He howled, wrenching his shoulder back. She managed to keep hold of the knife by sheer force of will – she couldn’t lose it. Preoccupied with keeping the knife, she didn’t brace herself for his slap. It sent her back into the wall, where she hit with enough force to drive the breath out of her.
“Fucking bitch!” he screamed. His voice was deep and harsh, he was yelling so hard that she could see veins pulsing on his neck. He flew toward her, momentum carrying him, and he was going to hit her again, maybe kick her.
She caught her racing thoughts and stopped them. Centering herself, time slowed. She had to raise the knife, angle it right, brace herself. He was heavy, she would have to put her weight behind it. Commit to it.
The knife slid between two of his ribs like cutting into a piece of meat. She’d expected more resistance, more density, despite even the sharpest knife.
She felt everything in vivid, horrifying detail. He jerked to a stop only inches from her, eyes wide and screaming, mouth open and silent. Shock. Surprise.
She pulled at the knife – to take it back? What did she want that for? What was she going to do with it? – but it was stuck, lodged in Damien’s chest. He made a guttural sound, like she had wrenched the noise from him.
Damien’s face went through a series of small changes to expression, his wide eyes went distant, and he inhaled a small gasp. Eira could feel her adrenaline fading. The frantic emotion and heaving anger that had driven her here were draining along with it. It left her standing alone, back against the wall, holding up a dying man, with nothing but a shallow fear and the shaking aftermath of such heady emotion to sustain her.
What did she do?
What should she do now?
Her throat was tight and her lungs couldn’t bring in enough air – maybe the smoke was too thick, maybe Damien was crushing her against the wall. Maybe she was going to die here after all. On her right shoulder, a searing pain burst out, a bright, clear spark in the haze.
Before she could spiral any further, Asher was there, suddenly. Where had he come from? Had he been there the whole time? Oh god, had he seen Damien? Asher’s hands were suddenly there, pulling Damien away from her. She watched him drop to the floor like a bag of bricks.
She felt like she was seeing everything at once, every detail. And then, Asher’s hands on her face, callous-worn and soft, and it was all she could focus on. He said softly, “Deep breath, Eira. Pay attention. Breathe. Just look at me and take a deep breath.” He was trying to project calm for her, but she could tell he wasn’t. There was a slight waver to his voice. “Good,” he said. “that’s good. Are you hurt? No, okay, just checking. We have to go. Come with me.”
She clutched his shoulders before he could pull away, and her hand were shaking. Her skin was red now, her arms were completely covered. She swallowed. She was covered in blood, again.
Asher’s voice broke through her thoughts. “I know. I know, just put it away for a second.” He squeezed her hard, hands sure. “The house is burning; we need to get out. I’ve got you. Come on.”
Put it away for a second. She could do that.
Eira took a deep breath and shoved everything down, locking it away so that she could function, just long enough to get out of here. Asher seemed to sense that, and he nodded. She followed along in Asher’s wake as they left the house, almost stumbling as they ran.
CHAPTER TEN
THE PUNCH OF cold air outside made her feel lightheaded. The momentum and adrenaline carried them into the trees and Asher kept herding her farther away from the house. Even from the trees, she could see the flames consuming the house.
She coughed, the air scratching the inside of her lungs, and she kept coughing, and then gagged. Asher kept his hand on her back, gentle despite the urgency, as she dry-heaved into the snow
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes streaming. Her voice sounded like it was scraped out of her.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t, it’s okay. Are you okay?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes. Mo came to them, his feet crunching in the snow. Eira could see relief in his eyes when he spotted her. “We have to go. Come on, let’s get moving.”
Without waiting for either of them, Mo shifted and padded out in front of them, scouting out into the forest. Asher waited until Eira shifted, four paws in the snow. Her front legs hurt a bit, a remnant of the way her arms ached, but it was bearable.
Things were different when she was shifted. Emotions were visceral, but more distant. She got this sensation in her spine – she wanted to run, leave this place, and she knew she could.
Before he shifted, Asher said, “We’ll stop once we’re across the border, on Woodhaven land.”
Eira didn’t stop. She could tell when they crossed over into Woodhaven, because Asher started hovering. He came up and nudged her gently with his nose, walking close enough that their shoulders brushed. She didn’t stop.
If she stopped, she was going to have to feel everything, and that would be a whole breakdown. She wasn’t going to do that bare-assed on a rock in the forest.
So Asher hovered, and they continued. The pack homes came into view, houses clustered together. It was gone midnight, and everyone was asleep and settled. Smothered beneath the layers of shock, she felt a sort of peace and satisfaction. Her pack was safe.
Weird how this had become her pack in only a few days.
Mo went inside first, opening the door for them. Finally, on the front porch, Eira shifted back, and she walked into the house as a human. The lights had been left on, like Asher had dropped everything and gone after her. He probably had. A fire still burned in the hearth, low and crackling.
Mo wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and kissed her temple briefly, and then Asher’s arms were around her and she just closed her eyes and let him hold her.
She was home.
Of course, the reprieve couldn’t last. Asher held her for a while, and then brought her upstairs. She wasn’t sure the exact sequence of events that led to her standing in the shower, but that was the next very clear moment.
She watched the water bead up on her skin. It was washing red down the drain. She should scrub the blood off, but it was like she was disconnected from her body, and she had that thought, but she couldn’t translate it into action. The intent wasn’t there.
And then Asher’s hand on the side of her face, tilting her head up until her eyes met his. Pale green to honey brown. He wasn’t touching their soulmarks together, but he didn’t need to. His eyes were wide and expressive. She could feel it tugging at something inside her, dragging her emotions clumsily to the surface, lurching with the effort.
She sucked in a deep breath, and her chest hurt. “I’m sorry,” she said. She’d had a plan for apologizing to him, but that seemed so long ago, and it had been a different sort of apology.
She wasn’t sure she could apologize for this.
“You don’t need to,” Asher said. “Don’t.”
Eira shook her head, and distantly she realized that she was shaking, her hands and her shoulders and her body. Asher pulled her in closer and he worked on washing the blood off. It wouldn’t all come off, she knew, and she’d be able to feel it for days.
Sighing, she let her head fall down onto Asher’s shoulder. She closed her eyes so she could try to forget everything else, only breathe in Asher’s scent. Focus on the feeling of the warm water, Asher’s strong arms around her. It helped her feel a little bit steadier and by the time Asher had finished washing her and turned the water off, she felt a little bit more in control of her emotions.
They dried off, and Asher lingered over her shoulder, the black mark imprinted into the skin. She had felt it happening, she realized, looking back. It felt like it had been ripped into her skin, searing. As a human, she was petite, and the claw mark curled up over her shoulder.
Asher didn’t bother giving her any of her own clothes. Eira didn’t mind a bit, and she knew it made Asher feel better, too. He gave her a pair of sweats
and a hoodie that fit him a bit on the snug side, but was still oversized for Eira. She pulled the clothes on and ducked her head, tucking her nose under the collar of the hoodie to breathe in the scent of Asher and laundry soap. It was a sort of silent marking, a claim that they belonged to each other.
“What are you going to do now?” Asher asked.
Eira looked up at him and didn’t know what to say. Did he really think he was going to get away with such an open-ended question as a conversation starter? “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Sleep.”
“Blackwater is going to need its Alpha,” Asher said, his voice firm but gentle.
“They’ll figure it out,” she answered, closing her eyes. She felt exhausted, deep in her chest. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can,” Asher said. “You’re the Blackwater Alpha now.”
She shook her head. Not really in an effort to dispute it, but the thought was so foreign. The concept felt too big to wrap her head around, but Asher wasn’t wrong. No woman had ever been Alpha before, but the mark was irrefutable proof.
“I’m the Blackwater Alpha,” she said, testing the words out. And somehow, they felt right, like the ground solidifying beneath her feet, Asher beside her. She knew where she belonged in the world.
She was the Blackwater Alpha.
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