Itknowsthis land. It was not chasing us into the ravine to catch us. It washerdingus.
My blood runs cold. I shove Aurora forward. "Faster!"
The ravine path widens, opening up into a circular, dead-end clearing. A sheer, wet cliff face rockets up into the sky, the waterfall a curtain of white, angry water, its roar so loud it shakes the rocks under my feet. The only way out is the narrow ravine path we just came through.
We are trapped. Krell's cliff, all over again.
I turn, my heart seizing, looking back the way we came. Aurora sees it, too, her face a mask of pale, breathless terror. "Othic..."
I grab her arm, my fingers biting into her flesh, andshoveher toward a small, dark alcove hidden behind the curtain of the waterfall's spray.
"Stay. Here."
I turn, my human sword hissing as I draw it. It feels small and worthless in my grip. A massive, hairy shape blocks the sunlight from the ravine entrance. It is here. It is standing at the bottleneck, its head tilted, watching us. It was not chasing. It waswaiting.
I stand between the alcove and the monster. Thesmellof it is overwhelming in this enclosed space, a thick reek of filth, wet fur, and rotten meat that coats my tongue and makes me want to gag.
Thesightof it is worse. It is a nine-foot-tall nightmare of matted, filth-caked hair and knotted, inhuman muscle. It is humanoid, but wrong, its arms too long, its back hunched. It holds a massive club made from a young tree trunk, the end spiked with sharp, black rocks.
This is not a beast. This is a Wudwose. The old clan-stories, the tales to frighten orc children around the fire, are real. Ithought they were just stories to scare us.They steal women. They eat the men.
The Wudwose sees me. It roars, a challenge that echoes off the stone walls, louder than the waterfall. It is a sound of absolute ownership, of a predator that knows it has won.
But then... itlookspast me.
Its small, red, intelligent eyes find Aurora's alcove. It sees her, a small, trembling shape in the shadows. Itgrins, a terrible splitting of its face that reveals yellow, broken fangs.
It takes a step toward her.
The fated mate bond, the primal core of my soul, explodes in a white-hot flash.No.
This thing thinks it canlookat her. It thinks it cantakeher. This is not Krell. This is not Privis. This is athing, and it thinks she ismeat.
Not this time.
She is MINE.
I roar, a sound that tears from my throat, a sound of pure possession, a sound that shakes the water from the stones. I charge, placing myself directly between the beast and my mate.
"COME TO ME, FILTH!"
The sound of the clubwhistlingthrough the air is the only warning I get. It is impossibly fast for a weapon that large. I throw myself to the side, my boots slipping on the wet stone. Theimpactof the club on the ground where I just stood shakes the cliff face. Shards of rock fly like shrapnel, stinging my face.
It is strong. Stronger than me. And that hide...
I have to be faster. I cannot parry that club; it would shatter my arm and this pathetic human sword. I charge, ducking under the massive, slow backswing. I lunge, driving the sword with all my weight at its chest.
The bladescrapesoff the matted, filth-caked fur as if I had struck a wall. The hide is like boiled leather, thick and hard. This blade is useless.
The beast grunts, annoyed. It does not even use the club. It backhands me.
The blow catches my left shoulder—the one that still bears the puckered scar from Krell's bolt. An agonizing spike of familiar pain explodes through my body. The scar tissue tears. I crash against the wet rock wall, my vision flashing white with pain, but my arm isnotnumb. Itburns, a deep, tearing fire, but it is not useless. It is the arm I use as a shield, and I keep it high.
I hit the ground, thetasteof my own blood flooding my mouth from where I bit my tongue. The sound of the beast's low, wet laughter echoes over the din of the waterfall. It is toying with me. It knows I am guarding her. It knows this sword is a joke.
I cannot beat it with force. I cannot cut its hide.But it has eyes. It has knees.
I pull myself to my feet, my left arm burning but functional. I grab a large, sharp-edged stone from the waterfall's edge. I roar, a false challenge, and charge, holding the sword high as if to attack its chest again. It raises its club, bored, ready to smash me.
