“Wait!” Dylan blurted.
They did. That was more than he’d expected, and he drew a blank for a second on what to say next. He closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and tried again.
“Wait,” he repeated. “Irene needs to go to the hospital. She’s hurt.”
That wasn’t bad, for something off the cuff.
A ticket had to be in fairly good condition to be accepted, after all. Except…Dylan had been part of the otherworld for a year now. Even part-time, you picked things up. One of which was that it was never that easy
The other wolves looked at the groom. Out of the corner of his eye Dylan saw Alice wipe her face on her sleeve and pull herself up onto her feet. He thought she was going to run, but instead she leaned back into the ambulance and gestured with her hands.
That wasn’t going to work, but Dylan supposed he couldn’t fault her for it. He tried very hard not to look directly at her as she helped the heavily pregnant Irene climb clumsily down onto the road.
The groom stared at Dylan for a moment and then smiled. His mouth stretched so wide that it looked like it had to hurt, the skin pulled tight and raw at the corners.
What a big smile you have…Dylan thought absently.
“Then we take both women, and yours can care for mine,” he said and jerked his head at the wolf. “Get them.”
Oh good, Dylan thought, he’d made it worse. That was…not helpful.
Sometimes, at times like this, he wondered if his grandfather had really thought it through before he made Dylan the heir to Yule. So far he was coming down on the side of probably not thoroughly…maybe the whole “seat of the pants” thing was genetic.
Dylan took a deep breath and felt his lungs cramp as the cold night air filled them.
“Alice! Run!” he yelled and threw himself into the path of the wolf.
He grabbed hold of a thick, thorn-strung “tendon” with one hand. The hooked spurs, the ends capped in black ice, ripped his fingers and jabbed into his palms. Blood dripped from between his knuckles and ran sluggishly down his wrist. The jolt of pain slammed up his arm and caught in his throat, but it was chased by a cold, heavy numbness that sunk through muscle and down into bone.
Dylan staggered over his own feet as the wolf dragged him across the road. He swore under his breath as he tightened his grip and reached over the wolf’s shoulder to grab a fistful of holly ruff.
The wolves had come for him a year ago. Back then he’d been in over his head. That wasn’t the case anymore. Dylan was part of the Line of Nick, and he wore the watch, he’d cracked the whip, and he’d driven the Sleigh.
HewasYule. The magic was his to command…
…theoretically.
Dylan could remember what it had felt like on Christmas Eve, like he was the eye of the storm as time pulled apart and the reindeer fuckingflew. It had filled his chest like a storm. Tonight all he had was the pain in his hand and a sinking feeling in his chest.
What if, the idea occurred to him queasily, last year had just been a trial run. He’d not made the grade and Yule had just cut him off. Like Somerset at theJust-as-Highbefore he tossed a drunk out on the street.
Great timing, Dylan thought as he tossed a frantic glance toward the ambulance,couldn’t have thought of that two minutes ago?
Alice had an arm around Irene as she tried to lead the heavily pregnant woman away from the crashed vehicle. It would have been easier if Irene had cooperated, but she fought Alice every step of the way, tears and snot slick on her face.
“I won’t go!” she yelled. “He promised it would be OK!”
Just a bit, Dylan begged as he tried to scrape up some leftover power from inside him,just for a minute.
Nothing.
Just a hollow so deep he could hear it whistle.
Dylan gave up with a ragged “Fuck” and just let his legs go from under him. He dangled from the wolf’s neck, and it made it stagger. Not enough to slow it down, but enough that it swung its woven basket muzzle around to look at him. It snorted, and its breath was cold, fogged with ice.
All he was going to do was buy Alice a few moments to get nowhere. It seemed pointless, but Dylan still pulled his hand off the wolf’s leg and grabbed its ear instead. Blood smeared everywhere as he dug his fingers into the gaps in the latticework and yanked as hard as he could.
Long strands of holly ripped free, unraveling from around the wolf’s dead-stick bones. It dragged the thing’s head around, and it staggered as it tripped over its feet. Dylan’s blood dripped down the twisted thorns. It splattered over the dry, cracked face of what used to be a man whose worst sin was being a lout on a night out.
