by Hickory Mack
“That’s really something we should have discussed before making that decision,” the reaper chuckled before turning her head away so she could cough without doing it in the spirit’s face.
“Why does there need to be a discussion? I’ve already decided that you are mine. All you need to do is accept it.” Wren scowled, looking for all the world like an angry kitten.
“Because…”
There was a crash in the trees behind them. Elsie was so wiped out that she hadn’t felt or heard anything approaching, and Wren had been too preoccupied to notice. The spirit looked up and started growling, low in her throat, and another, deeper growl answered.
“Frost?” Elsie asked, looking to the trees to see the dark fur of a huge canine hidden in the trees. He didn’t growl or flash his teeth at her as she expected, but maybe he was expecting her to scold him as she had after he’d killed the sky people. “What are you doing hiding back there? Are you sulking? Come out here. I need to thank you properly.”
It was then that she noticed that the blue chain attached to her cuff was leading in the opposite direction. This wasn’t her wolf. Fear clenched in her belly, the reaction making her groan with pain. Wren grabbed her hand and pressed it down over the moss, making Elsie keep the pressure up.
“I’ll take care of this,” the spirit vowed, but Elsie squinted. It was difficult to make out the dog’s features in the shadows, but when he turned and ran without a sound, she saw the fringe on that steel gray tail. He wasn’t a wolf at all! He was...
She struggled to sit up then forced herself to her feet. Wren grabbed her arm to keep her from toppling back over, looking at her with open shock. Elsie barely noticed that she was even there. Her mind couldn’t reconcile it being him, but there was no other possibility! How the hell had he gotten so close without her noticing?!
“Wait, don’t go!” Elsie yelled with all the voice she could muster. She took a few steps forward, impeded by Wren, who wanted her to behave herself and lay back down. “Saint! Come back!”
Chapter 15
“Why are you so upset? Who is that demon to you?” Wren asked, her face gone cold at seeing how desperate Elsie was to get to him.
“He’s the man you pulled from my mind when we first met,” she choked out, remembering how the spirit had taken a form close to his to entice her. “Saint is the most important person in my entire life. He’s my mate.”
Wren’s eyes widened, and some of the strength left the grasp she had around Elsie’s waist. She looked away, her eyes on the ground for several seconds before her mouth firmed into a thin line. Only moments before, she’d vehemently proclaimed the reaper belonged to her, and now here was someone else with the same claim.
“I—” Wren paused as though it were a struggle to collect her thoughts. She brushed a long strand of white hair behind her shoulder, then nodded. “I understand. Don’t worry, reaper, I will bring him back for you.”
“Wren-”
“Hush, don’t argue with me. Lay down and rest.” Wren helped her back to the ground, making sure the wound was still covered. For a lingering moment, she held Elsie’s gaze, twining strands of her hair between her fingers. “This changes nothing. You are mine. I’ll be back soon. Do your best not to die while I’m gone.”
Elsie let out a short laugh, wincing when it pained her ribs. “I’ll try my best not to.” Wren’s face hardened, then she turned, her long white hair flying out around her. Before Elsie could even blink, she was gone.
Seconds turned into minutes, and the suffocating silence stretched on and on. Not even Frost had come to find her. She’d yet to see any sign of Frida, who’d been with Wren at the start of all this. They’d come searching for help and ended up scattered to the wind.
The muscles in her stomach convulsed again, and she groaned. She’d known Saint was nearby, but she hadn’t guessed how close he’d been. With everything going on with the hunters and the curse, she had failed to sense his presence. Gods, what had he seen and heard? Had he witnessed the entirety of Wren’s insistence that she belonged to her now? Worse yet, had he heard that she hadn’t immediately declined?
The soft pads of a creature way too large to be making so little noise came up behind her. Frost’s nose dropped over her stomach, and he huffed in a series of quick sniffs before nudging her harshly with his paw. He growled and did it again, then an overwhelming feeling of disapproval flooded over her, making her entire body feel entirely too heavy.
“Okay, I get it,” she complained. “It’s not like I let myself get stabbed on purpose. Did you happen to find Frida before coming? If you didn’t grab her, we have to go back and get her.”
He pulled his head back and nodded once before looking toward the woods in the direction Wren had chased Saint. His nostrils quivered, and he growled again. A complicated set of scents hit Elsie’s nose, but unlike what the wolf was able to make of all the information he was shoving at her, she didn’t understand what he was trying to say. Those scents meant nothing to her.
“Get out of my head,” Elsie grumbled, but he had one more thing to show her. Herself, held by Callum, a knife in her belly. Her face was unhealthily pale, washing out her normally tan skin. Over the scene she felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Her own mortality. Frost had thought they were going to die. She lifted a hand to touch his leg, grabbing a bit of his fur.
“You worry too much,” she said. “We made it out of there just fine.”
He sneezed at her, a clear denial of her attempts to brush off just how bad things had gotten. If for any reason Wren hadn’t stayed close enough to hear her, they’d both be at the mercy of Callum and his crew. As it was, they’d destroyed half of a mage village, and five hunters were dead.
All they had to show for their trouble was a new vial of the elixir and the knowledge that it would never be enough. From what Marley had told her, she’d have to take these vials daily to stay at peak health. At least it would stop the attacks so her body could begin to heal itself again.
“Did you hear that they want to replace you with a hellhound?” She snorted angrily, quickly followed by Frost’s indignant growl. “I said the same thing.”
Elsie raised her hand to her head, surprised to find the charm back on her bracelet. She hadn’t noticed the spirit returning it to her. Wren had wielded the Staff of Sanaia so easily it was almost embarrassing, especially considering she’d trained herself for months before gaining a base level of comfort with the huge weapon. It was something she’d have to remind herself to ask again because she definitely wanted to know why the staff had recognized her.
“Everything’s gotten so complicated, Precious,” she sighed. “We’re going to have to hide somewhere while I figure out what to do next. Do you want to guess where Wren is right now?”
He rolled his eyes at her, not even glancing down when she gave a weak cough. The big wolf wasn’t interested in her stupid guessing games, which was ironic, since he forced her to play his every time he wanted to tell her something with his overbearing mental pictures.
“My mate came and found me. I haven’t seen him in nine years, and he showed up less than half an hour after I’d been stabbed, in the middle of the woman I want to take as my lover confessing her feelings to me. It’s amazing he didn’t kill me where I stand. Stood. Lie? Whatever. You get my point.” She rolled her head back so she could see the wolf better and frowned. She could swear the damned creature was laughing at her.
“I don’t see anything funny about this,” she grumbled. She looked around and pointed to a nearby tree. “Will you help me get over there so I can sit up? I don’t want to look so pathetic if Wren manages to bring Saint back here.”
She’d meant that she’d stand and use him for balance, but he grabbed the back of her shirt and dragged her over in one swift move. It hurt like hell, and the skin on her back sustained quite a few scrapes, but it was over with a whole lot less patheticness on her part. Elsie groaned and sat up, scooting back until she reste
d against the tree.
Her shirt was torn and covered in blood, so she pulled it off, trading hands to continue holding the moss. She was left in nothing but a bra but it didn’t bother her. She’d grown up as a member of the hunters. She’d seen more nudity by the time she was fifteen than most would in their whole lives. Squads bathed together wherever they could find clean water when they were out in the field.
She stared at the shirt for several seconds with a frown that darkened the longer she looked at it. She’d lost more blood than she’d thought. No wonder she was having so much trouble keeping her eyes open.
He’d come too late. Or maybe he’d come just in time. There was no need to worry himself over the ‘what ifs’ of the situation anymore. Saint no longer needed to torment himself with wondering why she hadn’t come to him. She’d moved on with someone else.
He ran blindly through the trees for a few minutes, gaining as much distance from the scene he’d stumbled upon as he could. She probably hadn’t even realized who he was; she’d obviously been too preoccupied. A part of him wanted to turn back and go rage at her. Make his mistress feel every bit as awful as he did. Why should he be the only one in this much pain? Why should she be enjoying her life while he drowned in sorrow?
Saint swerved around an uprooted tree just as something slammed into him from behind. He rolled across the ground before hitting a random boulder, knocking the wind out of him. Standing, he looked around to see what the hell could possibly have attacked him, but saw nothing. He didn’t even feel anything. Shaking his head and then his coat, he growled, his fur bristling.
Whatever it was hit him again, harder this time. He yelped and let out a frustrated snarl, attempting to catch himself before crashing into a huge tree. All he’d managed was to slow himself down, but it was enough to stop him from being seriously hurt. Whipping around, he bared his teeth, searching for his mysterious assailant.
It came into view, and his eyes went up, and up, and kept rising. His tail tucked between his legs as he resisted the urge to roll belly up in submission. It was some kind of giant. He’d never seen anything half as big as this.
With pale green skin and a full head of dark green hair, the giant was obviously a creature of nature. If they’d been among normal trees, her head would have been above the canopy. Her pale blue eyes glared down at him, and when she moved to grab him, she moved at a speed he would have thought impossible for something of her size. This thing wasn’t normal.
Her hand easily encircled his body, and she lifted him up, holding him at eye level. Saint whimpered, thinking he was about to be eaten by a goddess he’d never even heard of before, but she surprised him. Shaking him vigorously a few times, she paused to scowl at him with a clear warning.
He didn’t know what he’d done to displease her, but whatever it was, he’d happily never repeat the offense again. Lowering his gaze away from hers, he kept his tail tucked, trying to do whatever he could to convey his submission. He didn’t want any misunderstandings, there was no way he’d ever challenge the giant.
She shook him one more time, shaking a finger in his face. Then, as she lowered him to the ground, she shrank, keeping a firm hold on him as she did. The green turned to ivory perfection, her hair whitened, but the blue eyes stayed the same. By the time she was human sized, it was the iron grip of her magic keeping him in place rather than her massive hand.
Saint realized with a shock that she was the same fae woman who’d been kissing Elsie. She was completely nude, and there was more than a little bit of feral in the expression she threw his way. He could feel the indignation coming off of her in waves of heat.
“You hurt her,” the woman seethed. In his hound form, he couldn’t reply, and she took that poorly. With a flick of her wrist, he went flying again, but this time he had the chance to see the flash of light moon magic come hurtling his way before it crashed into him. The fae was punishing him for running away.
Before he could get to his feet, she was standing over him, a deep look of disappointment on her face. She wrapped one of her thin hands around his ear and pulled until he stood on his feet. He tilted his head so she wouldn’t have to pull so hard since he was so much larger than she was. When she just stood there, he shrank his size down further, lessening the pain even further.
“Come,” she demanded, pulling him back toward Elsie.
He was so painfully confused. His mistress was obviously happy in her life without him. Why on Earth would she send her lover to fetch him back? His mind raced with possibilities, creating scenario after scenario, each hurting his own feelings worse than the last.
They returned to where his mistress lay against a tree. There was blood all over Elsie’s hands and an unnatural paleness to her beautifully tanned skin. Her long blue hair was a chaotic mess, and there were dark circles under her pale purple eyes. Those same eyes that turned his way as the tiniest sound left her throat, like it was painful to see him.
She was stronger than she was pretending to be, and it irked him. Why was she acting like such a child? His mistress was an unstoppable force of nature, not some whining, defeated weakling that needed all this excessive tending to. When had she ever been this frail?
He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Elsie’s face had lost some of the roundness of her youth. Her jawline had sharpened as she’d matured, heightening her beauty. But he couldn’t get over how ragged she looked. No matter how hard she’d worked or how tired she’d been, he’d never seen her look so worn down before. It was too much. None of this made sense. He couldn’t get past the sinking feeling that there was something seriously wrong with his mistress
Saint needed to know what it was. He took a step forward, knowing the only way to find out was to go to her and ask, but the she-devil nature giantess gave him a warning look filled with meaning. He got the message loud and clear. He sat down, crouching and keeping his head below hers to continue showing her that he was willingly submitting to her.
Wren didn’t give her time to fall asleep. The spirit appeared, dragging an oversized wolfhound by the ear. Saint looked terrified and mortified all at once, while Wren looked like a vengeful goddess of the woods. She paused a few feet away from where Elsie leaned against her tree, shot the hound a dirty look, and pointed at the dirt. He sat on his haunches obediently, keeping his head ducked low so she wouldn’t pull on his ear anymore.
“Don’t you dare move,” Wren warned before turning to Elsie and Frost, glaring at them both. “What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t have let her move.”
“Sorry, I asked him to,” Elsie murmured, lifting her hand from the moss when the spirit nudged her aside. Wren closed her eyes, and Elsie yelped as her wound grew warm.
“Sit still! You’re lucky you haven’t gone into shock,” the spirit hissed. Elsie immediately did as she was told. It was the first time she’d heard Wren sound so angry with her, and she couldn’t be sure if it was because of the wound or because of Saint. “I can’t heal you entirely, but I can make sure it gets a good start.”
Elsie looked at the wolfhound over Wren’s head. She wanted to call out to him and hold him in her arms, but his eyes narrowed, trained on the ground next to her hand. She looked over, and her heart skipped a beat. He was staring at the chain connecting her to Frost.
“Fuck, Saint...” she whispered. The expression on his face told her he was definitely misreading the situation.
“I said hush,” Wren scolded. The heat in her stomach intensified, and her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms and leaving rows of deep red half-moon marks. The spirit was doing her best to knit her insides back together, but it wasn’t as easy for her as fixing her uterus had been. Elsie whimpered. She’d endured too much pain, for far too long, and her tolerance was falling to shambles.
The next time she opened her eyes it was to see Saint’s locked on her. She held his gaze desperately, but after only a few seconds, he turned away. Heaving out a sigh, he glanced toward the wo
ods, but Frost growled, the first sound he’d made since Wren had returned with the hound.
Saint’s teeth flashed back at him silently. Typically, a regular demon wouldn’t have a chance against someone like Frost, but Saint was born to hunt wolves. If they clashed, it wouldn’t end well for either of them.
“Frost,” Elsie breathed. Two sets of canine ears twitched when she spoke. “Cut it out.” The wolf snapped his teeth at her, but he didn’t make a move. He must have understood that this was the mate she’d been talking about.
Wren lifted her hands then pulled the lump of blood soaked moss away. Elsie looked down and winced. There was still a noticeable slit in her stomach, but it had been considerably altered, as though it had already been healing for hours instead of being freshly inflicted.
“We’re still going to have to treat it carefully since you aren’t healing properly. It’s like your body has completely given up.” Wren touched her cheek gently. “You took the vial, didn’t you?”
“It didn’t buy us much time, and it won’t reverse the effects of the curse,” she explained. “I’d have to take a dose as big as the new vial to feel any better.”
“I was afraid it might be something like that,” Wren sighed. “I’m going to dress this properly, then the two of you can talk.”
Elsie took her hand and looked deep into her beautiful blue eyes, trying to convey her gratefulness without actually speaking the words aloud. Wren kissed her fingers, then stood and walked away to gather fresh moss. Elsie watched her go, then took a deep breath, turning to the one person she wanted to speak to more than anyone else on Earth. And the one person she had no idea what to say to.
“Saint—”
He flashed his fangs, his nose curling up in a snarl. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to the count of four, then released it slowly. She’d deserved his reaction, but it still hurt.
Frost lay at her side, his paws extending in front of her feet, creating a barrier between her and the hound. It was touching, his decision to protect her, but also inconvenient. The last thing Saint needed to see was that she was connected to another demon in his place. She kept her hands in her lap, her fingers twined together so she wouldn’t absentmindedly stroke the wolf’s fur.