13. Blow the House Down
Wilder lay as still as his body would allow. Which was very, very still. His chest didn’t move as he breathed through his nose. He was going to kill Otto. What the fuck had he been thinking, having Maelys pack an outfit like that for her?
Calling her Legs would be torture now because all he would ever think about would be the perfection of hers. And good gods.
A groan built in the recesses of his hollow chest. He bit his fist to tamp it down. When the arousal that had flooded his senses had passed, he swallowed and prayed that she couldn’t hear it.
He was in a world of monumental muck. The gods had sent her to test him, dredging up his wildest fantasies and packaging them into a creature of his worst nightmares—the enemy.
He needed to focus on the bad to keep from seeing the good. She was dangerous, more than dangerous. She could bring about the destruction of the entire world.
Lyra shifted under the covers, and Wilder listened. Her breathing was not steady or slow; she was still awake. He had an uncontrollable urge to speak to her, but he bit his tongue. She was not his to assure or comfort. Let her figure this out on her own.
When she flopped onto her other side, he sighed.
“Sorry.”
Wilder didn’t respond.
“I’m not used to sleeping on something this soft.”
He rolled his eyes. The wooden floor dug into his spine.
“How long until morning?” she whispered.
Rage surged through him. Hadn’t he been clear enough that he wanted nothing to do with her?
The silence between them grew taught and when he could no longer bear it, he ground out, “Hours.”
“What will the journey be like?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the frustration flow through him in waves. He needed to stay angry.
“Maybe if you tried closing your eyes and mouth—you’d be able to sleep.”
There. That should have been obvious enough to her.
A bird squawked outside, and the sound pierced through the silent room.
“What was that?” she said, sitting up quickly in bed.
Before he knew it, her feet were thudding against the wooden floor, and she was standing at his feet, clutching her chest. Wilder sat up on his elbows. Moonlight poured through the small gap in the curtains behind her and outlined her body.
Gods dammit.
He had just stopped thinking about her legs, and now here they were.
“It. Was. A. Bird,” he ground out between clenched teeth, breathing sharply through his nose. Which only exacerbated his problem.
“That didn’t sound like any bird I’ve heard before.”
He could see her shoulders rapidly rising and falling.
“You haven’t been here long enough to have heard every bird. Go back to bed.”
Lyra stood there, twisting her shirt in her hands and staring down at him.
“Get in bed and go to sleep. We have a long journey ahead, and I’m not carrying you the entire way there,” he ordered her again.
He lay back down and covered his face with both hands, listening to her bare feet against the wood floors as she walked away.
Lyra drew the curtain back and peered outside. Her breath caught at the same time he smelled them.
The blood-curdling odor of the wulvers.
Images of mottled fur and elongated canines pelted his mind.
It hadn’t been a bird after all.
“Wilder,” she shrieked.
He was already on his feet, ripping her away from the window.
A bolt crashed through the glass and embedded in the opposite wall. He had clutched her to his chest as they had fallen onto the bed. Her body vibrated with fear, but she ripped herself out of his grip.
“I told you it wasn’t a bird!”
The door flew open. Maelys and Ridge were flanking Otto.
“We have company,” Otto said, drawing the steel blade at his side.
Ridge gripped his bow, already strung, in his hand, as his eyes darted around the room before landing on the arrow lodged in the wall.
Maelys gripped two daggers in her fists and scanned the hallway.
Wilder was already shoving his boots on and throwing Lyra’s at her.
“How many?”
Otto shook his head.
“Do we know which clan?”
“What is happening?” Lyra asked, struggling to get her boots back on.
Her fingers trembled so violently that he was surprised her voice had been steady.
Otto looked from Lyra to Wilder, gauging how much information to share.
Wilder took the boots from her and squatted down at her feet.
Shards of glass from the window crunched under his boots as he pushed hers onto her feet and then laced them up tight.
“Someone is after you.”
“Me!” She pointed to her chest. “How does anyone know where I am? You’ve kidnapped me!”
She moved to stand up, and he wrenched her back down in a crouch.
“Stay away from the window!”
Lyra covered her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming, and he could see the whites of her eyes swallow her emerald irises.
“They’ve got the building surrounded,” Otto muttered.
Maelys nodded and stalked to the end of the hall with quiet, sure steps.
“We’re gonna have to make a break for it,” Wilder said, looking from a frightened Lyra to a calm Otto.
“We’ll make it.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Lyra muttered. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
Sarcasm dripped from her every word, and if they weren’t in such a precarious position, Wilder might have admired her tenacity.
“Wilder doesn’t like to know.”
Lyra frowned at him. “Why?”
Wilder huffed. “Can we not do this now?”
“Ten seconds,” Otto added.
Wilder looked Lyra steadily in her eyes. Her throat bobbed as she forced a swallow.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t respond, but grabbed her under her arms and hauled her body to him.
“Close your eyes,” he said against the side of her head.
He didn’t even spare a second to see if she complied before he hurtled them out of the two-story window.
Lyra let out a mewling scream. He landed on his feet, Lyra’s body clutched firmly to his chest. She stared up at him with wonder for a split second before it turned to rage, and she pounded against his chest.
“How dare you?” she seethed as Maelys, Otto, and Ridge hit the ground running right beside them.
“We don’t have the time.” He threw her over his shoulder and sprinted into the night.
Howls reached their ears, and Wilder’s feet pounded harder against the ground.
He could outrun them on his own, even with their elongated limbs and advanced muscle tone. But it wouldn’t be possible with Lyra thrown over his shoulder.
Wilder saw the crimson eyes shining in the darkness as the wulver launched itself at them.
Mangy black fur helped camouflage the creature, but its eyes—they always gave it away. Its claws were outstretched, and Wilder could feel the ghost of that pain lashing down his spine.
Otto and Ridge streaked ahead, followed by Maelys.
Ridge stopped and whirled, firing two arrows.
Wilder felt them whiz by and then heard the crunch as they embedded into massive skulls.
There was a booming crash as the bodies slammed to the ground. He hadn’t realized there were two on his tail.
And the odor, he would never for as long as he lived, which would be a very long time, forget that smell.
These wulvers belonged to Igneous’ Clan.
And they were after her.
He had suffered at their hands, and no matter how much he despised Lyra, he wouldn’t wish that pain on even her.
They continued running through the forest, a blur among the still trees.
But the wulvers did not pursue them.
As the moon dropped lower in the sky, so did their pace before Wilder halted them.
Lyra slid off his shoulder and collapsed in a heap on the forest floor. Her hair was tangled, and her eyes were wild, but she did not seem frightened.
Quite the contrary, she was livid.
Wilder bent over at the waist, sucking down air to cool his burning throat and fatigued muscles.
Lyra clambered to her feet and shoved him.
“What,” she shoved again, “was that?”
Wilder stood and gripped her hands in front of him to keep her from touching him anymore.
“Someone knew we would be there. The humans found you too quickly, and the wulvers shouldn’t be anywhere near this village. Someone is after you.”
Maelys, Otto, and Ridge shifted on their feet, watching the exchange with a hint of amusement.
Lyra gave Wilder one scathing sweep of her eyes before she crossed her arms over her chest.
“You have a traitor in your midst.” She flung the accusation with precision before turning her glare to his guard.
Wilder took great offense at that. He had battled beside the three of them since he could hold a blade.
If there was a traitor, it was in his father’s court, or hers.
“Or you have one in yours.” He stood tall and smirked at her with all the arrogance he could muster. “Who else knows about your power?”
Lyra floundered for a retort and snarled her upper lip before shifting her attention to the crew and then back to him.
“Oh, trust me, they’ll know everything that I know. I don’t keep secrets from them. Tell them about your magic, Lyra.” He flung his arms out wide. “That’s why you’re in this mess, isn’t it? You wicked siren.” He spat the words venomously and watched as they cut her up.
Her chest heaved, and her eyes were lined with silver as she stared at him.
“I don’t use my magic,” she ground out, balling her hands into fists.
Wilder snorted. “Funny, I seem to remember feeling differently under your thrall.”
Maelys, Otto, and Ridge volleyed their heads back and forth but stayed quiet.
“It was an accident,” she screeched. “I never use my magic. I haven’t used it to save myself from you or the humans. It will consume me. It will destroy everything. And I hate it! I loathe myself for holding that power!”
Her words echoed around the silent forest.
Not a leaf rustled, nor a bird chirped in the early morning light.
Wilder felt her words like a punch to the gut. She hated herself, hated the part of herself that she had no control over.
Lyra stood in front of him, her lip trembling, but her shoulders squared.
“If your father seeks to use my power—kill me. Just kill me now and get it over with. I will never touch it.”
When she dropped to her knees and bowed her head in front of him, his chest tightened unbearably.
What kind of horror must she have lived through? Before he could respond, Maelys’ voice cracked like a whip.
“Enough.”
She stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Lyra. “That is enough.”
Lyra’s head rose as Maelys embraced her.
“We do not treat people this way, regardless of their kind or magic.”
She pulled Lyra to her feet and led them away from the men.
“Let me tell you my story …”
Wilder could feel the hollowness in his chest devouring the rest of him.
For Maelys to share her story with Lyra spoke volumes.
There must be something in Lyra worth saving, worth fighting for.