Saints, what is wrong with me?
I let out a slow breath, closed my eyes, and let her face rise behind my eyelids like dawn.
The tether between us stirred in my chest, a soft, pulsing awareness of her presence. And for the first time since we’d been bound together, I didn’t want to run. I wanted to reach for her.To press my forehead against hers and whisper every word I didn’t know how to say.
The clock was ticking.
I was already losing her.
It had only been a few days.
Yet my pathetic heart was already beating to the rhythm of forever.
SEVEN DAYS REMAINING
18
MAV
Hooves squelched in the mud, birds chattered overhead, and every so often a breeze would rustle the leaves. Quinn rode ahead, her cloak trailing a comet’s tail behind her. I let my horse lag, partly for the quiet. Mostly because every jolt of the saddle tugged at the wound in my side.
The forest quieted.
Not a peaceful, sun-dappled hush. No, this was a barbed, threatening silence.
I reined in my horse, senses tingling, that old, familiar itch crawling up my spine—the one that always came right before something went wrong. My hand hovered near the hilt of my sword. Quinn turned in her saddle, glancing back at me with her brows furrowed.
Something on the edge of the trail caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light—a darker patch of shadow between the trees.
Then it moved.
A creature burst from the underbrush in a blur of fur andfang, snarling and frothing. Black fur bristled in thick, ragged clumps, framing a body too massive to be wholly wolf and too lean to be wholly bear. Finger-length claws gouged the earth with every step. Its maw gaped wide, jagged teeth flashing, a low snarl rattling through its chest that was less animal and more nightmare.
It lunged for Quinn’s horse, Clove.
The beast struck with a wet, splintering crack. Clove reared, screaming, his hooves thrashing wildly as he bolted backward. Quinn pitched from the saddle, skirts twisting as she hit the ground hard. Her body crumpled in a way that made my heart stop cold.
“Quinn!”
I drove my heels into my horse’s flanks, ignoring the fresh flare of pain in my side as I pushed him faster. When I drew close enough, I leaped—boots slamming against the earth as I ripped my sword free mid-air. White-hot agony shot through my ribs the moment I landed, sharp enough to steal my breath—but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with Quinn on the ground and that thing still breathing.
The monster turned on me, its black, oil-slick eyes gleaming, blood already painting its teeth.
“Come on then,” I growled, lifting my blade.
It charged. I ducked beneath its snapping jaws, slicing upward into its flank. The beast shrieked.
Branrir barreled in from the right, his sword arcing in a brutal swing that shattered the beast’s hind leg. “It’s aMorhound!” he bellowed.
“It needs to bemore dead!” Vesper yelled as he scrambled up a tree to safety.
Thistle darted in from the other side, oversized thorns slashing into the beast’s side.
It raked claws across Branrir’s chestplate and snapped atThistle, tearing through the hem of her cloak. I dove back in, driving my blade deep into its shoulder. The creature howled, staggered, and whirled—lunging straight for Quinn.
Throwing my full weight into the beast’s side, I slammed it off course as Branrir roared and brought his sword down in a bone-cracking blow that detached its skull from its spine. The creature collapsed in a wet heap, steam curling from its open jaws.
I dropped to my knees beside her. “Quinn—” My voice cracked as I reached for her. “Are you hurt?”
