The wrangler’s scream tore through Alarik, calling to the beast in his heart. It reared up in answer, all sense of duty narrowing to one single, pounding thought:save her.
Leaving Regna to Captain Vine and Anika, Alarik surrendered his vengeance and charged across the mountainside. The world whipped past in whorls of black and white and crimson. Rogue soldiers leaped into his path only to be cut down with a swift and bloody vengeance. Rage was a frenzy inside him, hurling him across the rocky slope. He slashed and roared, blood spraying like rain as he fought his way through every foolish warrior who dared stand between him and his wrangler.
He was a beast out for blood, a snow leopard running for his mate, and there wasn’t a force strong enough to stop him. He was halfway to his wrangler when the Spear pounced, flattening her under the slab of his body.
Alarik’s heart lurched.
‘GRETA!’ He roared her name, so she would know he was coming for her. Let the Spear hear it, too. This coin-hungry brute’s seconds were numbered.
Alarik swore as the mercenary rolled her over, bringing his forehead to hers.
I will cut you limb from limb, he thought viciously.I will bleed you dry and feed your corpse to my beasts.
The wrangler lurched, spitting into the Spear’s face. Alarik would have smiled if he wasn’t so terrified for her. She was like a doll beneath him, bloodied and bruised, and still fighting with every breath.
He yelled again, her name a promise on the wind. ‘GRETA!’
I’m coming, wildling.
Keep fighting.
The Spear slammed his head into hers and she slumped to the ground, limp. Rage spiralled through Alarik. He had never known anger like it, the heat of it fully unleashing the beast inside him. He leaped through the air and landed on the giant, knocking him sideways.
They rolled over each other, fighting for dominance. The Spear swung, slamming his fist into Alarik’s jaw. He weathered the blow, but it cost him precious seconds. The mercenary leaped to his feet, rounding on him with his spear. Alarik surged forward, tackling him at the waist. He drove him back against a jutting rock and they fell together.
Alarik slammed the hilt of his sword into the brute’s temple. The mercenary took it without flinching, jamming the blunt end of his spear into Alarik’s spine. Who bowed upwards, cursing through the pain.
They returned to their feet, brandishing their weapons. They clashed again and again. The Spear was stronger, but Alarik was quicker andburningwith a fury that felt ancient and powerful. He beat the mercenary back, back, back,keeping his body between the warrior and his wrangler. Making a shield of his rage.
‘I’m going to bring you to your knees,’ Alarik spat. ‘And then I’ll take your head as a trophy.’
‘Save your empty threats,’ grunted the Spear, his steel teeth gleaming. ‘I don’t care about your battle. I’m only here for the wrangler.’
Alarik’s nostrils flared. ‘Mywrangler.’
The Spear scoffed. Alarik came at him like a blizzard. He slashed twin wounds down his thighs, skewered his left arm and the side of his thick neck, making him bleed for every drop he had stolen from his Greta, for every bruise that now bloomed across her perfect face. He drove him down to his knees, kicked away his spear, until the mercenary was exhausted and weaponless, and soaked in ribbons of his own blood.
Alarik pressed the point of his sword against his throat. ‘Ready to die, Spear?’
He spat out a glob of blood. ‘Possessive beast.’
‘Correct,’ Alarik snarled.
The Spear glared at him. ‘Regna was right. You fight dirty. Like a wolf.’
‘I fight for a cause, and you fight for coin,’ sneered Alarik. ‘Thatis why you’re on your fucking knees.’
The Spear made a noise of derision. ‘What cause?’ he said, swaying now.
Her.
‘Victory.’ As a roaring chorus filled the air, Alarik gave a feral smile. He stepped back as his wolves closed in around him and left the infamous Spear of Ryberg at their mercy.
He returned to his wrangler. She was still lying in the same place.He brushed her hair away, examining the lacerations on her chin and forehead. If the Spear wasn’t already screaming his last, he might have indulged his yawning rage and finished the job himself.
But then he’d have to leave her. Her eyes were closed, the storm inside lost to him. He laid his palm against her throat, searching for the thrum of her pulse. Time stretched into a torturous eternity, and then –there. A pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Relief swept through Alarik, dousing the fire of his anger, as he lifted her from the mountainside and curled her into his arms. The ice bears, Baldur and Nel, flanked him, silently guarding their wrangler as he carried her down the mountain.
Leaving Captain Vine and the rest of his soldiers to deal with Regna and her stragglers, Alarik fixed his eyes on the distant sleds, making his way back to the frozen flats. The battle was all but won, but there was no triumph in his heart. Only sorrow for the soldiers he had lost, and concern for the woman in his arms.
