by Aguirre, Ann
She lifted her striped, feline face from her paws and cocked her head, as if casting doubt on the possibility that a great cat and an exhausted Eldritch could do anything in the night that would be worthy of gossip. Right, fair enough. She’d already said that she liked his fireplace and his carpet, so it didn’t seem likely that she intended to budge, and it was only a few hours until dawn anyway. Gavriel gave up on a battle he couldn’t win. If he continued to protest, it would only make him seem ridiculous, and she’d already gotten the best of him far too often.
There was no way he’d get any sleep tonight, not with an uninvited guest on his floor. Sleep had never come easy, even as a child, but since he’d completed his training and gone into Princess Thalia’s service, it only got worse. Tonight would likely be no exception, just long hours of staring into the dark, only now he had to listen to the weird rumble that proved Magda Versai suffered no such discomfort. For some reason, there was a soothing quality to it, though, rather like white noise, and he focused on her breathing instead of the disordered anguish in his brain.
It was well into the morning when Gavriel woke and the Animari woman was gone, no sign of her prior occupation. He found a message waiting from Princess Thalia, reminding him that he’d agreed to take charge of the afternoon’s activities, acting as huntmaster to entertain the visiting wolves. He handled those preparations before going in search of breakfast; it galled him to admit that he was, in fact, indebted to the Animari woman. Her late visit had left him feeling better than he had in days, physically, at any rate.
And healing had to start somewhere.
Well enough, Gavriel understood that it began by sleeping without night terrors, just for an hour or two, eating a few bites without feeling nauseated by guilt. Time would level the field, making the most grievous hurts into old aches and small twinges of regret. That was the best and more terrible aspect of existence.
Probably, he should find Ferith and Tirael and try to comfort them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hid until he had to present himself in the bailey, play his assigned role for the amusement of these cursed wolves. The surviving Noxblades joined him soon after, and he accepted bows from both of them, a silent acknowledgment of seniority.
“You’re looking well,” Tirael observed.
Somehow, it felt like an accusation, and perhaps Ferith read it the same, because she frowned. “We owe it to the princess to stay strong,” she said, a gentle rebuke.
Tirael offered a half-smile. “Of course. I meant nothing untoward by the remark. We’re supposed to entertain these brutes, I take it, and not kill them in the woods?”
He glanced at the woman sharply. “Don’t let Princess Thalia hear you talking in that manner. We will do nothing to jeopardize this alliance.”
“Why pretend?” Tirael whispered. “You hate them too.”
“Politics aside, the Animari have exceptional hearing,” Ferith cut in.
That was enough to shut the younger Eldritch up. Gavriel had heard such things many times before, even spoken hatred himself, but now he had Magda’s words ringing in his ears—about how her own people struggled not to hate the Golgoth and to stop using old slurs. Her conviction—and the empirical rightness of her statement—stayed with him.
The world doesn’t get better unless we strive to make it so. It starts with me, with my old grudges and my unjust hate.
The Animari were already assembled, shifted and ready to hunt. A few soldiers joined the gathering, no doubt coerced or persuaded by Lileth. With his vedda beast pawing the ground restlessly, Gavriel waited for Princess Thalia, along with everyone else. Sometimes it felt as if he’d spent his whole life this way, hoping for a glimpse of her.
At last Princess Thalia came, brutally beautiful in her armor, and he had to look away, lest he show something she would not wish to see. More to the point, he sensed the tiger’s golden gaze on him, heavy as a hand on his back. Her eyes were the same, woman or cat, a golden brown so light that it was almost yellow, an odd, captivating color. That knowing look told him that she already understood too much about him; it would be foolhardy to let her glean more.
The stable hand brought the princess’s mount a moment later and Gavriel judged the time was right to begin. “I will be your huntmaster!” he called. “We will be splitting into teams of two. If numbers allow, our Animari guests should choose an Eldritch partner, as we know the terrain best.”
Though he could have predicted this outcome, he still felt a twinge when he heard the princess say, “Partners?” to that bastard black wolf. She even touched him, right in front of everyone, as if that was something they should see.
Glancing away, he watched the rest of the Animari pair up with Eldritch, and he didn’t realize the numbers were off until he saw Magda sitting alone, tail curled behind her. He’d planned to follow the princess, keep watch over her from a distance, not participate in the hunt, but he already knew what was required of him. Since he’d offered to help Magda hunt down enemy patrols, he might even look on this as a practice run, a test of how well they performed in the field.
Still, he hated feeling as if the choice had been taken from him, so Gavriel made the offer with precious little grace. “Tiger woman, I will take you myself.”
4.
Mags liked neither Gavriel’s tone, nor his surly expression, so she raked the air near his knees with a sharp claw, not close enough to injure him, but he didn’t realize that.
The Noxblade jumped, bringing his legs all the way up to avoid her feint. She couldn’t laugh in tiger form, but she did it with her eyes, enjoying his discomfiture. He composed himself swiftly, dedicated to the role of huntmaster. In one hand, he held a curving horn, probably to signal the start of this nonsense. A white and silver drone hovered nearby, painted for winter camouflage.
“Here is your prey,” he called. “Bring it back intact or in pieces. The victor will receive a great prize from our treasury and, of course, full bragging rights.”
Mags had no intention of wasting her time tracking down machinery. When Gavriel blew the horn and the drone zoomed away, she let the wolves take the lead. They overflowed with energy, exuberant as pups, especially Tavros and Skylett. She and Gavriel left Daruvar last, his vedda beast flanking her.
He cantered out in front of her, leading the way, but she had other plans. This was her first opportunity to track since arriving in Eldritch territory. She’d collected a few hints in the fortress, time to put that scant information to use. Mags avoided the path Gavriel was following toward the woods, instead setting out for the distant hills. One of the soldiers had mentioned a scouting party toward the border; he didn’t know what house had sent them, but she meant to find out.
Might not be an enemy house at all. Could be Talfayen’s people, keeping watch.
“Where are you going?” Gavriel called.
She flicked a look over one shoulder. Dumbass. Like I can answer.
To her surprise, he wheeled his mount and followed her even without a verbal explanation. Maybe he was committed to keeping an eye on her? Whatever the reason, he rode after her and Mags caught the scent trail half a klick past where the soldier had described the sighting. She focused on the smell she needed to follow, not the wind in her fur or the chill of icy rocks beneath her paw pads. Gavriel was still dogging her steps, his vedda beast quick and sure-footed.
She’d first thought that Slay was running from the collapse of his relationship with Pru. One of the wolf guards said they’d seen him headed away from Ash Valley, but the poor sod died in the explosion and she couldn’t get any more intel out of him. Then she spent weeks poring through the wolves’ surveillance data, gathered surreptitiously during the failed conclave.
There, maybe she’d seen somebody who could have been Slay, leaving with the Eldritch. But the resolution wasn’t good, and no amount of magnification could improve a shitty, low-grade image. Failure wasn’t something she knew a lot about, and she was dead tired of not finding Slay, no
matter where she looked. Ash Valley depended on her to solve this security breach, one way or another.
The scent trail was old, barely discernable even to her enhanced senses. Several times, she lost the thread and backtracked, prowling over rocks and grassy slopes, until she found a whisper again. She’d never run across these Eldritch before, not in Ash Valley and not in Daruvar, so they weren’t in old Lord Talfayen’s original retinue, nor were they feigning loyalty to Thalia in the fortress.
Good to know.
Eventually, she located an old campsite, but judging by the ashes, it had been a couple of days since these spying Eldritch moved on. Mags snarled and sniffed around, hoping for a whiff of Slay. She nosed everything they’d left behind, just a few scraps here and there. Overall, it was a clean site, and the rain had nearly washed away all traces, but they’d buried something that smelled familiar. Slay? She couldn’t be certain with the competing odors, the dirt and grass and some Eldritch had pissed nearby.
As she started raking at the cold earth with her paws, Gavriel said, “What the hell are you doing?”
He could only see that someone had made camp here; he probably couldn’t tell who. For all he knew, she was checking out one of their patrol stops. Mags ignored the question, as shifting to answer would waste their time. She spared him a look, no more, and kept digging.
A sharp howl split the silence, and her ears swiveled. That’s Raff. He wouldn’t alert the pack for anything less than a severe threat. Reluctantly, she abandoned the search and raced back the way she’d come. Shit, I shouldn’t have left him. I promised to keep that stupid wolf safe.
“I hate that you can’t answer me,” Gavriel muttered, snapping the reins to rally his vedda beast to greater speed.
She guessed he knew why she was running full out, though, because he didn’t complain further, only let her set the pace and follow the scent markers she found for Raff and Thalia, closer to the keep. The run took forever, and she heard the battle long before they got there. Her heart thudded like thunder, breath churning in her chest.
They burst into the clearing to find corpses strewn about. The wolves had gotten there first, but it seemed that Thalia and Raff had won the fight without an assist. Gavriel checked the princess first while Magda sniffed at Raff’s wounds. They weren’t closing like they should, and they needed to get out of the woods. Fast.
Gavriel spoke with a flat aspect, but she saw hell in his red eyes. “Unfortunately, we will not be completing our course. Everyone, head back to Daruvar immediately.”
The princess mounted up; everyone else followed her lead. Mags took the rear position, watching as the Noxblade stayed close to Thalia, scanning the horizon for additional threats. On the walls, the guard recognized them, opening the gate with a clank to permit their passage. Overhead, the sky was darkening. Sunset dropped like a hammer on an anvil in these hills, bringing the silent chill of night.
Just inside the greensward, Raff shifted as if he didn’t have the strength to hold his form and toppled over. Mags raced to him, slipping from tiger to woman, in the space between one breath and the next. She sealed her palms over his most egregious wound, remorse slashing at her as Thalia barked orders at Lileth and Gavriel.
“I did a shit job of protecting you, I see. What the hell is wrong with this?”
“Not sure. Think it’s a special weapon. The Gols have something…” His color was bad, ashy beneath his burnished brown skin, and he was leaning on her way too hard.
The princess came over then, offering her other shoulder. Mags glanced at her in surprise, but hell if she was taking her hands off Raff right now. Trust had to be earned, and so far, Thalia wasn’t doing a great job of proving she had her territory under control. Together, they moved toward the infirmary.
“We need a doctor!” Lileth shouted. “No, get him inside, you idiots. Move. Now!”
“Just show me where to go,” she said.
Mags appreciated all the helping hands, but they’d only slow her down. With a nod at Princess Thalia, she lifted Raff and ran with him, chasing Gavriel who was faster than she was in this shape. He led her straight to the treatment center, where she laid Raff down for the doctor to tend his wounds.
If it’s not already too late.
“Why won’t the bleeding stop?” Thalia demanded.
The staff sprang into action and Mags backed away, not wanting to hinder their efforts. Someone handed her a robe, which she put on, though it was too tight in the chest and shoulders. Her hands were stained with Raff’s blood.
“Vitals dropping,” the nurse called.
She didn’t recognize the machinery they were using, and the medicines all had strange names too. Eldritch doctors might kill the wolf lord with their attempts at healing, but she didn’t know what else to do. Bibi and Skylett were staring at her with desperate accusation. Yeah, I failed to guard him. I fucked up.
“He needs a transfusion,” Dr. Wyeth said.
If she could, Mags would’ve given the blood from her veins, but it wouldn’t serve as well as from someone in his own pack. Just then, Tavros said, “It should be me. I’m type O negative, universal donor.”
Thalia made the call instantly, when the doctor looked to her for confirmation. “Do it. Save him. If there are complications, I’ll take responsibility.”
Gavriel observed from the doorway. Princess Thalia’s need might be driven from political necessity, but she was completely focused on Raff Pineda’s survival. Quietly, near invisible in the shadows, he rubbed his chest against the ache. And then realized that his actions didn’t go unnoticed.
Magda was watching; she saw him.
Quickly, he dropped his hand to his side, cursing this momentary weakness, as the medical team filtered Tavros’s blood and gave it to Raff. He willed the tiger woman not to approach him, not from mockery or pity, or for any other reason. As if she’d read his mind, she turned away to investigate the bullet Dr. Wyeth had removed from the wolf lord.
She flung it back into the metal basin with a visible tremor. Gavriel took a reflexive step closer. Anything bad enough to frighten her must be dreadful indeed. “This is treated black iron with a beryllium core.”
Before he could ask, the princess did. “What does that mean?”
Though Mags answered the other woman, Gavriel had the impression that she was providing the information for his benefit. “It’s an Animari slayer. Treated black iron prevents wounds from healing. The chemical interaction hinders coagulation. And beryllium is toxic to us, as few substances are. We’re resistant to most chemical weapons, most herbal poisons as well.” Magda sighed and stared at Raff. “Whoever designed this knows a great deal about Animari vulnerabilities.”
Slay.
Gavriel knew she had been hunting the Ash Valley second ever since she left their holding. Could he have conspired with the rebel Eldritch and the Gols to create such a heinous weapon? Magda’s gaze met his, holding such shadows that he guessed she must be wondering the same thing.
Dr. Wyeth touched Magda on the shoulder to draw her attention. “Do you have any suggestions for how to treat beryllium poisoning? I’m also unsure if our medicines will help with the coagulation issue.”
“One way to find out,” Magda said. “Test them on me, first.”
As she sliced her wrist, Gavriel stifled a protest. Doubtful that she’d listen to him anyway. But it was harder still to observe in silence when she smeared the tainted bullet across the fresh wound. Her skin reacted immediately, rays of red streaking her arm, and the blood kept flowing. The doctor scowled at this lack of scientific method, but the princess waved him on. A nurse injected the Animari woman, first one medicine, then another, and the reaction began to fade.
“Hurry,” Dr. Wyeth said.
Gavriel moved off then. He didn’t need to bear witness to the treatment personally or listen to them argue about saving Raff Pineda. His mount was still tethered in the bailey, waiting for him to care for the animal or resume the hunt. Gavriel p
ulled the drone remote from his pocket and recalled it to Daruvar, then he swung astride the steel-gray vedda beast he had never named.
“Wait!”
“Are you going back to the attack site?” Magda came toward him at a run, hopping a little to cram her foot completely into her boot.
Since she had been naked in the infirmary five minutes ago, a grudging admiration swept over him. He’d never met anyone who could move like she did. Gavriel nodded. “I plan to investigate the assailants and learn what I can.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Before he could refuse that request, she vaulted up behind him, so effortlessly athletic that the admiration from before surged harder and he clamped it down. “Get off.”
“Not a chance. I’d go cat, but we won’t be able to talk and that could be crucial if there are any stragglers. I intend to participate in any interrogations. Don’t worry, I can pull my own weight even in this form.”
“That’s not the issue.” He started when she set her hands on his waist, holding on with such a firm grasp that it brought back fantasies he was trying to forget.
“Are you really wasting our time arguing about this? I thought nothing could stop you from doing your job.”
“You are maddening,” he bit out.
“So I’m told.” She dug her fingers into his sides harder. “Now move.”
The vedda beast didn’t protest the extra weight, only set off calmly in response to his tug on the reins. That was why he’d chosen this animal; it seemed immune to stress and stimulus, such a placid nature that it didn’t react to weapons being fired all around. He’d tested that more than once.
“You risked your life for Raff Pineda. Why?” Gavriel didn’t intend to ask; the question emerged on a wave of agitation laced with unwilling curiosity.