by T. F. Walsh
The softness in Grit’s eyes deadened, and his posture stiffened.
My flesh rippled. Ice filled my veins.
Marcin’s footsteps echoed. “Move.”
I threw myself backward, turning away as Grit attacked.
Fangs latched onto my shoulder, sinking deep, hitting bone, and hauling me through the snow.
I screamed. Dropping the syringe in the snow, my hands instinctually jutted out, punching Grit’s face, hitting his teeth, his nose.
Marcin crashed into Grit’s side, landing them both on the ground. I shuffled away, clasping my shoulder, and scrambled to my feet.
I grabbed the blade from inside my boot and scanned the ground. The syringe was gone, buried under snow somewhere. Shit!
Grit slipped out of Marcin’s hold, kicking him in the gut as he sprinted toward me, his gaze locked onto my bleeding arm. Goddess, he saw me as a meal.
I bolted, but he slammed into my back, bringing me down, his teeth puncturing the back of my injured shoulder. Excruciating pain zapped through me, rising and spreading down my back.
His hot breath of coppery stink splashed over me.
But I was a wulfkin, not a meal, yet he wasn’t releasing me. His jaws clamped down harder around my arm.
Nothing made sense, not the pain enveloping me, not my blurry vision, not the desperate cries coming from within. I lashed the knife at him, the blade biting Grit across the chin.
He whimpered. His hold softened, and I pulled free, rolling away.
Marcin was there, between us, releasing a guttural roar as close to a threat that any human could make, his hands in the air to make himself look bigger.
Grit wasn’t buying it and lunged, his jaws going for Marcin’s leg. Instead, Marcin swept sideways. Grit’s head collided into his hip. Marcin dropped his blade, but swerved around and leapt onto the animal’s back, an arm locked around his neck.
I hurried closer, my wounded arm limp by my side. Didn’t matter, not now when Marcin wrestled a monster. Grit nipped at his face, his growls a deathly threat.
Grit bucked, tossing Marcin to the side as if he weighed nothing.
I gripped the knife, facing the dracwulf. His gaze danced between us, and finally rested on me because it saw me as the weaker opponent, the injured one.
Marcin pounced, delivering a fist to the animal’s head, another to his side. Grit retreated but circled back in my direction.
I recoiled, the blade shaking in my fist.
Another rumble from overhead and the dark clouds shifted the afternoon sky into a shadowy netherworld ... complete with a hellhound ready to eat us.
“This way.” Marcin grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind him. “Go. There’s a cave in the stone wall. Run.”
I sprinted, snow sliding beneath my feet. Behind me, footfalls erupted. The chase was on.
My body was numb. No time to stop. No time at all.
Ahead, the stone wall came into view, but no cave. I kept going. I spotted it and skidded sideways into the narrow breach in the wall, my clothes scraping against the rock, tugging on my jacket.
Grit seemed to be there, his jaws snagging my jacket, pulling me back outside. Before I could strike, Marcin bowled him over from his momentum and shoved me into the gap.
I stumbled inside a black cavern. Marcin was right there, thrusting himself in behind me.
Grit’s head shoved through the gap inches behind him, teeth snapping.
I rushed to the closest boulder near the entrance and started pushing. Marcin was next to me.
“Fuck.” He grunted, and the stone shifted, grating across the floor. The large rock rolled in front of the entrance. Grit retreated. Light spilled in from the tiny gap at the bottom and a sizable one above, but not big enough for a dracwulf to squeeze through. The light revealed a tiny area with other rocks along the walls.
We stared at each other, our breaths racing. Shadows crammed beneath Marcin’s eyes. What were we going to do now?
Grit’s growls echoed outside, as did the repetitive thump of his paws against snow. And I’d dropped the syringe. Idiot.
“Let me look at your shoulder,” Marcin said, his voice strong and filled with adrenaline.
I glanced in that direction, blood smearing the fabric and dripping down my arm. With attention on my injury, the pain became agonizing as it spread across my chest. In haste, I unzipped my winter coat and covered the wound, my skin pinching. I held back a whine. With my shirt off, Marcin guided me to a rock near the entrance where the light beamed inside. Not once did his gaze dip to my bra.
Behind him, the enclosure appeared small; maybe it was just wide enough for ten people to stand. The sheer wall offered no escape through the back of the cave. Inside, the ground was littered with branches and dried foliage, tossed there by the wind. Half a dead log lay in here too. One end was clawed to death. Maybe the cavern was a bear’s den. And now, we were trapped inside. On a bright note, I no longer felt dread of the small space. Probably because of the terror already consuming me about what waited on the other side of the boulder.
“What freakin’ drugs did Levin give the dracwulves?”
“Let’s focus on getting you patched up.” Marcin retrieved the blanket. Using his blade, he cut two strips from an end. He soaked one corner with water and proceeded to wipe my wounds. “Without our wolf sides, I have no idea how long it will take you to heal, but stopping the bleeding is key.”
Each touch sent a twinge of pain down my arm along with the sensation of ants swarming my skin. I stared at Marcin, who worked at cleaning my gashes. A slight crease pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration.
I reached across and wiped away the bloodstain from his chin.
The expression behind his eyes was a blend of torture and fiery rage. “If I had stopped my father earlier, none of this would have happened.” The dejection in his voice bled into me.
“It’s not your fault. Your father’s a monster.”
He nodded. Soon enough, my arm resembled an Egyptian mummy, wrapped so tight my pulse barely pumped to my fingers. Once he stood, he used his foot to gather some of the foliage beneath his boots into a small pile, then crouched down. The flicking of the cigarette lighter echoed around us. Once the smell of smoke hit, he leaned over to blow against the rising flame. “Come closer to the fire to keep warm.”
Unsure what to say to help our situation, I kept quiet. We might as well lay low for a while. I’d not only dropped my syringe outside but also my knife, leaving us with only one blade and one of my arms out of action. Yeah, we were in trouble. I joined him near the fire and sat with my legs crossed.
Neither of us was in a talking mood, but the stupid syringe plagued my thoughts. If only I’d removed the lid in time, I could have jabbed the needle into Grit.
Several hours later, the light had dimmed outside, and we slouched around the roaring fire. Marcin sat within arm’s length of me, but he might as well be on another planet since he barely said a word. What was going on in his head?
Marcin picked up a thick log from against the back wall and set it across his lap. Using his blade, he stripped off some bark into one sheet. With the sheet on the ground, he hammered his knife along the length of it, breaking it into long strips about five millimeters wide. Hard to tell what exactly he was doing, but watching him work had a soothing effect on me. He grabbed a can of beef jerky from his backpack, pulled the lid open, and spilled the contents onto his bag.
He handed me one, then poured water into the can and set it on the edge of the flames. When he’d scrunched the stripped fibers into a ball, he submerged them into the heated water. Must be making cordage. Smart guy.
Marcin glanced over at me and handed me another jerky, which I accepted and devoured in three quick bites. Anything to take my mind off the searing cramping in my arm. Please heal quickly. “So what’s your plan with the rope?” I asked.
“Might work as a lasso to capture the dracwulf. We aren’t far from the castle. I’m thinking wit
h your calming ability and the rope, maybe we can coax it back up the hill.”
“So you don’t plan to kill it?”
His brow bunched into a tangle of lines, and his voice lowered. “What do you take me for? My father?”
“No, I just thought ...”
My stomach clenched at the darkness clouding his eyes. The deep blue gleam I was used to seeing was gone.
“After everything we’ve gone through, you should have seen by now that I have no intention to hurt you, your pets, or your family. I want a better future for all wulfkin, one free of war and constant fear of punishment.” He paused and shook his head. “I can’t pin you down. I don’t understand who you are anymore. For years, I felt as if I were drowning, losing my battle against Father. Then, after you came back into my life, you awoke something in my soul, providing me the strength to fight for myself too. I’ve been honest with you since you arrived, given you everything I have, but you still don’t trust me. The secrets with the daggers and, outside, the syringe you tried to hide from me.” He turned away, sighing; his shoulders slumped as he used a stick to stoke the fire. “Maybe I don’t know you as well as I once believed.”
Guilt gnawed at my stomach, and ice threaded through my limbs. He’d seen the syringe but hadn’t spoken a word.
I scooted closer and touched his arm, but he pulled away. “Father gave me the antidote for a dracwulf just before the contest but made me promise not to tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t, and goddess, I wish I could take it all back. I’m so dizzy with all the crap happening to us that half the time, I don’t know if I can even trust my own mind. Please know that I’m sorry for everything. For doubting you when I should have come to you the moment I found the dagger.”
He said nothing, and we were thrown back into the murky embrace of silence. At that moment, the danger with Grit didn’t compare to the threat of Marcin rejecting me. I’d been so consumed with protecting us from Levin, with doing what Father had told me, but never once asked the question of what Marcin needed.
I stared at him, the fiery glow reflecting off his stubbled jawline, the rawness in his gaze. A troubling tempest raked deep inside my gut, the harsh realization more than I could handle. I was a liar to everyone around me and, worst of all, to myself. But then again, my family had lied to me. Aisha’s relationship with Zeki. Father blackmailing me into mating Marcin or he’d mate off Aisha. How could I have trusted anyone, especially someone like Marcin when he’d betrayed me in Turkey. Despite all the quicksand I was sinking in, I couldn’t deny that I’d never be able to live without Marcin in my life. I’d fought so hard to save everyone except the one person who meant the world to me: Marcin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Marcin
I lay several feet away from Selena, who was fast asleep, her warmth a beacon calling to my freezing body, but I couldn’t bring myself to move closer. Night engulfed the cave with only a few embers still grappling for life and not helping in the slightest with the chill. Sleep had refused to come last night after my conversation with Selena plummeted. Neither of us had said a word since. Before the battle of innocence, I started to believe her story about the dagger because the sultan wouldn’t be so stupid as to use an engraved weapon against me, but it still irked me that she kept it a secret. And now, with Selena concealing a syringe, which I assumed was to reverse the anger in a dracwulf, her betrayal raged within me.
She probably didn’t even understand that her winning the boon didn’t guarantee security for Enre or Daciana, or for any European pack under Father’s reign, or the Turkish from the onslaught coming their way if they had any intention of taking Hungary. If I won and claimed all the packs under my rule, it would work and strip Father of power. Everyone would be saved, including the Turks. As much as Selena would hate me for taking her boon, I prayed that one day she’d be able to see how my actions weren’t to spite her. I wanted to help.
I climbed to my feet and crept around the fire, taking the rope I’d twisted last night into a ball and heading for the boulder. The wind howled outside, trees rustled, and the chill whistled through the gaps.
Time to do this.
With my back to the adjacent wall, I set one foot against the boulder and pushed. It didn’t move at first, so I took a steely breath and pushed again. This time, it slid, just slightly. Another thrust and it rolled enough for me to squeeze out, but not large enough for the dracwulf to get inside.
With one last glance at Selena, who slept peacefully—I studied how her eyes flitted behind her eyelids from a dream. The faint orange glow from the fire danced across her curled body, inviting me back to her side. I had to get moving.
Outside, the cold air snapped around me, and the waning gibbous moon draped the forest in a silvery hue. My steps slowed through the shin-deep fresh layer of snow as I scanned the landscape. Pines dressed in white engulfed the terrain, the feather light patter of snowflakes cascaded on winds that carried a sharp bite. I pulled my snow jacket tight around my chin and headed in the same direction Grit had attacked from yesterday, fighting the blustery weather.
When I was barely a few feet away, a snarl droned from behind.
I stood motionless and carefully eased my hand to my back pocket for the rope, then glanced over my shoulder. From within the shadows of trees, Grit stalked in my direction, a blemish against the landscape. A stealthy hunter who’d obviously been waiting all night. Dread clung to my insides at his determination, remembering that when a dracwulf locked onto victims, it never gave up on taking them down.
He inched closer, the coat along his back an explosion of raised fur. As he passed the cave, he glanced at it, sniffing the air.
I whistled.
Grit’s head swung in my direction, fangs on display.
“Come and get me.”
As if he understood my words, he bolted my way.
Unraveling the lasso I’d created last night, I flung it. The loop snagged around Grit’s head. I leapt out of his way. My hands tugged the cordage, tightening it around his neck, sending him into a jolting stumble.
He bucked, his back legs kicking out, his head thrashing. The rope slipped through my hands.
Grit already had an ear out of the loop and then the other. He was free. Fuck.
I retreated, never taking my sights off him, and grabbed the knife from my boot. In haste, I slashed the blade, nicking him on his good ear.
He halted, growling, then started circling me. I joined him in his war dance, my posture in a crouching stance. Weapons ready. Grit might be smaller than Klaus, but his ferociousness was insane.
The winds howled. I lifted my lasso, ready to toss it, but Grit’s stare locked on my bleeding injury.
Change of plans.
I flung the rope directly at him, fast and hard, whipping him in the eyes.
He bounced back. His head shook.
Knife tight in my fist, I attacked. I careened around him and crashed into his side, bringing us both to the ground, him beneath me. My hands pushed down on his head to stop him from taking chunks of flesh out of me.
“Stop struggling and submit.” The cordage was within arm’s length behind him. Shuffling my body across his, I stretched a hand near the homemade rope.
Grit thrashed against me, his snarls vibrating through my body.
My fingers reached out, inches from the rope. Almost there.
The moment I touched the lasso, Grit tugged free from under my hold. His jaws looped around, biting into my chest.
I cried out, and my body tensed. The pain sliced throughout my body.
Instinct kicked in, and I punched him in the head until he let go. With the rope in my grasp, I jolted to my feet and ran, stuffing the weapon into my back pocket, pressing a hand flat against the injury across my chest. No thinking. Nothing. Just bolting into the woods.
I glanced back. Grit leapt to his feet, rocking his head back and forth, then raced after me again.
The land sloped upward, and my thighs smarted with each l
eap, but it sure as hell didn’t sting as much as the bite. Well, no hiding from the dracwulf now. He’d sniff me out in seconds.
At the crest, I swung left before looking back. Grit was only a few paces away. The snow slowed my pace, but the test of wills had become life or death to one of us.
Grit jumped onto my back, bringing me down again, face first into freezing white powder. I lost hold of the knife.
His fangs pierced the back of my neck. Excruciating daggers into my flesh. The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils.
I drove an elbow backward, bucking him off and striking Grit’s side.
Up on my feet, I struggled through the thick snow, my head wavering, my muscles seizing. No time to find the knife. More trees. My vision danced. Keep going. Don’t stop.
Ahead, the castle loomed like a candle in the pit of hell. My legs pumped faster, taking longer strides. The soreness faded away as adrenaline propelled me.
Snapping at my heels, the dracwulf was right there, not falling back.
The clearing behind the castle came into view, along with the lanterns set up for our return.
I exploded from the woods, my sights on the empty field. Not a soul in sight.
Swinging around a large boulder, I turned to face Grit, my lungs gasping for air. The beast hopped onto the rock, his chest rising and falling. As was mine.
He lunged, hitting me square in the chest. Already soaked in blood, I stumbled as his momentum drove me to the ground.
Grit froze for a moment. He’d either heard or smelled something nearby.
His hesitation was just enough time for me to shove my hands into his shoulders, sending him teetering backward. I managed to get to my feet and threw myself onto Grit, my fists slamming into his head relentlessly.
The dracwulf whimpered, his body shaking. On my next hit, his head sunk and never lifted. His eyes rolled back, and within seconds, the muscles beneath my hands softened.
I straddled him, immobile, waiting. My breathing came too fast as I gulped for more air. When I pressed my hands on the pulse, I was surprised. He was still alive. Good. I retrieved the rope and tied his front legs together, and then his back, just in case he woke up.