Chapter 23
Alette
I’m just about ready to call it a night when the world starts to shudder. Not the kind of quake you get from a distant storm, not the way wind shakes leaves, but a slow, rolling tremor that rattles the ground beneath my hips and makes the bones of my skull ring.
Oberon is the first to speak. “Does anyone feel that?”
He says it so quietly it might just be to himself. For a second, no one moves. The others glance around, blankets draped loosely, skin bare in the night chill. I shift and my bare shoulder brushes Sylvian’s. He’s tense, body gone still, every muscle bracing for something.
The ground shakes again, harder this time. The fire’s ash scatters, glowing sparks swirling like angry wasps. Cassius is the first up, crouched and alert, his eyes catching every flicker of movement. The men grab their swords, but no one withdraws them for their sheaths.
“What is it?” Ashton asks. “Earthquake?”
Cassius shakes his head, eyes narrowed to slits. “No, it’s something else.”
Only then do I hear it, a distant, rolling howl, and the sound of claws, hundreds of them, tearing through the dirt.
A picture forms in my mind, and everything clicks.
Instinct kicks in. I scramble to my feet, ignoring how my nipples brush the air, how my hair falls wild around my face.
I listen hard, pulse thumping in my ears.
It’s not just howling, not just claws.
It’s the sound of a pack. No, not a pack, a herd. A force of nature, coming straight for us.
“Stampede,” I say, voice sharper than I mean. “Get up. Move!”
Cassius shouts over the rising din: “Under the hedge! Now! We’ll never outrun them!”
Oberon curses, grabs his stuff in one fist, and sprints for the wall of green. Ashton’s right behind him, hauling a tangle of cloaks and half-dry pants. Cassius snatches his pack and dives in after them.
Sylvian and I take our stuff, and then he grabs my hand and pulls me beneath the hedge.
It’s such a small space that we have to go in on top of each other, pushing through branches that whip my face and scratch my thighs raw.
The roots claw at my ankles, wet dirt packing under my toes.
I hear Ashton yell something, before the sound of the stampede drowns everything out.
Sylvian shoves me down, flattens his body over mine. His weight pins me, bare skin against bare skin, not a hint of air between us.
He whispers in my ear, “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”
The world goes black except for the flicker of the distant fire and the white-hot noise of a thousand beasts. It’s not just wolves, not just fae nightmares. It’s every hungry thing the labyrinth ever spat out, running together in a killing tide.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it.
The first wave crashes past. The sound is so loud it shakes my ribs, rattles my teeth. I bury my face in Sylvian’s chest and bite down on his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. His arms lock tight around my waist, anchoring me to the earth.
A second wave. Something snarls, so close I smell its breath, a mix of blood and rot, hot enough to singe the hair from my forearm. Branches snap overhead, and for a second I think we’re going to die here, trampled flat and left for the crows.
I can’t stop shaking. Sylvian’s heart is pounding so loud I can hear it through his chest.
He doesn’t let go.
He just holds me, face buried in my hair, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
I try to move, to twist away, but he won’t let me. His grip is desperate, like if he lets go I’ll disappear forever.
That’s when I realize he’s trembling, too.
“Sylvian,” I whisper, not sure what I mean by it.
He kisses the top of my head, then my cheek, then my mouth.
It’s gentle, raw as a wound. He tastes like river water and smoke, like hunger and need. I gasp and he swallows the sound, kissing me deeper, harder, his hand tangling in my hair.
I want to fight it, but I can’t. My whole body is on fire, every nerve lit up by fear and the weird, sick joy of being alive.
His hips grind into mine, and I feel him—hard, urgent, the tip of his cock pressing against my thigh. There’s nothing between us. My blanket is a bed beneath me, and his is only half-draped over his shoulders, doing nothing to hide what’s happening.
He kisses down my neck, along my collarbone, biting just enough to hurt. I arch up, not sure if I want to push him away or pull him closer.
I do both. He groans, a deep, guttural sound, and bites me again.
Above us, the moon breaks through the hedge. Silver light cuts across his face, catches the wild look in his eyes.
He’s not gentle. He’s not asking permission.
And I don’t want him to.
He grabs my thigh and rocks against me. I rub myself against him, surprised to find myself wet, even though nothing about this moment makes sense. All of this is so new and exciting that I’m just following my instincts, rather than logic.
I grab his ass hard, digging my nails in, and he shudders, then laughs, the sound wild and feral.
“Gods, Alette,” he says, voice raw. “If we’re going to die in this place, I want you.”
It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. What do I want?
Above us, the moon and the hedge and the stars spin.
Then they disappear behind a figure, a wolf, huge, white as bone, eyes gold as coins, watching us from the shadows.
My nails dig into Sylvian’s shoulders. My body tenses, and the man on top of me turns slowly, as slow as humanly possible, to face the creature above us.
A low growl rolls from the beast, and his fangs flash.
Fuck.