Chapter 6 #2
Enya spun around and her blood turned to ice.
The wolf was huge—easily the size of a small pony, with grey-brown fur and eyes that gleamed with predatory intelligence. It stood twenty paces behind her, head low, shoulders bunched.
Watching.
Enya's mind went blank with terror.
She knew the rules—don't run, don't show fear, make yourself big—but her body wasn't listening. Her legs were already moving, carrying her backward, and the wolf's lips pulled back from teeth that looked designed for tearing flesh.
"Stay back," she whispered. "Please, just—"
The wolf lunged.
Enya ran.
She crashed through the underbrush with no thought for direction or safety, just blind animal panic driving her forward. Behind her, she could hear the wolf pursuing—the thunder of its paws, the harsh panting, the promise of teeth and pain.
She burst into a clearing and nearly tripped over something on the ground. A fallen branch. She grabbed it without thinking, whirling to face her pursuer with the pathetic weapon raised.
But it wasn't one wolf anymore.
It was three.
They'd flanked her while she ran, cutting off escape. Now they circled slowly, testing her resolve, looking for weakness. Enya backed toward the nearest tree, her makeshift club shaking in her hands.
This was it. This was how she died, torn apart by wolves in a forest on an island she'd been sent to betray.
The irony would have been funny if she weren't so terrified.
The largest wolf—the first one—crouched low, ready to spring. Enya screamed and braced herself, knowing the branch wouldn't be enough, knowing she was about to feel pain beyond anything she'd imagined—
A horse exploded into the clearing.
The rider came off its back already moving, sword drawn, putting himself between Enya and the wolves with such speed she barely registered it was happening. The lead wolf leaped, and the rider's blade flashed in the fading light.
The wolf fell.
The other two scattered, but not far. They circled warily now, growling low in their throats, weighing whether this new threat was worth fighting.
"Get behind me," Harald's voice was absolutely steady. "Now, Enya."
She moved without thinking, dropping the branch and pressing against his back. She could feel the tension in him, the coiled readiness of a predator facing predators.
One of the remaining wolves darted in from the side. Harald's sword swept up, catching it across the shoulder. The animal yelped and retreated, blood matting its fur.
The last wolf held its ground a moment longer, yellow eyes fixed on Harald with something that looked almost like calculation. Then it turned and melted into the trees, its wounded companion limping after.
Silence fell over the clearing. Enya couldn't stop shaking, couldn't make her legs hold her weight properly. She felt Harald turn, felt his hands on her shoulders, but she couldn't seem to focus on his face.
"Enya." His voice was sharp now. "Enya, look at me. Are ye hurt?"
"N-nay. I dinnae think—they didnae touch me."
"Breathe." Harald's grip tightened slightly. "Just breathe, lass. Ye're safe now."
Safe. The word sounded absurd. Nothing about this was safe.
"What were ye daein' out here?" Harald asked, and there it was—the question she'd been dreading. "The castle's half a mile away. Why were ye in the forest alone?"
"I wasnae, Amelia was with me. We were just walkin', and I wandered too far—" The lie came easier than it should have. "I didnae realize how far I'd gone until…"
"Until wolves found ye." Harald's expression was unreadable. "Convenient."
Enya's stomach dropped. "What?"
"Naethin'." But his hands fell away from her shoulders, and his eyes—those grey eyes that had looked at her with warmth last night—were cold now. Assessing. "Can ye walk?"
"Aye, I—" Enya noticed the blood for the first time. "Yer arm. Ye're bleedin'."
Harald glanced down at the gash on his forearm like he'd forgotten about it. "It's naethin'. One of them got close."
"It's nae naethin'." Enya moved before thinking, reaching for his arm. "Ye need that cleaned before it festers."
"I said it's fine." Harald pulled away, his voice harder than she'd heard it. "We need tae get ye back tae the castle before dark. Can ye ride?"
The rejection stung more than it should have. "I can ride."
"Good." Harald whistled sharply, and his horse trotted over. He mounted in one fluid motion, then offered his hand. "Up."
Enya took it, letting him pull her up behind him. The moment she was settled, he spurred the horse into motion, leaving the clearing and its dead wolf behind.
They rode in tense silence.
Enya wanted to explain, wanted to make him understand.
But understand what? That she'd been meeting her brother to discuss betraying him? That she was exactly as untrustworthy as he was clearly starting to suspect?
"Harald—"
"Nae now." His voice was flat. "Just... nae now, Enya."
So she fell silent, holding onto him as they raced through the darkening forest, very aware that whatever fragile trust had been building between them had just taken a mortal wound.
And she had no one to blame but herself.