Chapter Fourteen Blodwyn #2
A crow dives low enough that its talons graze my hand.
I yelp, dropping the reins at the same time that Phantom vaults over a small stream.
I’m tossed from my seat. Pain lances through my shoulder where I land, the frigid water instantly soaking through my clothes.
But I’m more concerned about the crows. I throw my arms over my face to defend myself against the impending storm of talons and beaks.
But the forest is suddenly silent. I peek through my fingers.
The blasted creatures are nowhere in sight.
I suck down ragged breaths, scanning the treetops. Where have they gone?
Looking for you. The thought resurfaces, sending a chill through me that cuts far deeper than the freezing stream water.
Movement sounds to my right. The claimant. I scramble to my feet. By some miracle, my quiver is still slung around my back and my bow is nearby. I snatch it up and yank an arrow free just as a figure steps from between the trees.
“Don’t come any—” I stop short, recognition slamming into me. Because it’s not the claimant who chased me. It’s Gavin. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing? I saw you barreling through the forest and—”
“And what? You wanted the pleasure of killing me yourself?”
“Kill you? Did…” He pauses and checks around us. “Did someone try to harm you?”
“Don’t pretend like you care.” I draw my bowstring back. “You made your feelings about me perfectly obvious at the game.”
“Oh, you mean the game where you tried to murder me?”
“I wasn’t trying to…” I stop myself. He doesn’t deserve an explanation. “Go away.”
“Much as I might want to, I’m not leaving you alone like this. You’re bleeding.”
Bleeding? Gavin motions to his forehead and I swipe my palm over my own. It comes away slick with red. I guess this is my punishment for lobbing a ball at his face earlier, even if it was an accident.
“I’ll manage.”
He releases a frustrated breath. “Are you always like this?”
“Are you always like this?”
“I’m helping you!” His voice rises enough that several birds fly out of the branches.
“Oh, certainly.” I bark a laugh. “The only reason I’m out here, competing for my own throne is because of your help. Thank you very much.”
Gavin steps closer. “Have you ever considered that if you have to compete for something, it was never yours to begin with?”
My blood roils.
“And have you ever considered that your opinion might not be the only one that matters? Or do you just barge into everyone’s lives and—”
He holds up a hand. Is he silencing me?
“Don’t you dare tell me to—”
But then I hear it. A low growl reverberates in the distance.
An instant later, a hulking black shape stalks from the darkness beyond.
Every hair on my body rises. Because I have seen such a beast before a hundred times in my nightmares.
One of its crimson eyes is missing, but the other locks with mine: a Nevenwolf.
“Get behind me,” Gavin orders, keeping his voice low.
He pulls me closer. Electricity ratchets up my arm at his touch. At the smell of cedar and clove that clings to his body.
“Let go,” I retort, yanking myself free.
I’d rather be devoured by a Nevenwolf than allow Gavin to play savior.
That is…until the creature prowls nearer, hackles raised.
My skin goes clammy, and I grapple with my bow, readying my shot.
The Nevenwolf growls in a way that sounds like laughter, its rows of jagged teeth glinting and dripping with saliva.
I don’t let myself think about what those teeth could do to my flesh.
Hands trembling, I release my shot. The creature howls as the arrow embeds in its flank.
But I’ve clearly only made the beast angry.
“Duck!” Gavin yells, knocking me down with him just as the Nevenwolf soars over our heads. Gavin looks at me. “You were saying?”
“I can—”
A branch cracks behind me, followed by the too-close thunder of hooves as another animal gallops into the clearing. I blink, bewildered. It’s…the stag. What is he doing here? I watch, stunned, as the two beasts square up against each other.
“Come on,” Gavin says, tugging at me. “This is our chance.”
Running is the smart thing to do. The only thing to do if we want to live. But my feet don’t obey. The golden apple still dangles from the stag’s antlers, an apple that wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for me. I can’t just walk away. Not now.
Fighting every scrap of common sense urging me to do otherwise, I yank another arrow from my quiver and launch it at the Nevenwolf. The beast snarls and whirls, giving the stag the opportunity to thrash with its antlers. It knocks the Nevenwolf sideways.
“Have you lost your mind?” Gavin demands.
Probably. “Either help me or don’t.”
He mutters something under his breath, but then I hear a whistle.
His arrow sails across the clearing and spears the Nevenwolf’s shoulder—another, its rib cage.
The creature bellows, its patience evidently at an end.
The stag charges, but the Nevenwolf is ready.
It lunges, teeth snapping for the stag’s neck.
“Stop!” I shout, loosing another arrow.
It’s enough to distract the Nevenwolf, who turns its red-eyed attention on me.
Time seems to thicken as the creature approaches, its teeth bared.
All feeling rushes out of me, leaving nothing but the furious rhythm of my heartbeat slamming against my sternum.
I brace myself for a killing blow. But then—
A roar splits the clearing.
The stag pummels into the Nevenwolf with such force that one of the stag’s antlers splinters.
The Nevenwolf is thrown across the clearing, leaving a dent where it collides with the trunk of a tree.
It struggles to rise. When it does, its single eye locks with mine, the moment pulling long and taut.
I’m not sure if it will attack again—or if the stag has the strength to fend it off.
It doesn’t matter. Abruptly, the Nevenwolf’s massive head turns to the side, its attention caught by something I can’t see.
It gives a single huff, then bounds away into the forest, vanishing into a cloud of shadow.
“Are you all right?” Gavin asks, breathless.
“Fine, I think,” I say though my hands are shaking so badly that I can hardly hold my bow. “What about—”
“This way!” A man’s voice carries through the trees. “It came from over here!”
A moment later, about a dozen members of the hunting party surround us. Aunt Margaret is first among them. Her mouth drops open as she takes in the scene.
“Is that a stag?” she asks. “What on earth happened to it? And to you?”
I start to answer, but Gavin beats me to it.
“It was a Nevenwolf,” he announces, earning a chorus of horrified gasps.
“A Nevenwolf?” Lord Warbeck repeats, steering his horse to the front of the group. “And you fought it off? Well done, boy!”
But Gavin shakes his head. “The princess did most of the fighting.”
Lord Warbeck scoffs. “Now is not the time to be gallant, son. You—”
“It’s the truth,” Gavin insists. “The kill is hers.”
It’s my turn to be shocked. Any other claimant would claim the victory for themselves. Why didn’t he?
“Finish it,” Gavin says quietly, nudging a knife into my hand.
Finish it and win, that small voice urges.
My attention returns to the stag. He’s lying on the ground, legs folded underneath his body, white pelt glistening a garish red with his own blood.
Pain shines in his amber eyes and his breath steams in short, panicked bursts.
The golden apple still dangles from the creature’s antlers.
Gingerly, I make my way over to him, my pulse thudding against the hilt of the knife.
But I don’t strike. I won’t. Instead, I reach for the cord holding the apple and slice it free.
“Blodwyn,” Aunt Margaret calls. “What are you doing? Finish the job.”
“No,” I reply. “This stag saved my life. I’m not going to take his in repayment.”
“This is against the rules,” Lord Warbeck objects. “If she doesn’t—”
“The rules state that the claimants have to return with the prize.” I hold up the apple. “They specify nothing about a kill.”
Lord Warbeck huffs, irritated. “Weston—set this straight.”
Sir Weston frowns. “Technically…the princess is correct. If she’s in possession of the apple, she’s earned her place.”
Lord Warbeck starts to argue again, but Aunt Margaret cuts him off.
“More than earned it,” she calls. “The princess has demonstrated her sense of compassion, as well as her courage. Well done, Blodwyn!”
The others absorb this, dubious. But as the seconds stretch on, more people begin to nod in acceptance. I glance at Gavin, but his expression gives nothing away.
“To the princess,” someone shouts. “Who spared the stag and bested a Nevenwolf!”
The others take up the cheer, some of them calling my name. But my attention settles on someone near the back of the group. Ayleth. In her eyes, I don’t detect pride or even astonishment. Instead, something like fear flashes in the depths of her gaze.