She screamed as a gray blur hurled out of the nearby trees with a snarl.
Everything happened so quickly that she barely had time to process it. All she saw were monstrous teeth and black eyes.
A wolf!
The berserkir wolf hurtled itself against Fable with enough force to knock the horse to the ground. A searing pain ripped across Bryn’s thigh as she crashed onto a sharp rock with the horse’s weight on top of her.
She cried out as Fable kicked and thrashed in an attempt to return to her feet, while the berserkir wolf snapped its powerful jaw on the horse’s shoulder. Though Fable formed a barrier between Bryn and the wolf, the horse’s weight threatened to crush her right leg.
Yells and the slice of steel told her that Rangar and Valenden had swiftly dismounted. She saw a flash as Rangar brought down his sword upon the wolf’s back. The creature snarled and turned on Rangar, but Rangar and Valenden positioned themselves to funnel it away from Bryn and the horse. It tried to double back, but Valenden was there in a flash, blocking its path with his sword.
Fable finally rose, freeing Bryn from where she’d been pinned. Wincing from pain, Bryn crawled into the grass on the side of the road, clutching her leg. Blood streamed down Fable’s neck, but the horse seemed okay for the most part.
“Back!” Valenden cried, trying to cut off the wolf’s retreat into the forest. He lunged at the wolf, who dodged his blow—but landed right in the path of Rangar’s sword.
The blade sliced cleanly through the wolf’s neck. Its severed head fell to the side of the road, and a split second later, its body followed.
Bryn’s own body was so full of adrenaline that it refused to acknowledge that the danger was over. She was shaking hard and unable to stop. Her throat made little noises she didn’t even recognize.
Rangar was by her side in an instant, brushing her tangled hair back off her face. “Shh, my love. It’s dead. You’re safe.”
She threw him a wild-eyed look. “And Fable?”
Valenden had gone to soothe her mare, whispering reassurances to the horse as he stroked around the wolf bite on its neck. “She’ll recover,” Valenden assured her. “A brave mare—she didn’t bolt.”
Finally, Bryn started to shift out of the sheer panic that had overtaken her. Pressing a hand to her chest to center her breathing, she gasped, “It came out of nowhere.”
“Let me see your leg.”
Rangar jerked her skirt up around her thigh. She was too shaken to be embarrassed by Valenden seeing her half-naked as Rangar pressed against her flesh. “The bone isn’t broken, but you’ll be badly bruised, and you need to take it easy on that knee for a few days.”
“I’m fine,” she said between heaving breaths.
“You aren’t fine. Nothing about this is fine,” Rangar growled. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up, tossed her on top of Legend, and swung up behind her. He swept an arm around her waist, holding her flush against him so possessively that the breath nearly rushed out of her.
“Val, take Fable back to the Hold. The stable master will stitch her wound. I must get Bryn back swiftly.”
Valenden nodded and began to halter Fable to his own steed. Rangar kicked Legend into a gallop. Bryn felt a rush of terror as the stallion’s hooves pounded over the snow-marked road. The frigid wind chapped her face. But Rangar’s body was warm, and his arm held her as steady as steel.
With Legend’s speed, they glimpsed Barendur Hold on the horizon within minutes. Rangar thundered past the roadside villages, his attention fixed on getting Bryn to safety. She could feel his heart thumping fast but steadily in his chest. A bruised leg was hardly an emergency, but she knew better than to argue with him.
This wasn’t just about her leg. It was about the wolves. The animosity toward magic. The pressures of being king.
The village square was still swathed in white banners to signify the grieving period for King Aleth. They fluttered in the blustering wind coming off the sea as Rangar drew Legend to a halt and slid off. With his hands around her waist, he helped her down but didn’t release her once her feet were on the ground. His fingers dug into the skin around her ribs.
“Bryn,” he said lowly. “Believe in me. I’ll solve this.”
She brushed the pads of her fingers over his scars. “We’llsolve it, Rangar. You aren’t alone.”
He kissed her almost ferally, as though the adrenaline from the wolf fight was still coursing through him. She was breathless by the time he released her. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the castle.
Oliver came striding out in his military armor to meet them. “My king. My lady . . . ”
“Mount Legend,” Rangar ordered. “Exercise him. He needs to cool down after our ride.”
“Yes, my king.”
And then they were swallowed back within the belly of Barendur Hold. The familiar smells of straw and woodsmoke and roasting meats enveloped Bryn, and she pressed her face into Rangar’s chest and shuddered with relief to be home.
