Chapter 34 Arctos
Arctos
Breathy words brushed his ear, obscuring some distant sound. A call? His name?
Arctos stilled, listening hard.
Probably just a reveler still roaring down at the banquet. He’d been the topic tonight.
“What is it, lover?” Undara’s gaze was watchful, her bare skin hot against his. “You were coiled tight all through dinner. And we’ve never been this slow to undress on our first night back together.” She’d just been outlining exactly what she planned to treat him to this eve.
He should have been overjoyed with anticipation. Instead, taut. Because of Emilia. “Nothing. Thought I heard something.”
“Or maybe your musings are with your new wife?” Undara asked without bite. Nymphs rarely got possessive of a lover, one of the benefits of bedding them. “You wouldn’t be alone. Everyone chattered about you two. So much speculation.”
Yrsa’s face when she’d spotted Undara on his arm had been unreadable, Dagny’s eloquent: Uh, men. Prying looks had followed him all evening. He’d barely tasted the food.
I am wed. The thought had looped like a curse. Wed to an enemy, not by his choosing—but wed. For the first time, another thought had cut through: What if Emilia doesn’t mean harm to us?
He kept picturing her when he’d left. A tight smile on a too-pale face, those amber eyes unblinking.
Not jealous. Defeated. Yet he hadn’t once seen that look in all her harsh training.
He lurched to his feet, toppling Undara onto the bed. “Apologies.” He searched for his clothing.
“You are in a state, aren’t you?” She smoothed her flaxen hair from her face. “She’s a vampire, Arctos.”
“Yes.” Pants? There.
“A bloodthief by birth.”
“Yes.” Tunic.
“She might mean your people harm.”
“Yes.” Boots!
“She might…not.”
He met her gaze and gave one short nod. If Emilia was innocent, then she deserved what she’d been promised: a place in the clan. His actions tonight had undermined that prospect. He buckled his sword belt and echoed Undara’s words. “She might not.”
“Then go to her,” Undara said simply, “and figure that out.”
From a distance, his name carried again: “Arctos!”
Emilia.
He bolted out into the night. Deserted—everyone still feasting. Once he neared his home, he yelled, “Lia!”
No answer. No fucking guard? Inside, her cloak and sword were gone. Outside, a red-faced sentry fumbled with his breeches while a woman adjusted her clothes.
“Where is Emilia?”
Thick swallow. “I don’t know, sir. She must’ve slipped out.”
No time for fury. “Say nothing. Find Torben alone. Send him to the river.” Arctos ran.
Gusts funneled through the ravines, each corridor with its own voice, a symphony of howls. He charged into the wind, head low, blade ready.
Suspicions flared and dimmed with each stride. Was she meeting an accomplice? Fleeing a poisoned feast? He shoved them aside and hunted for what he needed.
Scent.
There—faint, then stronger, threaded with cold. He followed it to the river’s edge and found tracks. Her pack and a loaf tossed aside. Beside them: prints the size of platters. Bear. A nearby shelf of ice, edges shattered.
He sprinted to an overlook. Moonlight illuminated the current—and her, small and flailing far downstream.
He leapt over boulders, sprinting faster than the current. He knew every bend, every snag. If he beat the river to the bottleneck, he could pull her; if he failed, she’d go over the falls and onto stone teeth.
She’d likely drown first.
Adrenaline pumped. Questions swirled.
Why escape to the ice? Why not fight?
Later. Move. Berserkerage beckoned, but he throttled it. His inner bear might instantly rise, but when it did, a total, consuming rage blotted out his sense. He needed the extra speed, but he needed to think. “Lia!” he roared when she surfaced.
She jerked her head back, saw him closing in. Their gazes locked for an instant.
Help me, hers said.
Coming for you, his answered.
She bobbed and vanished. His heart convulsed. He let his Berserkerage bleed into his muscles, not enough to blind him, just enough to burn.
He dove.
Knives of cold stabbed him. The current punched him end over end, white churn dimming his vision.
There. A pale shape, caught in the snarl just before the drop.
He kicked. Fingers grazed hair, slipped, then caught. He fisted the sodden length and hauled her in.
The river seized them both, dragging them toward the lip. He could let her go and survive.
No.
He fed his rage, and power flooded his limbs as he kicked, clawing inches. A boot skimmed rock. He lunged, slammed his free hand into the ice shelf. Again. Again—until a jagged channel opened. He dragged them through and hauled her onto stone.
No breath. Fighting to tamp down his rage, he sealed his mouth over hers and pushed his exhalations into quiet lungs. Another breath. Another.
Her heart lay silent under his palm.
Have I lost her? He rose to start compressions, but her body convulsed. Relief sailed through him when her heart stuttered back to life.
She rolled to her side and heaved water, coughing, shaking.
Only then did he sink back, the last of the Berserker heat draining into fury. They were feet from the falls!
She swiped her sleeve over her blue lips and gingerly sat up. “Th-that was close. Y-you saved me. Thank—”
“Who were you meeting?” he grated.
She blinked at him. “Meeting?” Her confusion looked real. “I-I was leaving Ravinelun.”
The bread backed her story. “When did you learn the ravines?”
“Half an hour ago?”
“How?”
“Necessity.”
“You gave no thought to the dangers of leaving?”
She sputtered, “You n-never told me bears would attack!”
“They’re usually farther out.” He stabbed his fingers through his icy hair. “You could’ve been killed, just months before you’re fully immortal.”
“I-I want you to have your old life! And I want a life too.” Her voice shook. “This isn’t fair to either of us.”
But it had been royally decreed. If Yrsa learned she’d fled…
Another shudder rocked Emilia. She could still die of cold. The bear might return. Fighting his post-rage exhaustion, he levered himself to his feet, swept her up, and ran. In his arms, she stiffened at the nearness.
“Easy.” By the time he reached the ravines, the tension had left her body, and her lids had closed. His panic returned, giving his numbed legs speed. In the next corridor, he met Torben’s wild stare.
“What in the hells, Arctos?”
“Thank you, cousin. I have all in hand.”
“The vampire disobeyed an order,” Torben said low. “Your beloved regent will rage. And it looks like you might actually give a damn about this one’s fate now.”
Arctos muttered, “Tell the sentry and anyone who asks that Emilia took some air over a…jealous impulse. And hide her bag.” Lies now? For a vampire.
Torben nodded and hurried away.
In his den, Arctos laid her on the bearskin before the fire. She didn’t wake. He fed logs until heat licked the room, then fetched a blanket. He stripped off her boots, yanked free her pants.
She blinked groggily, uncomprehending. When he reached for her shirt, she came back to herself. “I can do it.” Her fingers fumbled and failed.
“You have to get warm.”
He tore off her shirt, wrapped her in the blanket, then drew out one arm at a time to chafe heat into her skin. “Better?”
“Better. Clothes?”
“Yes.” He fetched a long nightgown. “Can you manage?” When she weakly nodded, he turned his back.
A few moments later: “Dressed.”
He turned back, stifling a wince. Her face matched the fabric. “You’re too pale.” He poured vodka, stunned by how small and fragile she looked. “Drink.” He handed her the shot of liquor.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Drink.”
She dutifully took a sip, coughing from the burn. At least her fangs stopped chattering.
“I’ll return.” In his study, he stripped off his own drenched clothes, changed, then rejoined her.
She sat on a bench by the fire, glass in hand, her expression miserable. “I’m so sorry for putting you in danger.”
“You packed a sword. Why not slay the bear?” Then she wouldn’t have fallen in, wouldn’t have screamed his name while he lay with another.
He would’ve spent the entire night with Undara, plenty of time for Emilia to escape—or for her to face other deadly perils outside his protection. The thoughts burned.
“The beast was enormous, its reach long. I didn’t believe I could strike it before it struck me.” Another sip of vodka, another cough. “And I thought your people held them sacred. I didn’t want you to kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“You still think I’m a spy. Or some kind of saboteur. You believed I was meeting someone.” She frowned down at her drink, then finished it, so he repoured.
“I did. Though you probably wouldn’t have packed bread for such a short rendezvous.”
“Maybe I packed it in case I got caught.”
“Maybe.” The last of the Berserker afterburn left him shaking. “Godsdamn it, woman, you’ve tied me into knots. I was angry when you arrived here, and I said things I shouldn’t have. Things you clearly took to heart. I’ll remain on guard with you. But I won’t hurt you.”
“You can’t live like this either. You hardly eat. You’ve lost weight. I hear you pacing at night.”
“Is that why you left tonight? Why not wait until you are capable of regeneration?”
“I wondered that myself when the bear appeared.”
“Answer me, Emilia.”
“The opportunity arose.”
“In other words, the guard was occupied. Interesting that you don’t want to get him into any more trouble.”
A small, unhelpful shrug.
“What were you running toward?” he demanded. “What drove you?” Another shrug. “In a perfect Skein, what would your existence look like?”
“You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Just tell me.”
She finished her shot, held out her glass. After a hesitation, he poured.
As if for courage, she tossed it back and spoke through the burn: “You’re not the only one who once dreamed of marriage!
I…I want a scholar vampire. We read. We fall in love.
We have a baby or two. We wave to neighbors.
” A shaky breath. “You’re right about Umber—it is dangerous—but I’m more likely to find a life there than here. ”
A scholar vampire? Arctos was as far from her dreams as could be imagined. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
She continued, “It’s the land of outcasts, and guess what I am.” She unsteadily waved at herself. “An outcast from at least two territories. And those are only the ones I’ve been to! More outcasting may arise.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“As much as you deserve to see your nymph,” she added quietly, “when everyone watches you rebuke your ‘wife,’ they’ll never accept me. I’m not blaming you. I’m just…saying.”
Heat stung his wind-chapped face. She wasn’t wrong. He poured himself a measure and downed it.
She lifted her glass as well, already looking affected.
He wanted answers. He poured. “I can’t give you everything you want,” he said. “But I could give you some freedom—if you make me believe you mean us no harm.”
She finished her glass and set it on the bench. “I told you what my father planned. I wanted to escape that fate.”
“You told me a story.” He kept his tone even. “The more I see your courage, the less that story fits. Why not resist in Bloodreach? Why not rally others to your side?”
Questions that could be hurled at him about Yrsa. That same heat bit him.
Emilia dropped her head in her hands. “There was no support. Never would be.” He scarcely heard her over the crackling flames.
“I don’t believe you had no one. Not a friend. Not a noble. Not a sibling ally.”
From behind the delicate veil of her fingers, she said, “No one but Nadje.” Emilia raised her head with a swallow. “We don’t have to do this. You’ll never believe me, and I don’t blame you.”
Frustration burgeoned. “You can’t get out of this so easily!
I know you keep secrets. Reveal them. After tonight, I’ve earned some trust from you!
” He’d nearly gone over the falls for a fucking vampire.
Maybe he was as crazy as this one! Anger toward her flared.
And anger toward his queen for keeping him mortal. “Make me believe you!”
Pink tears brightened her eyes. “I can’t!”
“Anything, Emilia. Anything.”
When she noticed his clenched fists, she warily stood, tottering on her feet. Her pupils were huge from the vodka and the events of the night.
He forced his fists to uncurl. “Why not stay in Bloodreach and fight?”
“There was no time! I was days away from the crypt and would’ve died down there.”
“Your parents consider you a treasure. A day walker. They didn’t decree your death.” He grated, “Try again.”
“They didn’t but another did,” she finally said. “He told me the crypt could fail. That it had weaknesses.”
“Who?”
She didn’t seem to hear him, lost in memory. “I told you that the sun first hit me after a storm. This was true. I can’t lie.” Her throat worked. “But I did leave out something.”
Arctos hardened himself against some new disclosure.
“I ran for the sun,” she said, voice gone thread thin. “Headlong. Because I believed it would kill me.”