moved like smoke. He slid sideways and let it skim past his coat, then stepped in close enough that his breath hit my face.
“Well done,” he murmured. “Show me that Hollowcrest spine everyone keeps gossiping about.”
I drove the crescent toward his ribs. He caught my wrist and pain jolted up my arm. I twisted, used my elbow, and tried to bring the blade across his forearm. He released me at the last instant and knocked the strike wide with the back of his hand.
My ankle slipped on the ice.
Moon’s curses!
Trystan saw the opening immediately, and his gaze went bright. He drove his shoulder into me, forcing me back toward the rock. I hit it hard, breath siphoning out in a burst.
I slashed up again, wild now, and the crescent kissed his coat, cutting through cloth but not quite skin. He grabbed my wrist again, this time harder, and wrenched.
My blade clattered to the stone.
“No,” I snapped, scrambling for my crescent.
Trystan’s boot pinned it to the ground.
His free hand caught my throat. “You’re fast,” he hissed. “But not fast enough, little bride.”
“I’m not yours to claim,” I growled, trying to knee him, but my ankle betrayed me, wobbling beneath me. “I will never belong to you.”
Trystan used that damned wobble against me. He hooked my rope hand, twisted, and shoved me down onto my knees in the snow.