Chapter Thirty-Seven
Calista
I came back to myself in pieces. First the cold, then the sway. Then the hard press of a shoulder digging into my middle.
Memory slammed back in all at once. Trystan. Rope around my wrists. Snow in my mouth. His hand at my throat. Then blackness.
I twisted hard, and the rope bit deeper.
“Well, there she is,” Trystan purred. “I was beginning to think I’d knocked the wit clean out of you.”
“Pity you missed.”
He laughed and hitched me higher. Pain lanced through my ribs. My wrists were tied behind my back, tight enough to numb my fingers. My ankles were bound loosely, so I could at least hobble if I got away.
The storm had eased to a vicious flurry. There was less snow underfoot now, more rock. He was descending fast toward the coast.
My knife was gone. One crescent too. The other was still tucked awkwardly against my hip beneath the cloak where he hadn’t found it.
“You’re awfully quiet, Hollow. Planning something?”
“Your funeral.”
“That’s sweet.”
I bucked anyway, throwing all my weight sideways. He staggered and cursed, clamping a hand harder over the backs of my thighs. “Try that again, and I’ll tie your knees to your elbows.”
“Promise?”
His grip tightened. “Careful, Calista.”
“I am not yours to name.”
“No,” he said, colder now. “You’re his. Which is exactly why taking you will hurt.”
“You’re wrong. Savage doesn’t give a damned about me. You’re actually doing him a favor by capturing me. He’ll be better off with Rhosyn or Myra.”
A dark chuckle vibrated his shoulders beneath me. “No, I’m afraid you’re the one who’s mistaken now, little Hollow. If he truly cared nothing for you, why all of this?” He motioned across the snow-blanketed coast. “There is more to it. I am certain.”
That made me go still for real. Hadn’t I thought the same the moment I’d been chosen? Why would the Savage King choose me? Even with the gift from the goddess… Then I shoved the thoughts aside, something to deal with later. For now, I had to focus on one thing only: my escape.
I twisted my head enough to look ahead.
We broke through the last stand of trees and the coast opened below us, dark water surging against ice-slick rocks. At a distance, I could just make out a small boat waiting in the lee of a shelf, half hidden behind boulders. Its hull was black and low, built for speed.
Ice flooded my veins.
No.
If he got me onto that boat, everything changed. I started fighting again. I whipped both bound feet into his chest. He lost a step on the steep path, boots skidding on shale.
“Hollow bitch,” he snarled.
“Set me down and I’ll show you worse.”
“Not until we reach the boat.”
My heart slammed against my ribcage. “You can’t take me off Lunaris,” I hissed. “The law—”
“The law is a leash Frostcrag uses on everyone else,” he cut in. “It doesn’t hold me.”
The boat loomed closer, black against the foam. Another few steps and we’d be lost to the tides. The Thornwild Alpha shifted me on his shoulder, the crash of waves rushing across my eardrums.
A presence hit the air like a blow. Not a sound or even a scent, just a sheer, undeniable presence.
The hair on my arms lifted as I twisted around.
Trystan froze as if he’d felt it too, his head turning slightly and nostrils flaring.
A shape stepped out of the storm at the top of the slope above us, huge and black against the white. Not a wolf as I had known them. Not the Wolvryn I’d seen running between the trees when I was a child back in Saltspire.
This was something else entirely.
It stood as tall as a horse at the shoulder, all thick muscle and brutal lines beneath a coat as black as midnight water. Snow fell, clinging to its fur and melting instantly from the heat rolling off it. Its breath steamed in heavy plumes, slow and controlled.
Its eyes were pure, molten silver.
Not a flicker. It was a steady, burning silver that made my blood turn cold. Savage?
Glowing runes burned across its forehead, carved in light, ancient and sharp, and among them was one mark larger than the rest, set like a crown of its own.
Trystan’s whole body went rigid.
The enormous Wolvryn lowered its head slightly, shoulders bunching.
My captor swallowed hard, the first real crack in his confidence. “Why are you—”
The black beast lunged.
The world snapped into snarling teeth and rapid motion.
Trystan’s body jerked beneath me as the Wolvryn hit the slope like a tempest given flesh.
I screamed, the sound ripped away by wind and surf, and Trystan staggered two steps back from the impact, his grip loosening just enough that I slipped off his shoulder and hit the snow hard.
Pain flared up my spine so bright I saw stars. I bit down on it and rolled, scrambling for purchase as the air around us turned sharp with violence.
The black Wolvryn was everywhere at once, a massive shape of midnight fur and silver-eyed intent. Its runes burned through the blowing snow like a constellation carved into skin. It moved with a brutal grace, each step precise, each breath controlled. Calculated.
Trystan backed toward the boat, one hand on his knife and the other hand up as if he could ward off a creature made of hunger.
Then his gaze cut to me. To my body on the snow, half stunned and half scrambling.
Hands and feet still bound, I flip-flopped on the ground until I reached the knife hidden in my boot.
Trystan’s lips peeled back. “Fine,” he spat, voice swallowed by the storm. “If Frostcrag wants blood, he’ll choke on it.” He threw his knife aside as if steel was suddenly too small for what was coming.
Splaying my fingers, I finally managed to coax the blade free from my boot. Slicing it through the cords at my wrists then my legs, I was free at last.
Just in time.
The air changed.
It wasn’t a dramatic flare of light or a shiver of magic. It was colder and stranger, like the world leaned in to listen. The snow around Trystan’s boots trembled. The wind hit him and then curved away, forced aside by something rising under his skin.
He braced, shoulders rounding, fingers spreading as if his bones were trying to remember a shape they had worn before.
The runes along his forearms ignited first, faint lines of pulsing golden-white. They crawled up his skin like living script, wrapping muscle and sinew as if the goddess herself were binding him into what he truly was.
Trystan inhaled. The breath sounded all wrong. Too deep. Too big for a male’s lungs.
He exhaled and steam poured from his mouth in a thick plume that turned silver in the moonlight trapped behind clouds.
Then his body broke its own rules.
His spine bowed. His shoulders widened, cloak seams splitting as the frame beneath expanded.
His jaw pushed forward, teeth lengthening into cruel points.
The bones of his hands reshaped, knuckles thickening and fingers curving into claws that dug furrows into the ice crust when they landed.
Dark hair spilled down his back and then became something else, deepening into coarse brown fur that spread in a fast tide over his skin.
The change was not pretty. It was war, a beast forcing its way through a mortal shell.
Trystan dropped to all fours with a heavy crack, snow blasting outward under his weight. The last Fae sound he made was a strangled, furious rasp. Then, as if his throat had changed, a low roar tore out of him, shaking the air.
An enormous sable Wolvryn.
Frost take me.
He was massive but leaner than the black one. He appeared built for speed, for pursuit, for the snap of teeth and the quick kill. He lifted his head, and his eyes burned a wicked amber through the storm.
The black Wolvryn didn’t flinch. It only lowered its head, shoulders rolling once like a predator settling into its true stance.
My chest seized.
Everest. The Black Wolf. It had to be him.
He’d gone out to cool off, to burn off the moon’s pull. Instead, he had shifted just like he’d warned me he might. And then he’d come for me anyway.
“Everest!” I tried to shout, but my voice came out thin, torn apart by the wind.
Neither beast spared me a glance as I reached for my one remaining crescent.
The males were locked on each other now. Trystan struck first. He launched forward with sudden, shocking speed, a blur of brown fur and snapping jaws. He went for the black Wolvryn’s throat like he meant to end it in one bite.
The black beast moved. It shifted its weight at the last moment, turned its shoulder, and Trystan’s teeth clamped on thick fur instead of flesh. Then Everest’s head snapped down, jaws closing on Thornwild’s neck.
It heaved and Trystan flew sideways, hitting the rock shelf hard enough to send snow and ice splintering. Before I could make a move with my crescent, he rolled, up instantly, shaking it off like nothing. Then he came at Everest again, lower this time, aiming for his legs.
The Black Wolf met him with sheer mass, bracing and driving forward with a shoulder that hit like a battering ram. Trystan skidded backward, claws carving lines into the ice.
The sound of it made my teeth ache.
They continued to circle. The wind howled and the snow swarmed around them. The only clear thing in the world was the way those glowing runes burned across their foreheads, ancient writing blazing on living beasts.
It had been so many years since I’d seen a Wolvryn up close, I’d completely forgotten about the goddess’s markings.
Trystan feinted left, then darted right, trying to get behind the black Wolvryn’s flank. He was fast, so fast that my eyes struggled to keep up. He snapped at the black wolf’s hind leg, teeth scraping. For the first time, I heard a sound that made my stomach drop.
A wet grunt. Dark blood sprayed against white snow.
“No,” I whispered, fear for Everest turning my mouth numb.
The black Wolvryn whirled, jaws flashing, but Trystan was already gone darting away from the counterstrike. He lunged again, biting at the shoulder then the foreleg, testing weak points.
Oh, gods, Everest. My fingers tightened around my crescent, and I wished the goddess had blessed me with a Wolvryn so that I could join the fight.
The black wolf took each hit like it was nothing. Its body kept moving forward, relentless, driving Trystan toward the rocks and the boat, cutting off angles and taking space with brutal certainty.
My chest tightened with fear.
Everest fought like a shadow even as a beast. Trystan’s amber eyes gleamed as he lunged again, this time for the black animal’s side, fangs aiming for the soft place beneath his ribs.
The Black Wolf dropped his head and slammed forward, catching Trystan mid-air. The impact was bone-deep. The brown Wolvryn yelped, sound ripped away by the storm, then hit the ground and rolled.
He came up snarling, fur bristling, and backed up, back up the cliff’s jagged face.
They clashed again, jaws snapping and huge bodies colliding.
The black Wolvryn’s size was terrifying up close, each muscle shifting under its fur like a living mountain.
But Trystan used that speed, dancing around the larger beast.
Both were bleeding now. The snow beneath their paws had gone pink and then darker, churned into mud-ice and gore.
Damn it, Cali, do something!
Following them back up the narrow incline, I gripped the crescent so hard my knuckles burned. If I rushed in, I’d be torn apart by accident before I could get close enough to help. If I stayed back, I’d watch Everest bleed out right in front of me.
Dropping to the ground, I snatched a handful of rocks, sheared off the cliffside. When Trystan’s sable fur flashed, I threw. A few hit their mark, but the wolf didn’t even flinch. He darted behind the Black Wolf again, aiming for his injured leg, and something feral rose in my throat.
“Stop!” I screamed, uselessly and threw another rock. It struck Trystan on the head, earning me a yip of annoyance, but nothing more.
The animals collided again and rolled, a tangle of black and brown fur and flashing runes. They slammed into the cliffside.
I limped after them, blade raised, trying to find an opening.
Trystan’s jaws found the black Wolvryn’s shoulder. The midnight beast roared, a sound that shook my lungs. Its head snapped down, teeth sinking into Trystan’s foreleg with a crack I felt in my bones.
The brown Wolvryn howled. He twisted, trying to tear free, and his claws raked across the Black Wolf’s face, carving bloody lines through fur.
Everest recoiled half a step and Trystan leapt for the throat again. And missed.
The air shifted and all at once, the rhythm of the battle changed.
The Black Wolf forced Trystan backward in a straight line, pushing him further up the cliff toward the edge where the ground dropped into jagged rock and sea foam.
The Thornwild Alpha fought it, scrambling, claws sliding on ice. He snapped at the black beast’s muzzle, caught skin, tore, and the black Wolvryn bled harder.
But he didn’t stop. Everest kept pressing forward, inexorable.
It was as if he’d only been toying with him earlier. Trystan’s amber eyes widened a fraction, like he’d come to the same conclusion.
The mark on the black beast’s forehead flared brighter than the rest of its runes, a deep silver-white blaze that cut through the storm like a brand.
Trystan hesitated, one heartbeat too long, and the black Wolvryn leapt. His jaws clamped around his throat, and this time there was no restraint.
It was the end.
The sound was sickening, a wet crunch muffled by snow and wind. Trystan thrashed once, twice, legs kicking, and claws scraping furrows into the ice. Then the Black Wolf launched his twisting body over the edge of the cliff.
A sharp splash and then silence slammed in so hard it rang.
My chest heaved. My stomach rolled. And my hand shook uselessly around my blade.
The black Wolvryn stood at the ledge, head lowered to the sea below and breath steaming in heavy plumes. Blood streamed down his muzzle and dripped into the snow. One of his forelegs trembled, and the injured hind leg barely held.
He turned toward me, and I froze. Instinct screamed at me to run, but my ankle would not allow it, and my body had nowhere to go anyway.
Silver eyes locked on mine.
They were too bright, too wild. Not Everest’s.