The phantom pains blazed through her in a matter of short minutes, but as she emerged from their haze, Hekla felt more like herself than she had since she’d met Eyvind Hakonsson. Eventually, her eyes fluttered open, meeting a pair of bright hazels. But rather than the hurt she’d expected to find, Hekla found something altogether worse.
Eyvind looked at her with a tenderness she did not care for. “Lynx,” said the gods damned fool, “you can use those claws of yours all you wish. Can’t you tell I’m not going anywhere?”
Hekla stared in disbelief as she tried to understand. Was he mad? Had he lost too much blood? But his words sank into her, softening all her defenses. The pain had left her wrung out and exhausted—had probably addled her mind. It was the only explanation for what she did next.
Hekla reached out. Curled her fingers around Eyvind’s collar. And pulled his lips to hers.
The feelings she’d tried so hard to smother surged forth with new fire, suffusing every part of her body with heat. She whimpered against him, then was swiftly furious at herself for letting him hear the effect he had on her. It was dangerous, she knew, giving a man such power. But at the moment, Hekla was lost to the sensation of his lips against hers.
Being vigilant of Eyvind’s wound, they sank against each other, then carefully lowered themselves on the smooth river stones next to the fire. Her body tingled in response to his kiss—to the gentle brush of his fingers up her side—and she marveled at the way the feel of him brought her back in time. Back to another riverbank where she’d met this handsome stranger and had confessed to him things she’d never told a soul.
But Eyvind suddenly tensed and broke the kiss.
“What?” she gasped.
“Did you hear that?” He pushed up to a sitting position, hissing as his wound undoubtably pained him.
Hekla’s senses sharpened in an instant. Slowly, she sat up and examined the dead bones of the forest. All was silent and dark, but then—movement.
Days they’d been trekking along this river, and they’d not seen a solitary creature. To see something now sent alarm flaring through her. Hekla and Eyvind clambered to their feet and drew their weapons, staring hard into the forest. The shadows shifted and merged, a low growl rattling the air.
Hekla braced herself for glowing red eyes—for the nauseating stench of the Turned beasts. Her heart beat an edgy rhythm as enormous lupine forms emerged from the woods—grimwolves. She counted the forms, giving up somewhere after twelve.
One grimwolf, perhaps two, they stood a chance. But with more than a dozen, their odds were hopeless. Her heartbeat was riotousinside her skull as the wolves prowled slowly closer. A glance over her shoulder dispelled any hopes they had of fleeing across the river—more wolves descended from the bank behind them.
“We’re surrounded,” she whispered, searching desperately for a plan.
“They’re not Turned,” Eyvind muttered.
And she saw it was true. The wolves’ eyes glowed yellow in the last light of their campfire; their coats were thick and glossy; and only a single row of fangs was bared. But each was the size of a small horse, and those gleaming canines were designed to tear into flesh. It was clear these grimwolves were not friendly toward humans.
A large, white wolf at the front of the pack lunged forward with a warning snap, and Hekla and Eyvind scrambled backward. The wolves bared their teeth, creeping forward. Where had they come from? Why weren’t they Turned? It did not matter—Hekla knew they didn’t stand a chance.
But then came a new sound—a higher-pitched yip. The wolves’ ears pricked, and one of them barked in reply. And soon the wolves lifted their snouts to the sky, the air filling with a discordant chorus of yowls.
“What is happening?” whispered Eyvind.
“I don’t speak wolf, do you?” muttered Hekla, not daring to loosen her grip on her weapon.
Movement in the shadows, and then, disbelief. Because bounding from the woods was a form she knew.
Tears pricked her eyes. Hope unfurled in her heart.
“Kritka,” Hekla breathed. And as the wolf came nearer, she saw something dangling from his maw. It gleamed in the moonlight, and Hekla nearly fell to her knees.
Clutched in Kritka’s jaw was her prosthetic arm.
Chapter 56
Wind whipped through Hekla’s hair as she clung to Kritka for dear life. She winced as the grimwolf leaped over a fallen log, jostling her on his back. Her arse would be black and blue by the time they rejoined the Forest Maiden and their warband. But it didn’t matter. With the woods zipping past and her prosthetic arm snapped back into place, Hekla was filled with more hope than she’d felt in days.
They might just make it to the battle of the heartwood.
Eyvind yelped beside her as the grimwolf he rode upon lurched around a tree, nearly unseating him.
Your mate yelps like a pup,teased Kritka, launching them over a small stream and onto the opposite bank.
“Not my mate,” Hekla muttered, her teeth clanking together with the impact. A dozen curses climbed up her tongue, but Hekla would not let them free.
