“Do me a favor, Beasty,” Holt called, demanding my attention while riding toward me. He pulled the knife Dainsleif from its sheath and tossed it to me. I caught it by the handle with both hands, the familiar pulsing warmth spreading through me as the cursed blade demanded the price for drawing it. “Stop eye-fucking your boyfriend and kill something already.”
“My mate is not your rider!” Caldris yelled as Holt rode past him, cutting down a member of the Guard in his path. Holt merely chuckled in response, his smile lighting up his face as he fought and slayed his enemies. I felt like anyone who smiled during a battle was not someone I felt particularly motivated to attack, even before understanding that he couldn’t die.
Fenrir nudged my free hand, his eyes gleaming with the need for blood. I felt it hum through me, as if an extension of the distant bond I shared with Caldris. The blade in my hand seemed to warm all over again, spreading the heat of its curse through me and smoldering in my blood like red-hot coals in the fire.
Black hovered at the edges of my vision, bathing the world in an unnatural darkness as I spun the dagger in my grip. The whimper of one of the hounds of the Wild Hunt made Fenrir snap his head to the side, his focus going entirely to where the animal fell to the ground. A Mist Guard stood over the enormous half-rotten hound, scowling as he raised his sword.
I took a step forward before I’d even realized what I was doing, the other foot never landing as Fenrir slid his head between my feet and knocked me off balance. Another one of them urgently nudged me as I stared at them both in surprise. Swallowing back my nervousness, I held Fenrir’s gaze and straddled his large, furry body.
I’d barely settled onto his back when he bolted forward. I grasped him by the fur, hanging on for dear life as he raced into the fray. Men shouted around me as the other wolves tore through flesh, spraying blood all over me as we passed.
The man who’d been about to stab the hound spun to face the enormous, snarling wolf barreling toward him, raising his sword as fear lit his eyes. But Fenrir stopped, slowing to a walk and tipping to the side to help me get down.
He curled his neck around my body, offering support as I stepped toward the man and gripped my dagger tighter. The moment felt ceremonial, like a sacrifice, like tearing a bit of my soul from me to fight alongside the very creatures I was supposed to hate. But the low whimper from the forest floor made me stride forward toward the man, keeping the dagger at my side as he glanced at the wolf waiting behind me.
“How nice of you to separate from the rest of them,” the Guard said, shifting the sword at his side as he stepped forward. The magic of Dainsleif writhed in my hand, whispering through my mind with its cry for blood. It sank into the hollow inside of me, reaching in with taloned fingers and pulling my hunger to the surface as I tilted my head to the side in the same way I’d seen Caldris do on so many occasions. From the corner of my eye, I watched Fenrir mirror the movement as if he felt compelled by the unique bond we shared through his master.
The Viniculum was silent, still against my skin as the iron coating the ground suppressed the magic of the Fae, but the cursed blade still pushed, demanding a life in reparation. The Mist Guard struck, his thrust slow and lazy as I twisted to the side to avoid it and sliced the dagger across the man’s wrist.
He gasped, yanking his hand back as blood dripped to the ground beneath him. Pressing his free hand into the wound, he tried to stem the bleeding that would become inevitable. The blade in my hand hummed, the blood expelling from the man’s wound faster and faster as we watched.
He struck again, desperation driving him to attack with more speed. I twisted too slowly, wincing as the blade cut into my skin, slicing through the flesh of my bicep and burning it beneath the press of iron. Fenrir growled at the same moment Caldris roared, the sounds of the two of them filling the air around us. Only the hand I laid atop Fenrir’s head stilled him and stopped him from taking the life that was mine to demand.
I wanted the blood I was owed.
It poured free from that wound at his wrist, but the brutality within me demanded more, driving me to kill until nothing remained. I twisted Dainsleif in my hand, letting the blade lay parallel to my forearm as I swept it in an arc across the man’s throat. Blood splattered across my face as the flesh parted beneath the blade. Staring into the split in his skin, where layers of muscle briefly showed, I watched as he dropped his sword and pressed both hands into the wound.
He fell to his knees, that pulsing warmth in the dagger dispersing as death came over the man. “I don’t like men who hurt animals. Even if they are halfway to the grave,” I said, feeling that hollow inside of me burn. His eyes turned unseeing, blood pumping from the wound at his throat in horrifying waves as I glared down at him.
Fenrir pressed his nose against my hand, turning my glare away from the body in front of me and severing the connection I felt between us. The Void called to him, the pull on his soul lingering at the edges of my awareness.
I stared into the red eyes of the wolf, his knowing expression making me swallow and glance toward Caldris. The God of the Dead continued to fight, cutting down members of the Mist Guard left and right to get to me. He seemed unaware of the pull of the afterlife on the souls, of the way it tempted my very soul to leave my body.
I stepped toward the injured hound, crouching down in front of him and extending a hand slowly. I swallowed as he bared his teeth, a growl rumbling through his chest. Pulling my hand back, I waited and watched as he finally lifted his head and extended his neck. What remained of flesh on his nose wrinkled, working to scent me. I avoided the venomous shadows dripping from his jowls, touching only the top of his head as I glanced down to the wound in his side.
Already the skin worked to knit itself back together, covering the mangled mess of flesh and bones it had revealed. “Will you be alright?” I asked, scratching the fur on top of his head as the hound leaned into my touch.
The Wild Hunt were all too busy to answer my question, but I would have sworn I saw the hound give the faintest of nods, if it hadn’t been impossible. My life appeared to be filled with impossibilities as of late, but that one was something I wasn’t quite ready to consider.
Fenrir wagged his tail, lying down beside me to make his body lower. I stood and swung a leg over, climbing atop him once again as he slowly rose and prowled through the carnage. He didn’t pause to allow me to get down again, with the debt of the dagger paid. He used his teeth to snap through flesh and bone, tearing through the Mist Guard that remained as he made his way to Caldris.
My mate stood staring at me where I sat atop one of his wolves, darkness gleaming in his eyes as he looked over my body and found me mostly unharmed, despite the blood covering me. “Good boy,” he said when Fenrir finally closed the distance between us, stepping up and rubbing his nose against Caldris’s chest.
When his attention came back to me, something dangerous lurked behind the onyx of his eyes. “You should get off the wolf now, min asteren.”
“Why would I do that?” I asked, the words feeling different. Like my voice had changed, like some of the magic I so often heard in Caldris’s voice had tainted mine. It echoed between us, and Caldris tilted his head to the side as if he heard it too.