“You will not win, Bloodgood.” Its voice is slithery and malevolent. “Neither will your White Wolf. Thamaosseeeesyou both. He watches you.Weeeewatch you. And we will only comebaaaack.”
I struggle to breathe, realizing the smell is because we’re surrounded by wraiths who have possessed a herd of Great Horns. Raina told me of the smell that wafted from Helena, of the sulfur, the brimstone.
Fear and loathing stab my heart like a knife. Thankfully, loathing wins.
In the span of a heartbeat, the Great Horn closes the short distance between us and shoves his snapping snout through a gap in the limbs. I jam the tip of my sword into the creature’s eye.
“Tell Thamaos to go fuck himself!” I twist my blade as hard as I can.
The animal screams and thrashes and falls back, flinging itself free of my blade. When it charges a second time, I catch it in the mouth like the others, pushing my blade deep until the thing finally jolts and jerks and blessedly dies, but not before I hear that keening cry again, as though it’s flying away from us.
The wraith fled before I could trap it within the beast and send it back to the Nether Reaches. Godsdamnit.
Neri takes care of the others. He swipes his claws across a throat, sending more blood spilling into my cage, then he rips the head off another and tosses it into the clearing for his friends. I look for the two beasts that look like Neri, but they’re gone.
White chest heaving and the entirety of him covered in blood, my wolf looks down at me with that beastly face, his golden eyes intent on me, and somehow, I fucking swoon for the beast and the god within.
He throws his head back and howls, this time a sound of victory, and my tight, tense muscles release, even as I lie in the bloody snow, buried under the weight of realization.
Thamaos already has a hold in this land.
When the night quiets and the wolves retreat, dragging their kills into the forest, Neri stares down at me again through the cage, studying my handiwork. I recall the galatine and watch as it reforms into his sword, the hilt in my shaky grip.
Carefully, he rips away the wood and extends a clawed paw that’s already changing back to the lovely, strong hand I have learned so well.
“Come, little bird,” he says, his voice rough, deep, and comforting.
Without a second of hesitation, I reach for him.
25
NEPHELE
It takes Neri over an hour to return to his human form.
The pain is unbearable to witness, how his wolf form seems to want to dominate and remain, fighting him from the inside out. He howls and struggles on all fours in the snow, facing away from me, as though he doesn’t want me to see. But I cannot look away from him. The bones contorting and shifting under the pale moonlight, the battle of skin and fur, of beast and god.
I want to help. And I tried, only for Neri to roar in my face, ordering me to leave. But I didn’t go far.
I sit a few strides away atop our piled packs, huddled in my cloak, doing my best to hold a small construct to shelter us from the bitter wind. My strength is already waning, and the scent of blood is everywhere, making me crave.
Especially Neri’s blood. Now that I’ve tasted it, it seems my body could pick it out amid the gore of a battlefield if needed. It makes me feel little different from the beasts that were in this clearing tonight. The only difference is that I have the form of a woman, and I don’t have fangs and claws. Yet. As my gums and teeth ache, I realize I’m not entirely certain that change isn’t coming.
Neri slams his fist into the snow and roars again. Every muscle in my body tightens at the sound. For a moment, I’m not sure he can win this fight.
But then his back changes. The curved spine straightens, followed by his broad shoulders snapping hard, like they’re moving back into place. His legs change too, the bunched, thick muscles shifting to the slightly smaller legs of a powerful man. The fur that still covers him in places vanishes, leaving behind a naked Neri, light gold skin glistening beneath a sheen of sweat in the moonlight.
I retrieve what clothes he has in his pack—a wool tunic, trousers, and his leather slippers—and hurry to his side. When he looks up at me, I see worry shining in his eyes.
“You’re still here,” he says, his voice rough and raw.
I cup his handsome face. “Do you really think I’d leave you, wolf?”
He sighs, then collapses in the snow, rolling to his back. The bloody antler wound across his side is coagulating, but the gash seems deep, and the scent is making me ravenous, which turns my stomach. The thought of wanting him when he’s hurt feels wrong.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” he says. “My beast has never been so difficult.”
Though it pains me, I sit beside him, glancing at his nakedness, and do my best to act unbothered by the blood. “Well, I did see it. And it changes nothing. So let’s agree to discuss it once we find shelter.” I hold up his clothes. “Right now, we need to get you dressed before you freeze your bits off.”
