Chapter 32 #2
“He won’t hurt me,” repeated Saga, sending her most assertive gaze at Rov. “Let me try. And if I succeed, then you and the Druzhina must go and get some rest.”
Perhaps it was due to exhaustion, or perhaps it was the determination he read in Saga’s eyes, but Rov relented with a dramatic sigh. Muttering in unintelligible Zagadkian, he retrieved a key from his pocket and slid it into the door.
Then Rov paused, sending Saga a sidelong glance. He pulled a dagger from his hip and held the hilt toward her. Saga stared at it blankly, but her mind replayed those gruesome sounds in the gallery—Kassandr ripping out throats and tossing men as though they were made of straw.
She pushed the dagger back to Rov. “What good will a blade do against him?”
Rov’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Is madness. Kassandr will carve out my entrails and wear them as a necklace.” But at Saga’s unrelenting stare, he sighed. “You are certain?”
She nodded.
And with that, he turned the key and eased the door open.
Saga kept her movements slow and steady to avoid startling the beast as she entered the room, but she could not suppress her gasp as she took in the space.
It looked as though a windstorm had crashed through it.
A heavy table was upended, its chairs reduced to kindling.
Clothing was torn, the walls and floors gouged with claw marks, and shards of glass scattered the floor.
And there, with his back to her, was the beast. Saga stared.
His back was broad and covered with wolf-like fur, with bony protrusions bursting along the length of it.
These spikes were as long as her hand and curved to sharp points, and Saga’s gaze traced their path down his spine where they gradually diminished, giving way to a barbed tail.
There was something decidedly wolf-like about him, and yet so much more that was entirely other.
Saga felt her pulse in her wrists, her knees, her temples. His tail lashed back and forth, breaths sawing heavily in and out from him. Saga had a moment of trepidation, wondering if the smoke from the stables had addled her mind.
But she took another step forward, then slid the door closed behind her. The click of the latch was loud in the silent room. Tufted ears pricked.
And then hundreds of pounds of snarling beast charged at her.
He was all blood-flecked fur and hard muscle, pointed teeth and jagged claws—a predator designed to maim and kill.
Saga’s body reacted as though she were prey, screaming at her to flee, to take cover before this beast ripped her limb from limb.
But those green eyes anchored her in place, forcing her to stand her ground.
Those eyes belonged to Kassandr. And Kassandr would never harm her.
His once-gray muzzle was matted with blood and pulled into a vicious snarl as he lunged at her.
Saga tried not to look at the gleaming fangs, instead focusing on those eyes—Kassandr’s eyes.
They were mad with bloodlust, flooding her with apprehension.
What if she’d miscalculated? What if his beastly nature could not identify her?
But then she saw the flash of recognition.
The beast’s claws gouged the floorboards as he tried to slow the momentum careening his enormous form across the room.
He came to a stop bare inches from her, and Saga finally released her breath.
Crouched on his long forelegs, the beast stood eye-to-eye with Saga, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other.
He was so near that she could smell him—wet fur and the iron scent of blood—so near she could now see how his muscles clenched and unclenched with each labored breath.
“What is it?” she asked, aiming for soothing, but landing on something sharper. Saga hadn’t a clue of what she was doing—she didn’t know if he could even understand her.
Kassandr jolted, and a whine came from low in his chest. It was clear he was in discomfort, but she could not tell if he was in pain.
“Come to the bed. Let me look at you.” Saga took a cautious step forward, but as that barbed tail lashed to and fro, she stopped.
The whine shifted into a growl, and he resumed his pacing.
Saga released a frustrated sigh. “You must rest, Kass.”
The beast continued prowling about.
“Get on the bed, Kassandr. Now.” Part of Saga wanted to laugh. In some other life, those words might have an altogether different meaning.
Without waiting for him to comply, Saga marched to the bed herself.
Wincing as her soot-stained garments dragged along the fine linens, she crawled to the middle of the bed and reclined against the carved wooden headboard.
The scent from the bedding hit her senses—herbal and woodsy, with the faintest traces of sweat—and for a single, dizzying moment, she was acutely aware of whose bed this was.
Saga gave herself a mental shake and patted the blanket. “Bed, Kass.”
His eyes filled with something that looked an awful lot like fear, and in that moment, Saga understood. “I know you won’t hurt me, you obstinate man. Now get on the gods damned bed.”
Slowly, his long, angular forelegs drew forward, thick muscular hind legs powering him toward her.
Another cautious bound forward, and then he slowly…
carefully…climbed onto the bed. As he crawled toward her, Saga’s heartbeat picked up.
Kassandr was a large man, but his beast was nearly twice as large.
In this form he easily took up half the bed.
With slow, deliberate movements, Kassandr eased himself down, laying his head on her lap with a soft whine. She nearly gasped at the weight of him—nearly made a joke about such a large head for such a mindless man—but Saga knew it was not the right moment.
“You’re trembling,” she murmured, her fingertips grazing the thick tufts of fur around his ears.
The clench and release of his muscles continued, and an idea struck Saga. Gathering her courage, she found the joint of his shoulder and began tapping in a gentle rhythm.
After the explosion she’d caused in Sunnavík, Saga had told Rurik she had not been in control. And his reply?
I understand. More than you know.
“This has happened to you before,” she murmured, continuing the taps.
He nuzzled deeper into her lap, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Perhaps I am beginning to understand you better.” The muscles beneath her fingers shuddered, and a wave of empathy flooded her.
She, too, understood how it felt to be helpless against her body’s own reaction. How vulnerable he must feel right now.
Saga began to hum. It was a silly song her mother had once sung to her, but it made her think of kinder days.
And she could have sworn Kass’s agitation eased just a touch by the time she reached the second verse.
She continued to hum, her fingers tapping against Kass’s shoulder for several minutes.
Gradually, his tremors quieted, his breaths growing more rhythmic.
And as he loosed a long, contented sigh, she regarded him.
In her previous encounters with this side of Kassandr, she’d been too frightened to examine him closely.
But now, with him sprawled across her lap, she let herself look.
He was not all teeth and claws and spiny protrusions, she realized.
His fur was an assortment of grays and whites, even a few soft browns along the top of his wolf-like snout.
Delicate black whiskers framed his muzzle and sprang from above his eyes—eyes that gazed right back at Saga, filled with what looked like… shame.
“I think you’re rather striking,” she whispered.
Saga hesitated, then slid her fingers into the thick fur on his neck, surprised at how soft it was here compared with his shoulder. She gave him a gentle scratch. A low rumble came from his chest, and Saga blinked. But this was no growl—it was softer and far more steady.
“Are you purring?”
The sound only intensified, vibrating through her, and soon Saga grinned like a delighted fool.
She grew more bold, her fingers rubbing behind his ears and down his neck, searching for the places he liked the most. But eventually, the purring faded, and she realized his eyes had fallen shut.
Asleep. Kassandr had fallen asleep with his head on her lap.
With a sigh, Saga prepared to extricate herself so she could return to her chambers. But a wave of exhaustion struck her. She did not even know which wing she was in, nor how to get back to her chambers.
“I’ll just close my eyes for a moment,” she told herself. Saga leaned back against the headboard. Let her eyes fall shut. Sleep found her mere minutes later.
Kassandr woke to the telltale throb in his skull that told him he’d given too much to his beast—had stayed too long in that form. His muscles ached, his body wrung out, but the scent in his nose had him alert at once. Looking up, he confirmed that his current pillow was, in fact, Saga Volsik’s lap.
Everything rushed back.
His Saga had faced him down when his bloodlust was at its worst. She had used the taps and stroked his fur; had eased his pain and discomfort.
In the past, the only way to calm him from such a state had involved entrapping him in a bathhouse with sedative herbs applied to the hot rocks.
Hours, it sometimes took, before the tranquilizing steam took hold. How had she done it?
His beast stretched in contentment as Kassandr stared up at her face. In sleep, his Saga looked so peaceful. But the ash and dirt coating her face told of long, trying days, as did her gray and torn dress. And yet she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Slumped against the headboard, Saga held her neck at an uncomfortable angle. Kassandr lifted his head from her lap and, as gently as he could manage, eased her onto the bed beside him. Her eyelids fluttered, unintelligible mutterings coming from her lips, but his Saga soon settled.
Kassandr placed his bare chest to her back and curled himself around her. One arm draped over her hip, his hand clasped around her wrist. Gods, he could snap this wrist with barely a thought—could have easily killed her last night. She’d been so brave to face him.
Her hair tickled his nose, her scent not quite overpowered by smoke. Inwardly, his beast purred contentedly at her nearness. Mine, it said.
Ours, Kass corrected, but paused. Something about that word didn’t feel right.
As Saga’s rhythmic breathing filled the room, Kassandr probed this strange unease.
He pulled a lock of ash-stained hair between his fingers, examining the singed tips.
Rov had reported that Saga had exhausted their supplies making fire flasks.
She’d tasked Elisava with setting up a healer’s station, while she herself had rallied a fire brigade.
And apparently, she’d run into the burning stables to free the murderous winged horse.
His beast’s purrs halted at that, a low snarl rumbling through him.
Kassandr had taken her from íseldur to keep her safe. But Saga had been in danger for days now—would be in danger so long as she remained on the isle of Zagadka.
His unease grew and spread, and his beast released a soft whimper. What was this strangeness? It was a nervous feeling, as though he could not relax. But then the word crystallized in his mind, and Kassandr couldn’t shake it.
Regret.
Did he…regret taking Saga from íseldur? Immediately, Kassandr rejected the notion. Always, he’d lived his life by intuition—he chose swiftly and decisively, and did not waste time on trifling emotions like regret. There was only forward. Only the future.
Saga rolled over, and reluctantly Kass relented his grip. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at him for a single, sleep-addled moment.
“Dobroye utro, moya koroleva,[*]” he said softly.
Saga’s blond brows drew together as she pondered the Zagadkian meaning, and it took every shred of his will not to take her into his arms—not to kiss her as he had in those gardens in Sunnavík. She’d done a selfless thing for him last night, and he did not want to frighten her off.
“You are…well?” she said in stunted Zagadkian.
He nodded.
She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “It has happened before? Creature…troubles?”
With a resigned sigh, Kassandr nodded again. He switched to íseldurian. “You might notice my animal form differs from others. Not a wolf, but something…other. Is rare affliction falling once in generation. And I am lucky recipient.” He hoped his sarcasm was obvious.
Saga seemed to ponder his words, her teeth sinking into her soft lower lip. Gods, she was adorable like this, all sleep-mussed and docile. “But you lose control,” she said after a minute.
Kassandr’s gaze roamed her face. “Aye. My beast is strong. Has great power. But with this strength comes problems. He is…difficult to control. But you, Saga, tamed my beast, and for that I am grateful.”
Her gaze had settled on his chin, and Kassandr wondered what she was thinking. Did she understand now, how he knew of the taps? Did she now see that he, too, was prisoner to his body’s response? Kassandr watched curiously as the black of her eyes spread.
“I can do it again.” Saga’s gaze snapped up to his. “If you wish it, I mean.”
His beast gave an appreciative howl, a smile spreading wide on Kassandr’s lips. “I wish it.”
The moment was broken by a harsh knock at the door which had Kassandr and Saga jolting up. Rovgolod did not wait for permission to enter—the irritating man barged right into the room. Rov’s dark eyes jumped from Saga to Kassandr, his brows raising a hair’s breadth.
“What is it?” demanded Kassandr, his beast growling in displeasure.
“Siege tower,” barked Rov. “The Urkans, they— Behind the sail, they have constructed a siege tower unlike anything I have ever seen. As tall as five men stacked high and covered with iron plates. Battering rams and catapults and cover for a hundred archers.”
Kassandr was silent for several long moments, his mind racing in search of a plan. There was a weakness to every weapon. He needed merely to find it. But as he sorted through all the ways they might best an enormous, iron-plated siege tower, he was forced to reckon with an unsettling truth.
They were woefully unprepared for a weapon like this.
It was then that Kassandr knew: The city would fall.
Skip Notes
* Good morning, my queen.