by Kyra Quinn
Jett’s enraged cry shattered his eardrums. The monster stumbled backwards as Jett swung for its neck. The monster reached out and grabbed the end of his blade as if Jett had hit it with a stick. It swung the sword and hurled Jett and the weapon to the ground with a crash.
Viktor jumped to his feet and clutched the saber in front of his chest. His heart pounded against his ears. His hands felt frozen, his breaths short and ragged. Whatever dark magic Daeva had used to construct her beast, their blades seemed unable to harm it.
Jett pushed to his feet and spit a wad of bloody saliva to the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “It would seem the big guy is immune to steel.”
Viktor’s eye twitched. He’d sooner drive one of his daggers through his own heart than let some evil tree monster claim his life. He tossed the saber out of his way and into the forest. “Try a different approach.”
Viktor’s body twitched. Jett gave him a short nod and tossed his own weapon aside. Viktor’s vision blurred. His muscles burned as his body contorted and convulsed. His blood turned to molten lava beneath his skin.
The pain left him as suddenly as it had come. He stood on all fours, his body coated in coarse dark fur. Jett dug his paw against the hard dirt next to him and growled, his fangs bared.
They dove for the demon in unison as if in response to an invisible cue. Jett bared his fangs and sprang for the creature’s neck while Viktor dug his claws into the hard flesh of the monster’s abdomen. Flames licked at his paws.
The demon reached down and snatched Viktor by the nape of his neck, hurling him against a nearby tree. Jett dug his fangs into the side of the creature’s neck and tore away a patch of flesh. Flames spit out from the open wound. The monster howled and staggered backwards, crashing to the ground.
While the demon reeled backwards, Viktor took the opportunity and sprang from the ground. He tackled the demon, both crashing against the ground in a pile. Primal instinct overtook him. He bit, scratched, and mauled the demon’s face and chest. When the sound of the creature’s cries wore away what little patience he had, Viktor buried his fangs into his neck and tore out his throat. Sticky black goo spilled from its wounds and caked into Viktor’s fur as the fire beneath its barky skin extinguished. When the sun rose overhead, Jett nudged him with his snot. He gave a small shake of his head, and Viktor stepped away from the demon’s remains.
Birds chirped their morning greeting from the branches overhead, indifferent to the exhausted wolves below. They shifted back onto two legs and dressed themselves. Jett tossed the shreds of their old clothes into the morning fire. Viktor debated tossing the demon in with them, but the reek of sulfur had given him enough of a headache without the smoke amplify it.
He glared at the demon’s body. The knots in his stomach twisted. How had the creature found them? And how many more would follow?
* * *
A few hours after their attack, the tension around camp had settled. Jett instructed Viktor to guard the camp while he hunted for game, though Viktor didn’t know what Jett expected him to guard. His weapons and the heavy gold ring he wore on a slender chain around his neck tucked beneath his shirt were the only items of value he owned, and both never left his person. If bandits tried to rob their campsite, they’d leave disappointed.
Jett returned, dangling a lifeless rabbit by the ears. Dark red blood soaked its soft grey fur. “It’s not much, but most of the game has already migrated south for the winter.”
Viktor suppressed a groan. He didn’t rejoice at the news—rabbits had little meat on them to split between two ravenous pairs of teeth, and he’d never enjoyed sustaining himself on creatures so helpless to their attacks—but the way his stomach twisted and ached eliminated any thoughts of hunting for his own meal.
He watched as Jett plopped down on a thick, damp log next to the fire and picked up his knife from the ground. Viktor busied himself with the fire as Jett sliced the animal from his neck to his groin and began to remove his innards.
“We can make a nice stew with these,” he muttered. Blood dripped from his hands as he clutched the pink and garnet intestines. “Wanna dig up any vegetables to roast with the meat?”
Not especially, but Viktor agreed anyway. If he laid around camp for too long, Jett would launch into another long-winded lecture about how pups his age had none of the work ethic of their elders thanks to the pack’s dissolution.
Every time Jett mentioned the olden days or life with the pack, an irrational wave of guilt poured over Viktor like an unexpected cloud of rain. He’d listen in a tense silence as Jett prattled on about the golden age of the Kinzhal Clan and how every other shifter clan in Starbright admired their strength and unity.
The stories always ended the same way; the pack found Norrix and Grace slaughtered and burned inside Clan Kinzhal’s tower after the flames extinguished, their two children missing and later presumed dead. In Norrix’s absence, the pack ate itself alive from the inside until the clan crumbled and dissolved.
Viktor asked questions from time to time, which Jett entertained with the patience of a schoolteacher or the father of a curious child. Still, Viktor always stopped short of the question tugging at his thoughts the most: what might have become of the clan had Viktor or his sister remained with the pack?
He searched the surrounding forest for wild mushrooms or berries. Settling on a few handfuls of wild purplish-black berries the size of his thumbnail and a bit of chickweed, he trudged back to the fire. He had no time to sit around pondering what might have been. Without Remiel’s sacrifice, he’d be dead with the rest of his family.
Jett had finished skinning the rabbit and sectioning the meat when Viktor returned. The bloody pile of fur sat next to his boots as he placed the meat on the skewers. He frowned, pointing towards the berries and greens in his hands.
“What do you expect me to do with that?” he asked.
“Add it to the stew?”
Jett grumbled. “Put it down next to the fur.”
“What do you plan to make with that?”
“Not enough there to make much. I’ll come up with something, though. We will honor his sacrifice.”
Viktor tore his eyes away and nodded, shoving his personal thoughts on the matter away and focusing instead on his hunger. At least Jett planned to use every part of the animal. His time with Remiel had taught him to abhor wastefulness.
“How long do we have?” Viktor set the offerings down at Jett’s feet.
“Not long. Hares cook fast over an open flame.”
He stood behind Jett while he cooked, drowning in a sea of worries. His shoulders squared as he made a mental list of things to do. He’d scarf down a rabbit leg and tell Jett he had some business to attend to in town. If the succubitch from the night before had told the truth, he’d have another shot at the veil after a trip to the mysterious lounge. He’d hunt for a more filling meal after he’d found what he needed in Carramar. As rough as he had to look—and smell—after weeks in the woods, fresh blood on his shirt would not increase his odds of success.
Jett locked his hands on his hips. “There it is. Eat some before I devour it all.”
Viktor rolled his eyes and took the roasted leg from Jett. The rest of the rabbit was now a pile of bones between them. He dug his teeth into the gamey meat and muffled a contented sigh. They’d eaten enough birds and chipmunks raw in the last few weeks for Viktor to savor the taste of the flames.
Viktor had almost finished sucking the meat from the bone when Jett cleared his throat. “I had a thought.”
“Hmm?”
Jett locked his eyes on Viktor’s, his stare chilling. “We can’t win this war alone, Vik. The angels and demons, they have full armies at their disposal. That one burly bastard this morning almost had us both. Two wolves can only cover so much ground.”
His words pulled Viktor back to Savina’s somber warning. Did the attack earlier mean the war was closing in? Or had the demon tracked them down for more personal reason
s? He shook his head and picked at the flimsy bone. “Once I save Remiel, I know a few people who can help us put an end to this madness.”
“A few isn’t enough.” Jett’s tone cut like glass. “We need to visit the King and warn him of what’s coming. He needs to have time to prepare the Guard to save as many people as possible.”
Viktor snorted and tossed the bone to the ground. “Yeah? And how should we explain the war to him? Or how we know about it? When Remiel returns, he can take on the task. The Crown will listen to an angel before they listen to a shifter.”
Jett rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re a shifter, not a skinwalker. People don’t fear us as much as they used to. Some women find it sexy.”
“Poor women,” Viktor mumbled. Lili’s face popped into his mind once more, and he hurried to change the subject. “Remiel has no one else to depend on. No one else cares enough to free him. If I abandon him, Daeva will either break or kill him.”
“And if you lose both?” Jett asked, his voice flat.
“Both what?”
“The angel and Astryae. What if the angels and demons lay this world to waste while you’re busy trying to figure out how to force yourself into the Shadowrealm?”
Viktor stiffened. “I won’t—”
“Are you certain? Because this war may arrive any day now, and I’d rather be prepared.”
“If you’re so concerned about it, why don’t you look into it while I figure out how to rescue a fallen angel from Daeva’s dungeons?”
Jett scoffed. “Wolves are stronger with the support of their pack. Besides, who says someone at the royal court can’t tell us where to find the veil?”
“The packs dissolved for good reason. The lone wolf covers more ground in today’s world.”
“For now.” Jett’s voice trailed off. “We have wasted weeks on this quest to save the angel. It’s gotten us nowhere but closer to the end of days. Whether or not you accompany me, I will speak with the King. The fate of our world is bigger than any one man.”
Viktor shook his head, his body temperature rising despite the bitter morning chill. “Do what you feel you must. I refuse to turn my back on my oldest friend.” He lowered his voice and added, “You of all people should understand. Didn’t you refer to loyalty as the stitches holding the pack together?”
Jett tapped his foot. “Take the day to consider it. Finish up your business here if you must. Tonight, I will take my leave for Wyvenmere.”
Viktor didn’t need time to consider—the answer was no, no matter how hard Jett tried to sway him—but he conceded. “As you wish. Anything else?”
Jett clenched his teeth. “I suppose not. Back to the hunt, then?”
Viktor made his way over to his cot and snatched his sheath and daggers from the ground. “Last night’s victim coughed up a small tip before I finished her. Thought I’d follow up on it. Will you be here when I return?”
“Depends on what time you finish. I have some business to attend to in town.” Jett rubbed the back of his neck and added, “See you back here tonight?”
“That’s the goal.”
“Try not to die. If the King says no, I’ll do a shit job of defending the world alone.”
Viktor laughed. “Those evil-eyed bastards couldn’t kill me if they wanted to.”
CHAPTER THREE
Lightning in a Bottle
While many pray to Rhayer for strength, they neglect to pray to Anja for patience and focus. Many situations are solved not by brute force, but by persistence and dedication.
-The Sacred Texts, 321:23-24 (Anja)
“On your feet, ragamuffin.”
A sharp voice cut into the blackness of my slumber. My eyes fluttered open, my head thick with dreams. Aster leaned against the wooden door frame of the bedchamber she’d set up for me on the upper floor of her cozy brick maisonette. Her lips curled into a grin. “Time to study.”
I grunted and rubbed my face with the back of my hand. I blinked and waited for the cozy bedchamber to fade into focus, but my surroundings remained dim. The sky outside the bamboo blinds over the single narrow window was still dark. “It isn’t morning.”
“The earlier we complete your practice, the more time we have left in the day for other things. Up.”
Leave it to Aster to make training more miserable. I huffed and dragged myself to a seated position. My brain throbbed as I inhaled. Stale ambrosia lingered on my breath. If she’d informed me how early she intended to train, I might have gone easier on the alcohol the night before.
“Dress and meet me downstairs,” she said. “Throw on something warm. It’s icier than your mother’s soul out there.”
Swell. Aster disappeared back down the hallway. I hauled myself from the narrow mattress she had scrounged up for me to doze on and rose to my feet. Spots of light danced in front of my vision in the shadowy room. The longer I spent in Aster’s company, the more evident her sadistic streak became.
I staggered towards the plush armchair in the left corner of the bedchamber. A modest pile of clothes laid folded on top. A few of the tops were donations from Aster’s own wardrobe, the rest what we’d stolen from town in the weeks since our return from the Shadowrealm. I settled on a soft gray sweater and a faded pair of slacks, hopeful the fitted garments might offer some advantage.
My mood lifted as I fingered the top. She had cut two slits into the back of the fabric, the holes large enough for my wings to fit through. Though Aster forbid me to study flight before I’d mastered my other capabilities, at least she’d kept the possibility in mind.
After weeks of wearing trousers, the pinch of the material between my legs still felt strange. Not that I missed corsets or multiple layers of heavy fabrics any time I left the house. Life in Carramar was different, but not always unpleasant. After it occurred to me how much faster one could slip into a set of slacks and a shirt, an irrational rage hit me. How many hours of my life had I wasted lacing up corsets and fastening buckles into place?
I found Aster waiting for me downstairs by the front door. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. I stumbled down the last few steps of the spiraled metal staircase and stopped a few feet from where she stood. Despite the blasphemously early hour, she wore a sleek black gown and matching lipstick. Lacy midnight gloves protected her arms up to her elbows.
“Whose funeral are you dressed for?” I teased.
“At the speed you’re moving? My youth.”
I rolled my eyes but swallowed the impulse to quip back. It was too early to string together a witty response. “Why couldn’t this wait until a decent hour?”
She yanked the door open. “Conflict never waits for a convenient moment to strike.”
“Did you change your name to Conflict?”
Aster snorted and stepped outside. I stifled the rest of my protests and followed her into the snow. The brick tenements slumbered without a sound, each of the identical rectangular windows dark. A starless sky hung above our heads. The bitter morning cold seeped through the fibers of my clothing and flesh, the chill leaving my bones stiff.
“Out here? What if your passive neighbors wake up?”
She chortled. “Humans are simple creatures. Easy to handle should they disturb us. Give up on the excuses and follow me. I need to finish this before daylight breaks.”
I grumbled but complied, my thoughts still too hazy to string together a strong objection. Aster circled around to the rear of the row of prodigious red brick buildings in a few strides. An open field of frozen red dirt stood between us and the iron gate fencing in the community. A willow tree towered over the far rear edge. The branches hung almost low enough to tickle my cheeks.
“I’ve checked in on the boys already today,” Aster said over her shoulder as we walked. “They’re both alive.”
My stomach wrenched as her words settled like a punch to my gut. Viktor’s face flashed into my mind before I slowed my thoughts. His copper eyes twinkled as he fixed me with his signatur
e smirk. If I concentrated hard enough, I remembered the warmth of his mouth pressed against my own, how sweet the poison on his lips had tasted—
Aster continued, oblivious to the torment inside my brain. “I never expected Daeva to keep Remiel alive for so long. She must need something from him.”
I shivered, this time unrelated to the temperature. “Me. She wants me.”
Aster shook her head. “Holding Remiel hostage brings her no closer to her goals. There must be something else.”
But I couldn’t imagine what the Queen of Darkness might want from a fallen angel. The angels had banished Remiel from the Elysian Gardens decades before my birth. In most ways, I’d yet to notice anything that differentiated him much from a mortal man.
“And Viktor?” His name burned my tongue. I’d resisted the compulsion to ask about him the last few days, but curiosity tugged at the fabric of my worries.
“Viktor is fine.” She chose her comments with care, her eyes darting between me and the field. “From the glimpse I caught, he’s searching for a path into the Shadowrealm.”
Of course he was. Viktor’s determination and grit had stood out to me from the first night we met. I wanted to hate him for the grief he’d caused me, but I couldn’t help but admire his loyalty and devotion to Remiel. In my eighteen years of existence, I’d had no one care about me as much as they seemed to care for each other.
“Good for him,” I grumbled, unsure how else to respond. “Let’s pray he finds it.”
Though my statement had a biting edge, I meant the words. The sooner Viktor found the veil and Remiel, the sooner he might return. I had no clue what to expect when he did, but it didn’t matter. If the war between worlds came to Astryae, our chances were better with Remiel and Viktor fighting by our side.