Chapter 33 #2
He rips a beam from where it’s stood for a century, at least. The wall finally crumbles without it. Hunter tosses the beam onto the pile to be taken to the wall.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” he admits.
Suddenly, I feel exhausted, and not just from the manual labor. “I don’t either.”
We don’t speak again as we pile wood into the cart. By the time we haul it back through the courtyard, dusk is curling over the hills like a slow tide. Above us, the first stars begin to pierce the darkening sky.
With the night encroaching, people are finally beginning to rest. They gather in small groups, whispering and sharing waterskins. Lanterns gutter in the wind. Their light casts long shadows, making everyone look even more exhausted.
Hunter and I drop the last load of beams near the north wall and, for a moment, we just stand there. The ache in my arms has sunk deep into my bones, matching the pounding in my head.
Across the courtyard, Tristan is speaking to the village leaders, gesturing toward the weak points in the battlements. His silhouette is sharp and black against the firelight, like he’s made of shadows.
Hunter wipes the dirt from his hands and mumbles, “You should eat something.” The words are gruff, but I know he’s trying to be kind.
I shake my head. “Not hungry.”
He hesitates, as if he might argue before his shoulders sag. He turns away without another word, disappearing into the crowd of villagers who huddle around the fires. I’m left standing alone, a splintered board still clutched in my hands.
I drop it and walk through the crowd, careful to avoid making eye contact with anyone.
I don’t think I have the strength to chat, knowing how many of us will be dead in the morning.
I check the defenses we managed to scrape together.
The gate is reinforced now, though the wood groans under its own weight.
Makeshift barricades of stone and chopped trees line the walls.
Every able-bodied man and woman carries a weapon, some little more than farm tools.
It’s not enough. But it’s all we have.
I climb a guard tower that leads up the outer wall.
My boots trip on the crumbling stairs, but I don’t summon my light.
I’d rather not draw attention to myself.
At the top, the wind hits me full in the face, cold and sharp with the scent of smoke.
I lean against the guard tower, disappearing into its shadow as I watch the Spires fade into twilight.
Somewhere out there, the Fox Army moves ever north. And tomorrow they’ll be here.
I grip the battlement’s edge, the old stone rough under my fingers. Part of me wishes the soldiers were here already. That I could see their copper banners slicing through the mist, and feel their war drums shaking the earth. At least then the waiting would be over.
Behind me, I hear footsteps. I know it’s Tristan before he speaks.
“You shouldn’t be up here alone.” His voice is quieter than I expected. Not the sharp-edged tone he used earlier.
I don’t turn around. “I want to look my father in the eye when he finally gets here.”
Tristan lets out a low grumble of a laugh. “I doubt he’ll see you up here in the dark.”
I shrug. “Fine. I can’t stand waiting down there with everyone else.”
“You’ve never been especially patient.”
He comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel his heat through the chill. Close enough that it hurts. Something aches deep in my core. It feels like regret mixed with longing. We stare out over the dark mountains together.
Finally, Tristan exhales. “Red ...”
I cut him off before he can finish. “It doesn’t matter.”
It does. But if I let him say it, then something inside me will crack open. And I can’t afford that. Not now.
He turns to look at me, and I allow myself to take him in for the first time in days. His dark hair is windswept and tossed across his forehead. His black shirt is covered in dust and debris. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing strong forearms peppered with tiny scrapes and bruises from hard labor.
I can’t help but remember how those arms were wrapped around me not long ago. How his large hands gripped my waist, my shoulders, my jawline. How his full mouth trailed down the length of my body. How it made me feel alive for the first time in so, so long.
Despite everything, I can’t help but ache to be consumed by the fire of him again. To get lost in this Wolf’s shadow. To feel safe with the man who, by all accounts, should be my enemy.
He is my enemy, I remind myself. That has never changed. He is still the Dead Queen’s Wolf and I am still the Fox Heir, whether my father has disowned me or not.
The wind blows my hair from my messy braid.
Tristan reaches out and captures a strand in his hand.
He holds it between his fingers, almost reverently.
When I finally meet his stormy gaze, I see fear in it.
It’s the same kind I feel, but it’s not about the impending battle.
It’s the fear of having lost each other before we ever truly found a way to be together.
“You’re not fighting him alone this time,” Tristan says, voice low.
My throat tightens painfully. I look away, blinking hard against the sting in my eyes. “I know.”
In the courtyard behind us, fires bloom. The villagers are settling in for the night, their voices mixing into the sound of the wind.
Tristan's hand brushes against mine where it rests on the stone wall. It’s the barest touch, but his skin ignites mine. Neither of us pulls away. For a moment, we are simply two people standing on the edge of something too big and too terrible to name.
Tristan stares into my eyes with something like hunger, and I’m held captive by it. Here, on the precipice of death, nothing seems to matter but us. Nothing feels as real as the fire low in my belly and the desire I still feel for this Wolf, despite everything.
In one smooth movement, I grab the front of his shirt and press my lips to his. All else fades into shadow.
Tristan reacts instantly. He wraps his arms around me and turns our bodies into the guard tower.
Feverishly, I remove my tunic, leaving no question about what I want from him.
His hands move to untie the tight wrap around my breasts as I tear at his shirt, our arms fighting with the need for bare skin.
We bump into old wooden shields that topple to the ground at our feet.
I pull his dusty shirt over his head, unveiling his broad chest and shoulders in the moonlight.
I want to be angry. I am still angry, but that doesn’t quench the ache I feel at the sight of his thick-veined biceps and rippled stomach.
I trail my fingers over the scar on his chest, the injury that nearly killed him when we first met in Caerwen.
His eyes travel to the thin silver scar just below my jawline.
It’s a reminder that Caerwen nearly killed me too.
Yet somehow we both survived that place. Maybe we’ll survive this one too.
He kisses me like a man about to die, like I’m his last breath of air. His teeth nip my bottom lip, and I feel it swell as I capture his mouth with mine. I have never been kissed like this. All my youthful fumblings, and even my love-drunk forest romp with Hunter couldn’t compare.
Whatever this is, it isn’t sweet. It isn’t sentimental. It’s intoxicating lust. It’s primal hunger. It’s two people, forbidden, and colliding on the edge of destruction.
He finally unwinds the linen wrap around my chest and the fabric drops to the ground. My skin prickles at the caress of cool night air on my bare breasts. Tristan sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of me.
I tilt my chin up, giving him a good, long look. My face flushes at the audacity of the simple motion, but I am not the woman who once hid. I’m a huntress. And I know that, with one look at my naked body, I have ensnared a Wolf.
I pull him toward me, starving. My desire for skin-on-skin contact makes me lose all self-control.
I tug at his belt, feeling him strain against his leathers.
When I push his pants down, freeing him, I wrap my hand around his length and give him a tight squeeze.
Tristan lets out a muffled moan and leans into me.
With renewed urgency, he pulls at my leathers, tugging them over my hips and down my thighs. My skin prickles at the feel of his hands trailing down my legs. Finally freed, I kick them to the side. In moments, we’re both bare, dressed only in moonlight and shadow.
Tristan lifts my hips, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His cock presses hard against my inner thigh, his need matching my own. He kisses down my neck. I arch my back, grinding against him, clenching my thighs tighter around him.
Tristan groans. “Red …” His voice matches the ache I feel.
My nipples tighten as he takes one of my breasts and nips it with his teeth.
“I want you,” I gasp. “Now.”
His fingers grip my ass, hard. I’ll have bruises there tomorrow. The thought sends a thrill up my spine.
He laughs low. “I need to hear you beg.”