Blood and Wolf (The Canath Chronicles Book 1)

by Eva Truesdale

  And now all I can think about is how Soren might prove that wickedness to me.

  How stupid I’ve been to let my guard down the way I have around him.

  “I can’t help what my ancestors have done anymore than you can help the fact that your mom gave you a curse as a welcome-to-the-world present,” he snaps.

  And I’m speechless for a moment, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so upset.

  I snap the mirror shut and shove it back into my pocket. My hand strays to my sword’s handle, but I try to keep my voice somewhat rational as I say, “How could you not tell me the truth?”

  He glares at me. “Well, you just answered that, didn’t you?”

  “I—”

  “You would never have come with me if I’d told you.”

  I bite my lip, a million harsh words hacking through my brain and trying to fight their way from my mouth. But I hold them back. Because he’s right. It doesn’t excuse his lying by omission, but he’s right.

  “And I needed you to come with me,” he says, somewhat softer now. “I still need you.”

  We study each other for a long, tense moment. I can’t seem to unclench my fists. Or my heart. I can’t think of anything else to say, and with every second that passes I feel a little more stupid about it all—a feeling I can’t really stand. At all. So I search for a distraction.

  I think I see a flash of white in the trees to my left.

  “I’m going to go catch up with Liam and see what he’s found.”

  “You shouldn’t go alone, just—”

  “Yes,” I growl, twisting back so I can shoot him one last glare. “I absolutely should go alone. I want to be alone. Stay here and watch the bags, and maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll come back for you. Or at least for those bags.”

  “I’m sorry,” he calls to my retreating back.

  I bristle automatically at the words and his slightly-begging tone of voice, unable to bring myself to accept the apology just yet. Or to stop thinking about what this latest development means.

  Can I still trust him?

  What about that strange vision I had of him, before we’d even met?

  One thing at a time.

  I take a deep breath and focus on finding Liam. I’m not worried about being by myself as I track him; I have my sword—and besides, my sense of smell confirms that it was Liam I saw. And he isn’t far away. Within minutes I not only smell him, but I hear him shuffling around, muttering something to himself. He’s back in his human form, for some reason. I push through thick vines draped in moss, and I find myself in a clearing with his back to me.

  “Liam? Is everything okay?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah— I just thought I’d found something promising, but then I lost track of it.” He turns and gives me that disarming smile of his. Soren’s illusion spell seems to have faded through the transformation from human to wolf to human, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that; Liam’s actual, genuine smile is exactly what I needed to see right now.

  But the longer he studies me, the more forced that smile seems to become.

  “You’re alone?” he says.

  “I just wanted to check on you. Soren’s resting.”

  He doesn’t buy my lie. “What did he do?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly, not ready to talk about any of it at the moment. “What did you think you’d found? Maybe we can pick up the trail again together.”

  Instead of agreeing, he beckons me toward him. I sigh, but ultimately I give in and go to his side, and I let him wrap me up in his arms. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of him without even trying to speak for a moment.

  “I wish you would stay away from him,” he mutters into my hair. “At least as much as you can.”

  And I repeat the familiar, tired-out lie, because I don’t know what else to say: “We’re business partners.”

  “You’re more than business partners,” he growls.

  “I…”

  Not anymore, I think.

  I don’t know if I’ve successfully kept this last thought from Liam, but he says nothing else. After a moment, though, his hands move to the small of my back. His fingers slide beneath my jacket and trace across the silky cotton of my t-shirt. Softly at first, but the movement slowly becomes more and more possessive, his fingers clenching harder until, annoyed, I try to step back. He holds me tighter.

  I lean my head away from his, as far as I can get. “What are you doing?” I demand. “I’m not in the mood for games right now.”

  He opens his mouth to answer.

  But just then, the wind changes directions, and it carries the unmistakable scent of blood on it.

  “Is that…Liam, does that smell like Carys’s blood to you?”

  “She’s fine.” His voice sounds so chillingly detached that I stop sniffing the wind for a moment and turn back to meet his eyes.

  They’re…strange. No illusion covering them, but they’re glassy and hard and they still don’t look like his.

  “What? Shouldn’t we at least—”

  He cuts me off by slamming me against the nearest tree, pinning my arms awkwardly to my sides. My breath leaves me in a gasp, and for a minute I’m too stunned to even think about fighting back. But then he relaxes the pressure on one of my arms. Reaches and rips my sword from its sheath. Flings it away. It clangs against a nearby rock with a tinny echo that reverberates deep into my bones. My mouth falls open as I stare at his strange eyes.

  He knows better than to screw with my weapons.

  So apparently this is not one of his games.

  But then what the hell is this?

  My first racing thought is that this must be an illusion. That Soren must have followed me after our fight, and he’s given up all attempts at pretenses and he’s wicked and we’re really, truly enemies now—and this is how he’s decided to start fighting me. I hate that thought. I want it out of my head. But it’s the only explanation my frantic mind can think of.

  Both of Liam’s hands are suddenly on my arms again. I feel claws springing out, twisting in, blood rushing down my skin.

  I instinctively jerk my knee up into his gut. Hard. He flinches, falls back just enough that I manage to squirm out from under him. He tries to grab hold of my arm again, but I twist and aim a kick at the back of his knee. The blow causes his balance to buckle, and I knock it the rest of the way off with a powerful shove. While he tries to regain his footing, I bounce back and away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, my sword glints in the rising moonlight. It’s close—too close—to Liam. And could I really use it against him, anyway?

  His eyes are narrowed, following my every movement.

  I can’t be unarmed, I decide.

  I dart hard to my left. Sprint at least thirty feet, until I’m positive he’s following. Until he’s practically breathing down my neck. Then I bank right, spin around and race back toward my fallen weapon. I hardly slow down as I scoop it up, but the motion is clumsy and sluggish enough that Liam catches up. His elbow drops into my back. It feels like a knife being rammed between my shoulder blades, the way the fiery pain radiates out from the point of contact. I end up on the ground, chest heaving for breath and my hand just barely clinging to my collected weapon.

  I roll onto my back and meet his swinging fist with the broad side of my sword. The metal vibrates as he hits it, shakes my arm so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t break either blade or bone. It also shoves that blade unsettling close to my own throat. I brace my arms and try to push back against his strength. Blood wells in the puncture wounds his claws left in my skin, one drip after the other splashing down against my chest.

  “What the hell is going on?” I demand through clenched teeth.

  He doesn’t answer. He just pushes harder. My strength in my weaker arm—my left one—gives out, and my sword dips diagonally, stabbing through the edge of my shoulder. It catches more of my jacket than my skin, but the pain is still enough to make m
e cry out. And it’s enough to make me completely lose my composure.

  The skin around my marked wrist feels hotter all of sudden. The ground beneath me trembles. There’s a massive crack in the distance—like the sound of lightning striking a tree. Liam draws away, staring at my wrist like this is the first time he’s ever noticed the mark of Canath that graces it. I shove him the rest of the way off of me and scramble to my feet, sword drawn and heart pounding.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” I pant.

  I don’t expect him to even speak by this point. But he does. In that some detached whisper as before, he says, “You shouldn’t have that mark. Why do you have that mark?”

  I glare at him. “What the hell are you even talking about? Seriously? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

  Those weird eyes seem to shift and darken for a moment. He moves as if to come toward me, but I point the tip of my sword into his chest, stopping him mid-step. My whole body is shaking. The blade remains surprisingly level. At least for now.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do next.

  What I’m going to do if he tries to move.

  “Please stop this,” I whisper. “I can’t make sense of this on top of everything else, I—”

  He tries to sidestep around my blade.

  I’m faster than he is.

  I curl around behind him and slam my fist as hard as I can into the side of his head. He stumbles. His muscles ripple and spasm the way they do before a shift, and that telltale wolfish fierceness overtakes his expression. I back away. Quickly.

  I don’t know how to fight him like this, much less as an actual beast.

  So as he transforms, I run.

  The trees blur by. The scent of Carys’s blood is still overwhelmingly strong. I try to think critically—I need to find her, help her, can’t lead Liam to her—but eventually all these thoughts just become a steady stream of curse words because seriously how did everything go so completely to shit?

  I can hear paws slamming against the forest floor, and what sounds like small trees breaking and being practically uprooted as he tears straight through them. If we were both humans, I’d be faster than him. But like this?

  He’s going to catch me.

  I push that thought out of my head. Leap across a small creek and land hard on the muddy bank, sliding a bit before I find my footing and tear forward—directly into a thick wall of thorn-covered vines. They carve up my arms and face as I hack my way through. One of them catches directly in a claw mark on my arm, and the pain that rips through is blinding. The woods spin with it. I keep hacking and clawing until the brambles and vines finally spit me out on the other side, into relatively clear forest—and into Soren, who is standing with his arm raised and his eyes narrowed in the direction I just sprinted from.

  He offers no explanation, just throws me behind him without breaking his gaze. An instant later there’s a little pop, and the briar bushes I just fought my way through start to shift in color and size, waving a bit like distant things do on sweltering summer days. Soon it no longer resembles vegetation, but a steep bank of rock and dirt that stretches as far as I can see in both directions.

  He turns to me like he’s just noticed me, and he heaves a deep breath. “Gods, you’re hard to catch up with,” he says.

  “Not for a wolf,” I say, eyes darting anxiously toward the sound of Liam coming closer and closer.

  “Well that spell should confuse him and slow him down. Though not for long, given how good his senses are.” He grabs my arm and pulls me into a quick jog. “So let’s hurry. Carys is this way, and she’s still alive—”

  “Still alive?” I repeat, dazed.

  He said it like we’re incredibly lucky about that fact.

  Feeling like I’m going to throw up, I race after him. It’s not hard to catch up. He’s slow—too slow, and obviously struggling; I can’t imagine how much power it must have taken to create such an elaborate illusion on top of everything else he’s done today.

  Luckily, we don’t have to go far to find Carys.

  Unluckily, she’s in even worse shape than I’d prepared myself for.

  She’s tucked back into a shallow cave—it’s more of an overhang of rock, really. Her black fur is damp with blood, glistening in the little bit of sunlight reaching her resting spot. I hold my breath at the sight of her, not releasing it until she finally shows movement—one single, pitiful thump of her feathered tail.

  “Carys?”

  She lifts her head a few inches, only to drop it almost immediately back to the ground. She closes her eyes.

  “Stay awake,” I command. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened. Or just…I don’t know, finish telling me about mirror legends or something. Please?”

  She snorts. I choose to interpret that as a laugh. And I choose to ignore the thin line of drool and blood that’s dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

  I try thoughtspeech, thinking it might be easier for her to understand and focus on. (Carys? Did you hear me?)

  Awful silence for several seconds, and then: (I heard you.)

  (Then what the hell are you waiting for? Random mirror facts! Now! Go!)

  (I’m tired. I just want to sleep.)

  (No you don’t!)

  (You’re so annoying,) she muses. And then she’s quiet for another moment before she begins with: (Random mirror fact number one: Some cultures believe that it’s imperative to cover mirrors after a loved one’s died, so that their departing soul can’t get confused by the mirrors or even trapped in them.)

  (Fascinating.)

  “Should we try moving her someplace safer?” Soren asks, but I wave him off; I’m terrified that moving her might break her completely. And right now I just want to keep hearing her not-dead voice.

  (Number two.) Her voice is a distant echo in my head. (The number two fact…I don’t know, I think I remember reading something about breaking mirrors in turn breaking souls. Or did we already talk about that earlier?)

  (You said a proper mirror reflects a person’s soul. And that if they break it then parts of that soul will be trapped in…)

  I get slowly to my feet, realization dawning over me and a plan rapidly forming in my mind.

  “What’s with that look on your face?” Soren asks.

  “He broke one of the mirrors.” I close my eyes, trying to sift through all of the mythology facts that Carys has been feeding me these past twenty-four hours, until I finally remember one creature in particular. “Furat-diavol,” I whisper. “He compromised his soul by breaking the mirror, and now it’s taken him, and I…We have to…”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  I take a deep breath. Crouch, and put a hand on Carys’s head. Then to Soren I say, “I know you’re tired, but can you protect this little cave for a bit? And keep talking to her. Keep her awake.”

  “I—” He stops short at what must be a crazy, desperate look on my face. “Yes,” he says. “For a few minutes, at least.”

  “Good. I should be able to draw him away.”

  “And then what?”

  I don’t answer, except to promise Carys that I’ll be right back. A promise I might not be able to keep, but it’s better than telling them the actual plan running through my head. Because spoiler alert: it’s kind of a crazy plan.

  And I’m just really hoping it doesn’t end with me killing my best friend.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It’s started to drizzle rain by the time I make it back to the wall of mirrors.

  I crouch immediately and start to sift through the mud and broken shards, trying, somehow, to remember exactly which one he broke. Exactly which one Liam’s soul might be trapped in, if the legend is true. I thought I had a general idea of where that one had fallen. Of what it looked like.

  Now that I’m here, they all sort of look the same.

  And there are dozens of the broken ones scattered around.

  The rain and wind continue to pick up,
obscuring the sounds of Liam’s approach. I managed to lure him away from the other two, and I’m sure he was following me; I can still hear the distinctly light lifting and falling of his paws. I can’t tell exactly how far away he is. But it definitely sounds like he’s getting closer.

  I grab a rock and start smashing shards of glass into dust that reflects nothing. I think I see thin wisps of grayish-white float up from a few of the crushed pieces, but it may just be a trick of the light—or the lack of light, really—mixed with the misty rain. That mist coats my skin, joining the sweat that makes my grip on the rock and pieces of glass slippery. But I don’t stop.

  Grab the glass, crush it, repeat.

  Over and over until the motions are manic, desperate and without thought.

  Until my vision blurs and my hands feel numb.

  “What are you doing?”

  The sound of Liam’s voice—when I know it’s not really his voice at all—breaks me out of my rock-crushing trance. I glance over my shoulder, almost hoping I’d imagined that sound. But there he is—human again, probably because that demon inside him knows that the sight of his crooked human grin makes it even more difficult to think about fighting him. I turn back, intending to quickly crush the last few pieces of broken mirrors. But the ones still hanging above me catch my attention before I can.

  They’re reflecting him, of course.

  His current, true reflection—which doesn’t feature that crooked grin at all. Instead his smile is wicked looking, paired with eyes that look almost red and skin that’s crawling with living shadows. When I look over my shoulder, he still appears normal. Back at the mirror, and I see those bits of shadowy blackness writhing on his skin, wrapping his arms and neck in a poisonous embrace.