Basuin knows war best of all—and Kensy no longer wants war. He wants blood.
Resentment, mean and sticky, builds in his chest. But it’s Ren who moves, who pulls from Bass’ grip to throw herself toward Kensy. If his hands weren’t so used to holding on to everything so tightly with dread, she might have slipped his grasp.
“How dare you,” Ren seethes. He knows the look she wears even without seeing her face—she’s looked at him like that before. “You are lesser than the rot of this forest. Even from rot, life can grow again. You are nothing,” she spits at him, still lunging, a viper with all her viciousness.
His teeth are locked around her name, caging it in his mouth. Kensy won’t hear it. He’ll kill Kensy before he lets Kensy learn anything of Ren’s.
Kensy quirks a brow at Basuin, a familiar look they’ve shared. “You’ve always liked them so feisty, old dog.”
“Shut up,” he barks back. The ring of broken bodies circling Kensy makes his hands tight. If he could shelter Ren behind his body, stow her away from Kensy’s gaze, he would. But he can hear the quickness of her breath. The heat of her skin brought by anger. He lets her go, reluctantly, and stands beside her. Partners. “You don’t get to speak anymore.”
“Is that so?” Kensy chuckles.
“I told you this island was protected by gods.” His eyes don’t leave Kensy’s. “Did you think you could get away with your cruelty? Do you think you’ll be forgiven for your crimes?”
Kensy just laughs again. “Who will be left to crucify me when I burn this forest to the ground?”
It’s not like you would have killed him, Basuin had said.
Then why didn’t you? Ren had asked him. Why didn’t you kill him instead?
The wolf-man lunges and snaps and breaks Basuin’s skin with its teeth. It cracks his bones and rebuilds them with the foam from its jowls. The wolf-man howls.
Basuin growls low. “Me.”
He darts forward. Reaches for the sword strapped to his back and runs for Kensy. Ignores the still-twitching rabbits that litter the forest floor. Hands enveloped in red. Hot. Magic. No human thoughts left. Only wolf. Only god. Only the Wolf God, who possesses his mind, his heart, his body.
And the soldier boy still lurking in the bones I pick your meat off, he thinks the wolf-man says. Or maybe it’s him now. Maybe it’s always been him.
The soldier boy who was betrayed by the very mentor who made him.
Basuin snarls, sword gripped in both hands, and aims for the canine grin Kensy’s still wearing. Monstrous blue eyes still alight in glee.
“Basuin!”
A small, soft, strong hand wraps around his arm.
“Stop.” Her voice is breathy in his ear. “Don’t kill him.” Not a command, but a request. Pleading.
He breathes hard. Panting, raging. Crimson magic drips off the edge of his blade. Kensy’s eyes are wide, his body tense. He’s afraid—not much, but a little. It’s enough. Basuin can kill him.
Basuin will.
But Ren’s other hand finds his shoulder and her arm twists around him. “Please, Basuin.” The Forest God, begging him for something. It’s rotten. Like Kensy. “I don’t want you to kill him.”
If she really wanted you to stop, she would’ve used magic.
No, no. She trusts him.
You are a protector. You are a killer. You will kill for her.
He will.
But in the brief moment of his hesitation, Ren pressed to his back and fingers curled in his sleeve, a hurried rustle of brush has his head snapping to where Kensy waits. But he’s gone. Like he was never there at all. Kensy’s sense of self-preservation is too keen. His close familiarity with what Basuin can do—what tragedies he’s staged—bid him to run like a fucking coward.
A coward who Basuin could’ve slain dead, right here, to lay at Ren’s feet. A dog bringing back a grouse to leave as an offering to the altar that she is. Proof of loyalty.
Basuin yanks away from her, and she lets him go with a gasp. That alone cracks him. Breaks him in half. She trusts him. She trusts him. He just got her to trust him.
