More arrows whistle past us, one grazing my flank and leaving a line of fire across my ribs. I barely feel the sting.
Locke is already moving, dripping wet but fluid as water himself, charging toward his gear that he’d abandoned in our frantic attempt to reach Esme. He grabs the saddlebag, hauling on armor with shaking hands, his movements sharp and efficient despite the tremor I can see in his fingers.
“Take her to Briar Row!” he shouts again, teeth clenched against whatever pain he’s carrying. “Find Lucky. She owns the Dog & Dagger. Tell her I sent you. She’ll hide you, hide her. Ride, wolf! Ride like hell itself is chasing you!”
I stop, pulling Esme away long enough to shift, the pain of the transformation welcome, grounding me in something real and immediate. Human again, hands fumbling with desperate urgency. I toss Esme’s barely-conscious body over my horse’s saddle and grab my clothes from my abandoned saddlebag, pulling them on with movements that feel clumsy and too slow. Her mare stands tethered beside us, eyes wide with fear but holding steady. Locke swings onto his own horse with fluid grace, rain beginning to spit from the heavens like the gods themselves are weeping.
“You’ll know the road when you see it,” Locke growls, drawing a wicked curved blade that gleams even in the dim light, then kicking his horse hard. “Stay to the south trail, don’t stop for anything. Just run! I’ll find you when this is done. Go!”
He vanishes in a blur of hooves and shadow toward the cliffs, leading the archers away from us, drawing their attention like a lodestone draws iron. I watch him disappear into the storm with something that feels like my heart being torn from my chest.
I look back once more, unable to help the worry that claws at me, for him, for us, for this impossible situation we’ve found ourselves in, as I ride away from the lake and whatever hell Locke is charging toward.
I don’t think. I don’t speak. I don’t breathe properly. My brain shifts into pure survival mode, Locke’s instructions running on repeat like a mantra that might keep us alive.
The forest surrounds us in its ancient, terrible splendor. The trees tower above like cathedral spires, their canopies tangled so tightly that the weak morning light barely seeps through to touch the moss-covered ground. Moss and shadow and the scentof things growing and dying underfoot. The horses thunder down the narrow trail, their hooves slick against the wet ground, every step a gamble that we won’t lose our footing and go tumbling into the ravines that yawn on either side. Every beat of their strides jostles Esme’s body where she lies draped across the saddle, but she doesn’t stir. Not even a whimper.
I murmur to her constantly, breathless, my voice raw from shouting and fear. “Hold on. Just hold on, Baby. We’ll get there. I’ll get you there safe. I promise you that. I promise.”
She doesn’t answer. Her head lolls with each stride, silver-white hair streaming like a banner.
I can hear the hoofbeats behind us, there’s too many and not far enough away for my comfort.
I push the horse faster, leaning low over Esme’s still form. Branches claw at my arms, leaving welts and scratches that sting in the cold air. My skin burns from the graze of another arrow, this one caught deep in my upper arm, the shaft still protruding. Fuck. Push harder, Sam. Don’t stop. Can’t stop. I don’t slow down.
The forest grows darker as we ride deeper, the trees closing in around us like they have minds of their own. The old trees here do have minds, I realize—this is Kasamere, the living forest. I could use my fire elemental magic, a part of myself I rarely tap into. My wolf does most of the fighting I need, and my aim with flames has always been shaky at best, but my fire is there, waiting. I can feel the pulse of it under my skin, begging to be released. Flames claw at my ribcage, my magic screaming to be let loose, to burn our pursuers to ash.
I can’t, though. I hold back, force it down with gritted teeth. Not in this place. One spark of my elemental magic unleashed carelessly, and Kasamere would burn for days, maybe weeks. The forest would never forgive that kind of destruction.
A whimper breaks from my throat, born of frustration and terror. Esme shifts slightly at the sound, her head falling against my chest. She’s still alive. Still breathing, shallow but steady. That’s all that matters. That’s everything.
Another arrow hits a tree trunk inches from us, the impact so close I feel bark chips scatter across my back. I snarl, veering left, then right, following game trails that might not even exist. The path narrows, becoming what I desperately hope is an actual trail and not just wishful thinking. I don’t care as long as it leads us away from those bastards.
The hoofbeats behind us are gaining ground. There are too many of them, too well-mounted, too determined. I know I have to do something soon.
I make a choice that tastes like blood and desperation. If I do nothing, they’ll catch up and overwhelm us through sheer numbers. I’ll be damned if I let them touch her. I’ll be damned if I let them take her from me again. I have to fight.
I leap from the saddle mid-gallop, dragging Esme down with me into the thick underbrush that grows wild between the massive tree trunks. Her horse bolts ahead, spooked. Mine stumbles, then follows, their hoofbeats fading into the distance. I tuck Esme against the base of an ancient oak, shielded beneath the massive root system that forms a natural shelter, and whisper her name like a prayer.
“Esme, Angel. Don’t move, Baby. Please, I’ll come back for you. I’ll never leave you, I swear it on my life. Stay safe.” I press my lips to her temple, breathing in her scent one more time before I have to become something else entirely.
Then I shift.
My wolf takes over completely, and I vanish into the trees like death itself seeking prey.
The first rider never sees me coming. I’m nothing but shadow and fury as my jaws close around his throat, ripping flesh andbone and life in one swift, brutal motion. His scream dies in a wet gurgle as his blood paints the moss red. I’m already moving to the next target before his body hits the ground.
Another rider, a female soldier in Night Court colors, turns too slowly, her sword only half-drawn.
I’m already on her, launching myself from a low branch.
My claws rake down her ribs, opening her up like wet parchment. I hear the wet clatter of her insides spilling onto the moss, the sick sound of organs hitting earth. She shrieks, a sound that cuts through the forest like a blade, but I finish it with a bite to the spine that snaps like dry kindling.
Another soldier charges at me with a spear.
I tear through his calf first, dragging him from the saddle while his horse rears and screams. Then I clamp my jaws over his face and crush the front of his skull like it’s an overripe fruit. His scream gurgles and dies as blood runs between my teeth.
I move like death itself given form. I become their reaper, and I feel nothing but righteous fury. All I can think about is Esme tucked beneath those roots, Esme who needs to reach Briar Row, Esme who trusts me to keep her safe.
