It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.
I pry the arrow from the animal’s side and return it to my quiver. The pups must be why the wolf was so desperate to survive. Not for itself but for its young. I think of my own family. Awful realization grips me. Isthatwhy the wolf allowed me my shot? Rather than lead us any closer to the pups, the wolf stopped running, knowing we would return to Skallagrim once we had our kill.
Father’s voice is barbed as he adds, “Hesitating again?”
“Of course not.”
I heft the heavy wolf over my horse, but the weight of Father’s disappointment is even heavier. The ride back is somber but quick. Thereturn trip is the most uncertain. The most dangerous. Carrying one of their pack can go two ways: The berserkir see us as a threat and hang back, or they decide to avenge their fallen pack member. Which is why we take horses on our hunts, to increase speed and minimize risk.
Or try to,I think as my horse steps over another spine.
Quick paws pad after us.
Three, four, maybe five wolves, but they sound small and are clumsy in their pursuit. Probably the pups I caught sight of earlier. They must be too young to know to avoid us. If I try to scare them away, it will only alert Father to their presence. Damn it. I reach for my canister of lupine spray. Hopefully I won’t be forced to use it. So far, the pups seem to be hanging back. Observing. Uncertain what to do.
Father’s horse rears.
A massive berserkr cuts off our path, her head hanging low in warning. This must be the pups’ mother. Hackles raised, she snarls, bearing large, wicked teeth.
Her glowing eyes settle on me. On the dead wolf slung over my horse.
Father reacts first, sending a knife hurling toward her. But the wolf is already leaping into the air in a deadly arc—
Claws and teeth flash.
The wolf is on me in an instant. Her momentum knocks me off my horse. Hard. She lands on top of me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. On instinct, I throw my left arm against her throat. Her snapping jaws try—and fail—to reach my face.
Her mate’s body falls beside us, along with my quiver. Arrows spill over the ground and my spray can rolls as the wolf pins me with her massive paws. A low grunt of pain climbs my throat. I canfeelmy body being crushed by her weight.
Her strength—it’s overwhelming.
I grit my teeth. Nothing I haven’t faced before. My left arm screamsin protest as I fight to fend her off. Father peers down at us but makes no move to help. With my free hand, I strain for my lupine spray instead of an arrow. Aluminum brushes my fingertip. Just out of reach.
The wolf’s jaws near my face.
Finally, I grasp the canister. Using my teeth, I pull the safety clip free. A cloud of lupine sprays her face in quick bursts.
The berserkr releases me with a sudden yelp. She retreats, tail tucked between her legs, eager to escape the concentrated cloud. The pups quickly follow their mother. I watch them flee, making no move to take more of their family.
Father climbs off his horse.
“The spray? Really?” he asks, standing over me. His eyes are hard. I can’t tell if his anger comes from concern or something else. “That’s meant for students, not wild berserkir. She wouldn’t have hesitated to killyou.”
If there’s one thing Father can’t stand, it’s berserkir. His hatred of them runs deep. He blames them for his brother Trygve’s death, and I’m convinced that’s why he has devoted himself to becoming such a ruthless hunter.
Father reaches out—
But not to me.
He grabs the dead wolf by the nape and lifts it as if it weighs nothing. Berserkir aren’t the only ones with increased strength and heightened senses. In order to kill them, the first hunters had to use seiðr, taking tonics to heighten their senses and covering their skin with runes to increase their strength. Now we’rebornwith those abilities, making us their natural predators.
“The sun is already up.” As I climb to my feet, my arm protests, making me wince. “We should return to campus.”
Ignoring the pain, I take the wolf from Father to prove I still can.
Without it, we won’t be able to replenish our supplies—use its meatfor fertilizer, make pelts from its fur, or turn its hide into leather armor. So I sling the berserkr’s body over my horse. The least I can do is not let his death be in vain.
That’s what I tell myself, over and over, on the ride back. The pups’ distant howls pierce my chest like a spear as Father rides ahead of me. As strong as our steeds are, the tremendous weight of the wolf’s body still slows my horse down.
