Chapter 14 The Wrath of the Vólkin
THE WRATH OF THE VóLKIN
“She will not come like a storm, but like a wound. She will not restore the world with mercy but with memory. The one who carries the ache of every mother, the fire of every daughter—she is balance.”
—Mother of All
Noel
Theron’s entire presence changes before my eyes. His fur bristles, fangs bare, and his breathing slows. I take an involuntary step back.
I thought I’d seen his strength earlier, but this . . . this is something completely different. It’s raw, wild, and terrifying. He didn’t look like that before.
I take another step back, but he moves forward in perfect sync, closing the distance between us with a single stride.
“Theron . . .” I start, but he doesn’t give me the chance to finish.
His massive paw tightens around me, and before I can process what’s happening, he lifts me into his arms. It’s not the careful, tender gesture it was earlier.
Now it’s like he’s acting on pure instinct.
The world blurs as he moves through the trees, and I cling to him, my fingers gripping the full fur of his mane, trying to steady myself.
Strands of his fur catch on the bushes and low branches he runs past, a part of him scattered through the forest. Is he shedding after winter?
“Where are you taking me?” I demand. “Theron, tell me what’s going on! Did you hear Arnold again? Are we going to him?” My voice is uneven. I fight to keep myself steady, but my stomach twists with the thought of facing Arnold again.
Theron doesn’t answer right away. His jaw is clenched, his focus locked in, and every muscle in his body tenses as we speed through the forest. Fury radiates off him, a force so powerful it feels like it’s pressing against my skin.
But I’m not scared of him. Even in his rage, there’s no danger to me. I feel it.
“Yes, I heard him,” he growls finally. “He’s close.” His grip flexes, pulling me even tighter against him. “Too close.”
My heart pounds at the thought of Arnold, at the memory of what he tried to do. Anger bubbles up along with the fear I’ve been trying so hard to suppress.
Theron’s pace quickens. I can feel the strength in his every step, the way his muscles coil and release as he carries me through the woods.
“What will you do when you find him?” I ask. He said he would kill him, but will he really?
“I will do what is necessary to keep you safe,” he says, his voice dark and final. There’s no hesitation in his tone.
The forest opens into a small clearing, the trees giving way to an exposed patch of land, and there, in the distance, I see Arnold and . . . Gregor?
The shy, quiet newbie who barely said two words during our few mutual trainings? He wasn’t in the inn when everything fell apart. Why is he here with Arnold?
Gregor always seemed so different from Arnold—awkward, hesitant, the kind of person who kept to himself. He wasn’t the type to be involved in something like this. Or at least, that’s what I thought. But now, seeing him here, my stomach twists. Could I have been so wrong about him?
He looks like a caged animal. He’s visibly shaking.
As we get closer, I see breathtakingly beautiful women. No, not women. Spirits, perhaps, like the leaf spirits, but far more haunting and powerful. Their ethereal bodies shine like they’re lit from within and bathe the forest floor in silver.
Their skin is unnaturally pale, almost translucent, as though carved from moonlight. Long strands of hair fall down their slender bodies. For some it’s as dark as the midnight sky, others the color of fiery autumn foliage, all flowing as though caught in an invisible breeze.
They, like Theron, have crystals embedded in their foreheads, glowing brightly with a white glow. They have large shimmering eyes. Eyes that are fixed on Arnold and Gregor, as if ready to strike them down.
Their movements are graceful and fluid, and though their bodies appear fragile, there’s a strength in the way they glide across the forest floor. How can something so magnificent be so fearsome?
Where the leaf spirits are playful, these women—no, these creatures—are deadly.
How beautiful.
Arnold and Gregor are frozen in place, their faces drained of all color. Neither of them has seen us yet.
Theron slows, his growl deepening into something far more feral. His entire body seems to swell with raw power, and I feel the ground beneath us tremble every time he takes a step.
“Stay here,” he commands, setting me down with surprising gentleness despite the fury radiating off him. “Do not move.” He pauses, turning those intense hazel eyes to mine. “Please.”
I can’t speak, only nod, my heart racing in my chest, thundering in my ears. I watch as he strides forward. The spirits—if that’s what they are—part for him. Is he some type of tsar? Leader? Why do the spirits obey him?
The women’s radiant eyes follow him, their postures straight. They know him. They respect him. A leader among creatures I’ve never even imagined, let alone heard of. Just how much more is there in this world that I haven’t seen yet?
Theron’s form is a menacing silhouette against the misty background of the forest. Arnold finally notices him, finally sees the massive vólkin bearing down on him like some nightmare come to life.
His eyes widen in sheer terror, his face contorting into something that would almost be pitiful if it weren’t Arnold.
“What . . . what is that?” Arnold stammers, stumbling backward, all his arrogance and cruelty stripped away.
Theron doesn’t give him the chance to run, doesn’t even give him the chance to finish his sentence. In a blur of motion, he lunges, his claws extended, the sharp tips catching the last glimmers of light coming through the trees. The crystals on his forehead flare a brilliant blue.
But I don’t see the strike. I don’t see what happens next.
One of the women rushes to me, covering my eyes with her slim fingers, her pale hand cold against my skin. Her touch is gentle, but it firmly insists that I should not witness what is about to happen. “Not for you.” Her voice, a whisper like the wind, brushes against my ear.
Two more of the women move closer, surrounding me like guardians. They embrace me from every angle. Their presence is oddly comforting, a shield from whatever is happening in front of me.
And then I hear it.
Arnold’s scream cuts through the air like an animal’s cry, but it’s cut short by the sickening sound of claws ripping into flesh. My whole body tenses as the sounds of violence fill the space around me.
I don’t need to see it. I can hear everything. The quick, panicked gasps from Arnold, the sloppy sound of tearing flesh followed by sharp cracks, the unmistakable sound of bone snapping in Theron’s paws. Blood splattering onto the forest floor, meeting the dampness of the earth.
Arnold’s cries fade, replaced by choked, wet gurgling as I imagine Theron tightens his grip on Arnold’s throat.
It’s as though the forest has been stunned into silence, waiting for the carnage to be over.
The only sound that remains is the heavy thud of what’s left of Arnold hitting the ground, piece by piece, and Theron’s deep, even breaths.
Goose bumps prick my skin. I’ve seen bloodshed before, during my military trainings. I’ve watched men be beaten down, watched them break, but this . . . this is different. This isn’t brutality for brutality’s sake. It’s something that feels more like nature taking its course than a man’s vengeance.
The smell of iron, blood, reaches my nose. My stomach churns, but I force myself to breathe. Just breathe.
Slowly, I remove the hand that shields my vision, blinking against the harsh reality before me. Gregor, his face pale. He’s panicking. Trying to flee, floundering, but he’s not fast enough. He won’t get far.
Before he even makes it two steps, the women surround him. Their graceful movements are now predatory, the light in their eyes changing from ethereal beauty to something much more dangerous.
“You are not welcome here,” one of them says, her voice echoing in layers as if a thousand voices are speaking inside my head. The air around her hums with power, the ground beneath her pulses in response.
Gregor staggers back, his eyes wide with terror, shaking his head as if he could somehow will himself to wake from this nightmare.
“You and your kind have brought poison to these lands,” she continues. “There will be no mercy.”
Theron stands over Arnold’s lifeless remains, his burning eyes on Gregor, who is shivering uncontrollably.
“Please . . .” Gregor stammers. “I didn’t mean to . . . I-I was just following orders! Arnold— He made me come along! I didn’t know!”
Theron’s eyes narrow, the glow of his crystals deepening as he takes a step closer. “You are both guilty of harming Noel. There is no excuse.” His voice is low. Blood drips to the ground as his claws extend, preparing to finish what he started.
“No, wait!” I scream, rushing forward before I can think. “Please, Theron! Stop!”
Theron freezes mid-step, his head snapping in my direction. The rage in his eyes vanishes.
I turn to Gregor as I step between him and Theron. My body quivers but I force myself to stand firm.
“Gregor,” I say, looking straight into his eyes, “why were you with Arnold? Why were you in that carriage?” I need to understand.
I need to know if he’s guilty or just got caught up in Arnold’s madness.
Theron ripped through Arnold with such ferocity, the smell of his blood still hangs in the air. Even now, I can almost feel it clinging to my skin, as if it’s seeped into me somehow.
I don’t feel sorry for Arnold. Not after everything he did, not after what he had planned for me, but that doesn’t mean his death hasn’t left a mark.
If Gregor is not guilty, I cannot let him face the same fate as Arnold. Answer me, Gregor.
Gregor’s eyes dart between Theron and me, sweat dripping down his forehead.