The Snow Wolf (Wolves Ever After Book 1)

by Amberlyn Holland

  Proving them right was a risk she couldn't take. As bad as life with the Milners was, she had a place to sleep and scraps to eat.

  Exile from the village would be a death sentence.

  Little more than a child, Myra had lacked the skills to survive the wilderness on her own. And had no money to pay her way down the mountain. Technically, even the clothes on her back hadn't belonged to her.

  But after years of enduring the Milners’ cruel neglect, the weight of premonition had swept through her with the sure knowledge of unspeakable danger descending on her.

  Certain the impending peril came from her guardians, Myra had panicked. Acting on her premonition for the first time in years, she'd run away.

  Straight into the arms of an Ice Troll. She'd been Taken. Had her life turned upside down by the Mirror King.

  Been left to live every moment in fear that he would someday discover the way Myra had deceived him. That he might come back for her.

  Whether she ignored the portents or acted on them didn't make a difference. Neither seemed to make one bit of difference. The bad had come to shake up her world, no matter what she did.

  Myra was finishing up her latest project just before lunch when the dark foreboding overwhelmed her.

  There was no more ignoring the feeling.

  No more denying it.

  It overwhelmed her, slamming into her mind and driving her to her knees. Sensation after sensation raced along her nerves like electric fire. Danger. Pain.

  Sterling.

  And something even bigger dawning on the horizon.

  After the moment passed and the premonition faded, Myra stayed on the floor of her shed. Weak and reeling, it took her a long time to gather her resolve.

  There was only one choice she could make.

  When Myra was steady enough to stand without holding on, she let habit and reflex direct her.

  Routine led her through taking care of the finished blanket on the loom, dousing the brazier, and closing up her shed.

  Then she hurried into her cottage and systematically put together a pack filled with all the necessities she'd need for a trek up the mountain.

  Clinging to the desperate sense of numb detachment, Myra worked her way around the single room. Deliberately weighing decision after decision, she chose what to take with precise care. Because if she allowed so much as a sliver of the emotions boiling beneath the surface to break through, Myra was certain she'd crack wide open.

  Finally, there was only one thing left to find.

  Kneeling beside the cot, Myra pulled out her needlework trunk and lifted the lid. With a deep breath, she shifted piles of fabric and yarn out of the way until, in the very bottom, her fingers curled around leather.

  The final item she'd bought with the Mirror King's coins.

  Heart heavy and certain, Myra pulled the short sword out of the trunk and held it up with grim satisfaction.

  Then she strapped it to her waist, gathered her pack and headed up the mountain with reluctant determination.

  ***

  Sterling had been both unsurprised and relieved at how accurate Myra's directions had been.

  The trek had taken longer than he'd liked but he'd finally found his way into the Mirror King's lair. And, so far, he'd managed to keep his presence unnoticed.

  After leaving Myra, Sterling returned to Benhalle to retrieve his travel pack and the pouch of relics Jelverck had gifted him with when he'd first begun this quest. He'd then spent one last, restless night in his room at the tavern before starting out at first light the following morning.

  The wide, shadowy entrance of the Mirror King's lair had come into Sterling's sights just as the sun was setting.

  And just as the nocturnal Ice Trolls were beginning to patrol in full force.

  So he'd hunkered down in a secluded cave and waited for dawn when the Trolls would seek out their dens to sleep during the daylight hours.

  While the temperature had risen slightly, Sterling was grateful to Jelverck all over again for the fire stone he found included among the dozen other magic objects and relics. The small, smooth amber stone gave off enough heat to fill the small recess carved into the mountain where he'd taken shelter. And, unlike a real fire, it emitted no light or smoke to give away his position.

  In the morning, however, he'd discovered the Mirror King had enough control over the Trolls to keep a worrying amount of them awake and patrolling during day.

  But once again Jelverck's foresight rescued him. An invisibility chain got him past the pair of drowsing Trolls guarding the front entrance and he'd quickly secluded himself into the lesser-used passages. As much as he'd prefer to continue wearing the chain, Sterling could feel the power waning. And he might need that edge of invisibility to get out of the lair later.

  As he followed Myra's directions, Sterling felt a growing certainty that the mazelike lair was an arbitrary mix of natural and man-made tunnels and caves. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout. Just as random was the way some passages he traversed were lit with blazingly bright torches and some were in the oppressive, pitch-black darkness.

  Eventually though, Sterling found his way to his ultimate destination.

  The Mirror Cavern.

  The huge, circular chamber spread out in front of him when he stepped through the room’s single arched entrance. A hundred feet across with a ceiling that soared so far up, the shadows concealed it. For the first time since stepping into the tunnel, Sterling felt like he could breathe again.

  That may have been aided by the strange holes drilled in intervals at shoulder-height all the way around the chamber. They whistled lightly as wind intermittently blew through them, swirling around the cave in a soft breeze.

  Dominating the wall opposite the archway, however, was Sterling's objective. A twelve-foot rectangle of solid crystal reflected his image back at him from the smoothly polished front. Swirls of frosted crystal curved in intricate scrollwork curled around the edges in contrast to the mirrorlike surface.

  The wind gusted through the cavern again, shifting to buffet against the crystal.

  For a moment, a pale glow spun to life deep within the Mirror.

  Sterling still didn't remember exactly happened to him in the Moon Temple when he'd first been transformed from man to wolf-shifter. But something about the glow reminded him sharply of the moonlight reflecting off the silver disk.

  A familiar rush of wild, natural magic wound itself through the air. Like the fey magic he'd become acquainted with. And, yet, not. This thread of power was the steady flow of an ancient river. Not the unfettered chaos of a flash flood that fey magic felt like against his senses.

  A shiver slid down his spine as he remembered the same magic pouring through him under the brilliant light of a full moon. Reshaping his form and his life.

  The wind shifted again and the glow died, the power fading with it.

  Sterling had no idea what would happen to him if he got caught in the magic of the Crystal Mirror. But lurid descriptions of the dead, twisted, chimera-like victims lodged firmly in his mind. Succumbing to that fate was not a risk he was willing to take. But the best chance he had to stop the Mirror King was to destroy the Mirror.

  When he'd started the trip up Mount Acaelum, he'd only been looking for answers. Determined to protect his packmates from falling under anyone's control. If he'd known it would come to this, he might have waited for the rest of his pack to back him up. But he'd come too far to turn back now.

  So Sterling slipped inside the entrance and pressed his back to the wall, edging around the perimeter. Keeping his body well clear of the gently shifting square of light in the center of the cavern that sprang to life every time the wind blew.

  He was maybe ten feet from the edge of the Mirror when a sound like thunder roared through the mountain. Instead of crescendoing and fading away, however, it grew louder until the floor vibrated beneath his feet.

  And when t
he first Trolls poured through the archway, Sterling cursed himself for a fool. The roar wasn't thunder. It was the sound of a squad of Trolls descending on him.

  Ripping his sword from his scabbard he planted his back to the wall and prepared to fight despite the hopeless odds.

  A dozen Trolls spread out in a formation around him. They stomped and growled with snarling aggression but held position just beyond the reach of Sterling's sword. Keeping him trapped but unharmed.

  Like they were waiting for something. Or someone.

  Someone like the Mirror King.

  Frustration burned in Sterling's chest. Along with determination not to simply let the Mirror King have the upper hand. Not without a fight.

  Lunging foreword, Sterling sliced toward the nearest Troll, hoping to create a break in their ranks. To force the creature back and give himself an avenue of escape.

  But the Troll's hide was as strong as any armor he'd ever encountered. And the thickly muscled arm easily swept Sterling's blade harmlessly to the side. All without letting the slightest space open within the closed formation.

  Sterling swung again and again, but each stroke of his sword was as futile and useless as the first one.

  A shift of white fur from the corner of his eye gave him a moment of hope. One of the Trolls had gotten impatient enough to shuffle his position.

  Turning to take advantage of the break in formation, Sterling realized too late the Troll had slipped behind his exposed back.

  Crashing pain slammed into the back of Sterling's skull and he was on his knees before he knew what had happened. Despite the dizzying agony, he desperately tried to lift his sword, determined to fight until his last breath.

  But the darkness rushing in would not be defeated and swallowed him into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Myra second-guessed every trudging step she took up the mountain.

  Sterling had fought in battles, faced down a powerful sorceress, and risked his life for treasure over and over again. If he found danger he couldn't get out of, what possible help could she be to him?

  Myra spent her life running away from danger. Hiding from trouble. Pretending to be like everyone else.

  Pretending nothing had changed after she'd been Taken.

  Because she'd been different enough, before. Being Taken set her apart even further. And different in the superstitious culture of her mountain neighbors was a dangerous thing to be.

  Especially if even a hint of what she'd become made its way back to the Mirror King.

  Despite all of that, after every doubt-filled step, Myra took the next one. Slogging through the slush toward a place she'd spent a decade having nightmares about.

  The warmer weather had softened the snow, making the trails treacherous and the footing unpredictable. Eventually, the sun sank low in the sky and exhaustion made continuing impossible. So Myra's feet carried her off the road, to a place she'd nearly forgotten existed.

  A few hundred yards into the woods, a long-abandoned hermit’s hut waited in the shadow of the trees. The little shack had seen better days, but it was sturdy enough shelter for the night. At least, it had been when she'd sought refuge there years ago.

  When all she'd had was a bag full of coins and desperate terror that her deception would be realized.

  After the Troll left her at the end of the Winding Road, Myra had been shaken, confused, and terrified by what had happened to her.

  She'd known the moment the glow of the Mirror’s magic faded that something was different.

  That she was different.

  Something in her had changed irrevocably.

  And Myra understood, just as instinctively, that if the Mirror King realized it, he'd never let her go.

  So she fought against the silvery flow of newfound power sliding through her. She pretended to feel nothing. To remember nothing. Prayed all the stories she'd heard of the other Taken were enough to let her fake her way back home.

  And it had been.

  She'd fooled the Mirror King.

  But, standing at the edge of the Winding Road the thought of returning to Benhalle was terrifying in its own way.

  Did it matter if it was the Mirror King or the Milners who controlled her? Either choice left her powerless and beholden. Her life was never going to be her own.

  In the panic of her spiraling fears, Myra lost control of her newly acquired power and found out exactly what she'd become.

  For a time, she lost herself in the frightening exhilaration of it.

  When she came back to herself, Myra was miles from the Road and the shack was the only shelter she could find.

  She'd huddled in there for an extra day, making plans and carefully composing the edited details of her adventure.

  When she returned to Benhalle, she told a story full of half-truths, trying to act like any other of the Taken, so no one suspected the truth. No one suspected she'd left the Mirror King's lair with more gifts than the gold coins.

  Coins she used to buy her freedom. First, she paid off the debt the Milners insisted she owed them for her meager room and board. Most of the rest went to buying the cottage where she'd lived with her mother from the kind logger who'd rented to them. And setting up the workspace that would give her the means to remain free.

  Myra had lived a life of lies, fear, and guilt ever since.

  Until Sterling arrived and turned her life upside down.

  Chapter Seven

  THE SHIVERING WAS what woke Sterling. Cold seeped into him like an invading parasite and his body shook in a constant fight to retain some shred of warmth.

  Each ripple of muscle sent spasms of pain sparking across the back of his head.

  As painful as wakefulness was, however, Sterling forced himself to embrace it.

  Still, it took several minutes of resolute battle to lift the weight of his eyelids and take stock of his predicament.

  The floor and ceiling of his prison were the same dark rock that made up the rest of the caverns. The four walls hemming him in, however, were solid, unbroken sheets of ice.

  No doors.

  No windows.

  Not even a single crack.

  His rucksack, with its stash of magic, and sword were gone, as was the knife he kept in his boot, just in case.

  Sterling tried to stretch his senses, but he could hear nothing beyond the faint crackling of the ice. Could smell nothing but the sharp sting of cold. The inability to uses his senses left him uneasy and irritated. He’d depended on them for so long, it was like losing a part of himself.

  Which left him little options for escape.

  The only other option was to transform into the wolf and try his claws against the ice. But Sterling doubted the wolf form would get him any farther. And he couldn't be sure if he was being watched, so he didn't dare give away his secret.

  The surprise of a fast shift into wolf form had saved him a time or two and it might be the only advantage he had.

  Sterling shoved his tingling hands into his pockets. He needed to keep them warm in order to maintain as much flexibility and control as possible. The faint rasp of fabric against his fingers startled him with an unexpected flood of emotion.

  He pulled the scrap out and smoothed it over his knee, his fingertips brushed over the uneven threads reverently. That afternoon, settled in the cottage as Myra patiently taught him stitches, filled Sterling with a quiet, contented joy he hadn't ever expected to find.

  He'd obliquely promised he'd come back and he'd meant it. Nothing could have stopped him from returning to her.

  Except a prison made of ice and an army of Ice Trolls.

  He hoped she wouldn't hate him too much for breaking his promise.

  Sterling was still contemplating the unfinished embroidery when the first pinprick hole appeared in the wall across from him.

  Hastily shoving the fabric into his pocket, Sterling rose into a crouch. Body braced, he readied himself to leap
through the opening the second it was large enough.

  When the hole reached the size of a dinner plate, a face peeked in. Wan and thin, sharp cheekbones jutted out at stark angles. Blue eyes focused in on Sterling, eerily unblinking and so pale they almost seemed white.

  The heavy-looking crown of spiky crystal sitting atop a nest of unkempt mud-colored hair identified the man for Sterling.

  He was finally face to face with the Mirror King.

  "No doubt a strong, strapping man like you thinks someone like me is no obstacle to your escape." The Mirror King spoke with a bland, bored tone at odds with the harsh glee lighting his strange eyes.

  "But even if I didn't have a dangerous and powerful array of magic at my fingertips—" The Mirror King paused dramatically to rattle the charm bracelet filled with objects of power dangling from his wrist. With a smug grin he curled fingers in a dramatic gesture and the hole, now about two feet wide, stopped.

  Another quick gesture had the opening spreading open again.

  "I'd still have this—" The Mirror King touched his hand to the crown, adjusting it slightly on his head. "It keeps me in contact with all of the Ice Trolls on the mountain. The slightest hint of my distress, and every single one of them will converge on you with a vengeance. You might as well relax and settle in for the duration of your visit."

  Sterling kept his eyes steady and senses alert, refusing to react for the madman's amusement. Instead, he held his position, biding his time and waiting for his opening. He'd worry about dealing with the Trolls once he escaped his prison.

  "Oh, dear," the Mirror King sighed, eyes rolling with exasperation. "I see you're still not fully understanding your helplessness. Perhaps this will help."

  His hand flicked again, and vines of ice-crystal erupted out of the ground, wrapping tightly around Sterling's ankles before he could do more than flinch.

  Then the bindings pulled, jerking his legs forward and out from under him. Unexpectedly off-balance, Sterling toppled backward slamming hard against the floor. Another bolt of blinding pain slammed through his head and he whited out from the excruciating sensation.