Chapter 41 Between Life and Death in the Lair of Beasts
BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH IN THE LAIR OF BEASTS
“The barrier didn’t only keep the vólkins in, Gregor. It kept something else out.”
—Bard, during a vólkin lesson
Gregor
The damp air clings to my skin as I nearly crawl through the forest. Each step is so painful, I don’t know how much longer I can bear it.
Every part of my body aches. Bruises from the beating cover my arms, legs, and ribs.
The cut above my brow stings as sweat reaches it.
The taste of blood lingers in my mouth, and the metallic flavor churns my stomach. I think I need to throw up.
Each step brings me closer to the vólkins.
The memory of Arnold haunts me. It runs over and over in my head every time I try to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see him.
Bard showed me the direction to ávera, pointing it out like it was some kind of scenic route, but the reality is far worse.
The forest around me is dark and endless.
Fog hangs over the moss-covered trees in a ghostly veil.
Every shadow feels alive. Every rustle of leaves sends a jolt of fear down my spine.
My hands tremble as I clutch the crystal hidden inside my arse.
The vólkins might sense it, so the healer told me to keep it hidden until I can stash it somewhere in ávera.
If they find it, they’ll kill me without a second’s hesitation.
The thought of them finding me makes my heart race.
I’ve learned enough to know what happens to traitors in vólkin territory.
Every vólkin has those glowing crystals embedded in their foreheads, the source of their power and connection to their mates.
And there are no female vólkins. That’s the part that stunned me most during the lessons Bard forced on me.
Vólkins live for thousands of years, bonded eternally to their mates.
When one dies, the other follows immediately, their souls connected beyond death.
It’s a commitment I can’t even begin to comprehend.
I shudder as I recall Bard’s words about killing them. Two ways, he said. “Break their crystals or kill their mate. Either way, it’s a death sentence.”
The knowledge twists my gut. Bard knows more about vólkins than the entire military, and that terrifies me.
His power is vast, too vast. Bard isn’t just a captain, as I first thought.
He’s the tsar’s shadow. That explains everything.
The way he commands fear with a single glance, the knowledge he wields like a weapon.
I’m terrified to even think how much I don’t know.
I stumble over a twisted root and only just catch myself before I hit the ground.
The crystal moves inside me with every step.
How did they even get it? Vólkin crystals lose their power when the vólkin dies, becoming nothing more than dull stones.
But this one still shines and even pulses from time to time.
Someone made it possible. The thought churns in my stomach like acid.
I can’t stop. I can’t fail. If I don’t make it to ávera, my Linnéa dies.
They’ll kill her. A sound rips through the forest, and I freeze in place.
It’s faint at first, but it grows louder as I pay more attention.
A low growl echoes through the trees. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
My body goes rigid as I turn. The sight of a massive bear, its eyes gleaming with hunger, makes my blood run cold.
My legs lock. My breaths are shallow. This is it. This is how I die.
The bear moves closer. Its massive paws sink into the mossy ground, and its growl deepens until it’s vibrating through the air.
Its eyes lock onto me, and I realize with horror that it’s drawn to the blood on my clothes. My scent has given me away. The bear takes another step, its breath visible in the cool air. Mama, help. Please help me.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. The ground seems to tilt beneath me. My vision blurs as the bear gets closer still.
Another louder growl echoes through the trees.
The bear whines and darts away. I flinch, raising my arms in an attempt to shield myself as my knees give out, and I collapse onto the ground.
The crystal presses painfully against the inside of my gut, and I clench around it, desperate to keep it from slipping out.
I’m scared to breathe, my body is shaking uncontrollably. The bear is gone, but the heavy footsteps of whatever scared it off move closer. Each one makes the earth tremble beneath me. My head jerks toward the sound.
I try to stand, and a warm wetness spreads over my trousers. Shame burns through me as I realize what’s happened, but I’m too terrified to care.
A figure steps out of the fog.
A vólkin. Giant, dark gray vólkin, its green crystals glowing on its forehead. Its eyes lock onto mine, and I know this is it.
I’m dead.
“What an ugly human,” the vólkin sneers as he crouches down to look at me. His eyes shine in the dim light, and his breath is hot on my face.
A whimper escapes my lips, and to my utter mortification, I feel myself lose control again. My trousers cling to my inner thighs.
He grins, baring his deadly fangs. “Are you scared?”
Another vólkin, a few shades lighter than the first one, with black crystals, steps forward. His shadow looms over me as crows fly in all directions, crying as they dart away. “What’s this?” he asks. “Are all human males this ugly?”
The first vólkin snorts a chuckle, then his snout wrinkles. “And he reeks too. Filthy.”
I’m dead. I’m fucking dead.
Without warning, he grabs me by the collar of my tunic and yanks me off the ground as if I weigh nothing. My hands instinctively clutch at his wrist, but my fingers barely circle it. I desperately clench around the crystal hidden inside me. Please don’t fall.
The vólkin brings me closer, sniffing the air around me but careful not to touch me directly. I know how disgusting I must smell, bloodied and covered in piss. My skin crawls with humiliation. How much longer do I need to take this? Bard, his men, and now these vólkins. I can’t . . .
“Why do I smell vólkin on you?” His voice drops into a low, deep growl that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I-I . . .” The words get stuck, my brain too panicked to form a sentence.
“Speak.” His grip tightens, a warning. “Have you met a vólkin before? Why do you smell like one?”
“I . . . I met one once,” I manage to choke out. Shit, shit, shit. He smells the crystal.
His eyes widen slightly, his grip loosening just enough for me to gasp in some air. “You did? And how are you still alive?” There’s genuine surprise in his tone.
I force the words out, though my entire body shakes with fear. “Noel . . . Noel let me live.”
A sharp intake of breath from the other vólkin. “Her Majesty spared you?”
Her Majesty? That’s what they call her? Bard told me she was important, but he didn’t give me any details.
Before I can make sense of it, the vólkin’s claws dig into my skin as he lifts me high enough that my feet dangle above the ground. Panic seizes me. I struggle to breathe, and my vision blurs.
“You do not call Her Majesty by her name.” His claws press deeper. The pain shoots through me as his eyes burn with fury. “That honor belongs to her mate only.” He pulls me even closer, his fangs dangerously near my face. “You would do well to remember that.”
I nod frantically, the pressure on my throat making it impossible to speak. Tears sting my eyes.
I just can’t take it anymore.
I hear more footsteps, and another vólkin joins them. “I smelled piss from a sprint away. Who’s guilty this time?” He chuckles. “Oh, what’s that in your paws? Is this part of the trial?”
I can feel his gaze on my back.
Great, another one. Why are the gods never on my side?
“I don’t think so,” the first vólkin replies, loosening his grip on me.
“Though this human claims he’s met Her Majesty.”
The newcomer hums in amusement. “Should we bring him to her and let her decide?”
“What about the trial? I don’t feel like hunting for the feast.” The second vólkin sighs.
Feast?
The one holding me leans in, a vicious smile creeping across his face.
“I think we’ve got a pretty good excuse to skip out.
” He looks me over with narrowed eyes. “We can’t present you to Her Majesty like this, though.
” His grip on my throat tightens again, sending a fresh wave of fear through me.
“Let’s get you cleaned up first. You stink worse than a boar’s corpse. ”
The vólkins lead the way to the nearest stream, their massive bodies moving easily through the forest. In contrast, each of my steps feels like it’s echoing through the trees as my weakened body struggles to keep up with them. Every bruised inch of me aches, and my ribs scream with each breath.
I can feel their eyes on me, watching, studying. It’s like walking with predators, and I know full well that I’m the prey. They don’t need to bind my wrists or tie me up—they know I’m no threat. I can barely walk, let alone try to escape.
“We’re almost there,” one of them grunts, not even sparing me a glance.
My legs feel like they might give out any moment, but I nod and try to keep my balance. The only thing keeping me moving is the knowledge that if I stop, they won’t help me. They’d probably laugh.