Nightbane (Lightlark, #2)(32)

The creature stepped out of the shadows, and Isla gasped.


It was a massive black leopard. Standing, she wouldn’t even reach the top of its leg. It had bright-green eyes and teeth the size of her skull.

She looked down at her calf, then at the creature. It had smelled the blood. She was injured, an easy target.

It stalked toward her, head bent low, assessing. It looked ready to lean back on its haunches and strike.

She tried her best to focus on the forest, to form a connection, to beg it to protect her, but the pain in her leg had become a complete distraction.

The leopard should have been too heavy for the branches, but it leaped gracefully until it was right in front of her.

Isla’s entire body shook as it leaned down far too close—and sniffed her.

She swallowed, hoping for the life of her that she smelled unappetizing. It opened its mouth, revealing its monstrous fangs. Then, it did something unexpected.

The leopard begrudgingly leaned its head down, as if bowing before her.

Isla blinked. Had it . . . had it accepted her?

She didn’t have her arrow . . . the bear had split it into two. She couldn’t—

The leopard made what seemed like an annoyed sound as it waited. What did it want? It leaned down lower, and no . . . it couldn’t . . .

Did it want her to get on its back?

She was bleeding too much; she needed the wound closed soon. She fought to stand, gritting her teeth against the pain, and limped over to the leopard’s side. She tried to climb up its fur, but she kept slipping, her blood getting everywhere. Eventually the leopard seemed to get tired of waiting, because it gripped the back of her shirt with its frightening teeth and flung her over. She landed painfully on its spine and fought for purchase, gripping its dark hair in her fists.

The leopard didn’t give her even a second to get used to it. Before she could test her position, it leaped off the branch.

Her stomach was in her throat, her eyes burned against the air, she was floating off its back—then roughly landing again, her leg roaring in pain.

With a few jumps that made her want to retch, the leopard finally landed on the forest floor. It stalked around, head bent low, as if looking for something. Finally, it paused and tipped over to the side. Isla slipped off its back in the most undignified way imaginable.

Exasperated, the leopard motioned with its head toward something on the ground. Her arrow. Half of it, at least.

It was telling her to complete the ceremony. Somehow, it knew that to claim it, she had to shoot it.

The bow would be useless now. She leaned down, grabbed the broken arrow, and approached the creature.

It watched her warily.

“This is . . . this is going to hurt . . .” she said.

The leopard regarded her in a way that hinted at disdain. Great. Her own bonded didn’t seem to like her.

Then why choose her? Why let her do what she had to do next?

Isla winced before reaching her arm back and putting all of her remaining strength into stabbing the leopard in the leg with the arrow.

It didn’t even move or make a sound. It simply reached down, grabbed Isla by the back of the shirt again, and threw her behind its head.

“Hey!” she said, wincing. “Stop doing that! It—”

Before she finished her sentence, the leopard took off. She yelped and held on tightly, ducking her head down, lest a branch behead her. The leopard raced like lightning, jumping over roots, traversing around trees. The world moved so quickly around her, she buried her face in its surprisingly soft fur, until the leopard finally slowed.

It had brought her to the center of the village. She sat up as the leopard walked down the streets and watched as her people left their homes, staring at her in clear wonder.

It stopped in front of Wren, whose eyes were wide. Her voice was thick with emotion. “I wondered . . .” she said. “I—I didn’t dare hope.”

Isla slid off the leopard’s back and nearly collapsed on the road, her leg covered in fur that had stuck to the blood. She looked from the animal to Wren. “Wondered what?”

“Isla,” Wren said. “Lynx was your mother’s.”





REFLECTION


Her mother. This leopard . . . was once bonded to her. Isla was losing a lot of blood, but she turned and looked the creature right in the eyes. For a moment, the disdain faded, and she saw only unfiltered sadness.

The cat grieved her mother. That was why it had chosen her.

“We need to get you healed,” Wren said. Other Wildlings rushed forward. There were calls for the healing elixir. “He’ll follow, don’t worry.”

Wren was right. Lynx remained by her side. He was so large he couldn’t fit through the doors of the palace, so she used her starstick to portal him into her room, which he didn’t like one bit. He made a disgruntled noise before he went to the corner, curled, and sat down, making the ground tremble and taking up a large portion of her space. Wren pulled the arrow out of his leg, then put healing elixir on it. Everyone left her to rest.

Through the darkness, Isla saw his bright-green eyes gleaming. Then, as they closed, the world went dark again.


The next morning, Isla portaled to Oro and said, “I need to show you something.” She took him back to the newland with her.

He now stood in her Wildling room, staring at the creature that was staring back, many feet above his head, baring its massive teeth.