14. Henry
HENRY
A ll sense of strategy flies out the window the moment Harlow yelps and gets dragged into the mist. I follow the sound of her struggle.
I hate that I could track her by scent alone—hate that I can smell the hint of my laundry soap mixed in with her floral perfume. Mostly, I hate that I’m following her more out of a sense of possessiveness than duty.
I should be thinking about what they’ll say back at home if I can’t even protect my fiancée on one trip through the Drained Wood. Instead, I’m thinking about one of those things touching her—and it’s making me furious.
I run faster through the mist. “Harlow?”
There’s a grunt and then the snap of teeth, and my blood runs cold. I sprint toward the sound and nearly stumble over Harlow.
She’s splayed on the ground, blood sprayed across her face and neck. Panic twists in my throat as the gray-skinned beast above her snaps its teeth in her face, right as she plunges her dagger up through its chin. The beast shudders and collapses on top of her. Harlow rolls it off of her.
I look her over as she rises to her feet.
She wipes her face on the edge of her cloak. “It’s not my blood.” She sounds calm, but she’s holding her left arm gingerly.
“Did it bite you?”
She goes still, and horror tears through me. Then, she turns and jabs her dagger forward, right as a Drained one springs from the bushes beside us. The blade plunges into its throat and she drags it across its neck until it crumbles to ash.
“How did you?—”
“They have an aura,” she says. “Or, rather, they have the absence of an aura.” She closes her eyes and tips her face toward me. “Over your left shoulder.”
I turn and slash to my left as a beast leaps from the mist. Its skin hisses where my blade struck, and it bellows a blood-curdling screech.
“What is that?” She darts to my left, bringing a knee up into the stomach of one of the Drained as it bursts from the mist. It grunts and tumbles to the side, and she buries her dagger in its eye.
“It’s the well water that hurts them.”
She turns toward me with wide eyes. “How do you have well water, and how do you know that and we don’t?”
She looks remarkably calm, but her heart is pounding. I’m sure the Drained can smell her adrenaline. I need to get her the fuck out of these woods.
She waits a beat for me to answer, then closes her eyes. “Two coming from your left.”
“You can see auras with your eyes closed.”
“Yes, and I’m less distracted by the mist when I do.” Her eyes snap open as a beast leaps from the mist with blackened claws swiping through the air. I swing my sword, slicing through its throat. I can barely hear the dull thud of its head hitting the forest floor over the swirling blood storm.
It’s getting louder as the mist gets thicker.
I whistle, praying Nightsong hasn’t run off.
The sound of hooves grows louder as the horse appears through the mist. He’s been treated by those with a special healing gift to be steadier in stressful situations and to recover faster.
It’s why he can carry the two of us across the forest so quickly with so few breaks.
I pat his side, happy to see him in one piece. “Good boy, Nightsong.”
Behind me, Harlow gasps. I turn to watch as she’s tackled to the ground by an enormous, ghastly-looking Drained.
I can tell that it’s new by the fact that it still has most of its hair, and its skin is only mildly gray.
Its hands still vaguely resemble human fingers, unlike the more advanced Drained, whose claws extend all the way to their palms. Its posture is more upright, unlike the more advanced, hunched stature of long-turned creatures, and its body is more filled out and less gaunt.
I grab it by the shoulder and yank it off of Harlow. She grunts as its claws come free bloody. It flails, trying to reach her, shoving its bloodied claws into its mouth.
I plunge my sword into its heart, and it keeps up its frenzied thrashing another moment before turning to dust. Harlow leaps to her feet.
“They’re too frenzied. We have to get out of here now,” I say.
I can hear her bodyguard fighting nearby, and someone else struggling a little farther away, but we have to go or we’re going to be completely overwhelmed.
I whistle loudly three times: the signal to scatter. Everyone who can will race on to the fort. We aren’t too far now, and this is a last resort—but I need to get Harlow there safely or all of our plans will be for nothing.
Pulling out my dagger with one hand, I reach for her with the other. “Do you trust me?”
“No.”
I choke on a startled laugh. “After all the lying, your honesty is refreshing, lovely. We have to go now, and I am your only way out of this mess.” I grip her wrist, flipping her hand palm-up. “If I can spray some of your fresh blood here, they will surge here and not after us.”
“Why not use your own blood?” she asks.
“Because you’re so frightened. Yours smells better to them.”
Her face slides into a furious scowl, but she opens her fingers wide, waiting for me. I slide my dagger along her palm, holding her gaze, waiting for her to flinch.
She doesn’t. She closes her eyes, scanning the surroundings for more Drained.
As I watch, blood pools in her palm in a dark line.
I flip her hand over and let it pour onto the dried leaf detritus of the forest floor.
The coppery scent of it mixes with the smell of moss and the ripe scent of decay coming off of the Drained that were not cut with well-blessed blades.
They’ll rot slowly instead of turning to ash.
My focus is so intent on her hand that I swear I can hear the first drops of her blood hitting the ground over the roar of the mist. Most colors are murky in my mind, but I can still remember blood-red, even if I haven’t seen it in ten years.
Maybe it’s because the night of the attack is imprinted in my brain forever.
Maybe it’s because of the way the streets of Mountain Haven were practically painted in the blood of my people.
I give it another moment, until there’s a decent puddle, before I pull out a handkerchief and wrap it around her hand. The mist is so thick, I can barely make out Harlow’s face.
“Harlow.”
She blinks rapidly. “What about your family?”
“They’ll be fine, but you will not. Get on the fucking horse.”
I boost her onto Nightsong. A Drained one bursts from the shrubbery next to us and I cut through its chest with my sword. It sizzles as I hop up behind Harlow and urge Nightsong into a gallop.
My horse—or, rather, my late sister’s horse—is used to this, well-trained and guided and protected by magic. He’s warded against the Drained, but most importantly, he’s as calm as he is headstrong.
The more ground we cover, the more the mist thins.
My heartbeat starts to settle, and it’s in my own body’s calming that I notice how badly Harlow is shaking.
I pull her closer, trying to hug her cloak more tightly around her body.
Both of her trembling hands grab my wrist, but she doesn’t pull my arm away. She clings to me.
She was so calm in the moment, but I know this response—the delayed tempest of adrenaline that comes after the body knows it’s safe. It’s born out of violence and trauma. I’ve seen it enough in those who survived the attack ten years ago. I’ve seen it enough in myself.
“It’s just shock. It’ll pass in a few minutes,” I say.
She nods once, her body relaxing into me ever so slightly. When I stroke my thumb on the back of her hand, she goes rigid again.
“I don’t need coddling. It’s just unspent adrenaline,” she snaps, scowling at me over her shoulder.
I hate that I enjoy her prickliness. It should put me off, but I either have a true death wish, or I’m twisted enough to delight in the fact that it will take time to break her.
It will make besting her more satisfying.
If she were some wilting flower, I would feel bad—like I was taking advantage of someone who was truly innocent in all of this.
But knowing that she’s a viper in a vixen’s clothing frees me from that fear .
She shifts yet again, trying to put space between us, and I’d laugh at her stubbornness if every shift didn’t rub her perfect backside against my cock. Divine deliver me . Much as I remind myself she’s poison, my body doesn’t care. She’s going to drive me insane before we ever reach the fort.
I know it’s just the afterglow of the fight—the thrill of surviving death—that makes me want to live as hard as I can.
I know the impulse to drink and fuck and carry on—to live like I’ll die tomorrow.
It has nothing to do with her and everything to do with my nature and the magic humming in my body.
The forest begins to thin, and I slow Nightsong where the trail grows wider and brighter. We come around the bend, and I blow out a sigh of relief as I spot my parents, two guards, and Carter and Bryce on the trail ahead of us. I knew they’d be fine, but it’s still a relief to see them safe.
I pull Nightsong to a stop next to them. My father looks us over, sniffing the air.
“She’s hurt.” His tone is disapproving.
“Actually, she’s fine. Just eager to get off this horse,” Harlow says.
My mother’s eyebrows fly up, and she purses her lips the way she does when she’s trying not to smile. It takes me back to simpler times, when Holly would do something reckless and my mother would be trying to scold her but unable to keep from laughing.
Horse hooves pound somewhere down the trail behind us. Harlow turns and leans to peer around me as her bodyguard and the rest of our men appear.
Despite his age, Gaven looks unshaken by the battle. His clothing is splattered with dark blood, but his face is stoic.
“He lives to lurk another day,” Harlow taunts, but I can tell she’s relieved to see him.
“Onward,” my father says.