I’ve heard these lyrics for ages, secretknowledge stolen from Loria and passed down through a host of gods like second-hand gossip. But until this moment, I haven’t uttered these strands of ancient Elikesh since before I was condemned. Still, each syllable flows smoothly, too much a part of my soul to come out wrong.
I envision the Northlands as I sing and imagine the crunch of deep snow underfoot. I’ve missed Frostwater Wood and the valley. I miss roaming the caves and cooking over a fire, sleeping in my cottage with each pack member asleep on the floor. I miss running with wolves over the mountains under a blood moon and shifting effortlessly from man to beast as I tear through the trees.
How I crave the vital, feral nature of both forms.
I don’t know how long I sing. Long enough that Nephele Bloodgood finally reaches out and touches my hand.
“Wolf. You can stop now.”
Her voice tugs at me like no other can, and I return to myself, opening my eyes, feeling as though my soul had drifted elsewhere.
My attention falls to her hand, ornately covered in witch’s marks, resting atop mine. She jerks back as though she touched something hot and rubs her palm over her dress, an effort to scrub away the feel of me, no doubt.
“That was…” She screws up her face, her perfect little nose scrunching.
“What? Atrocious? Awful? I’m sure you have another word that fits.”
She’s quiet for a long moment and then says, “Absolutely appalling.”
I smile at that because I know otherwise. “Wait until you hear me sing in my human form. If that was appalling, you’ll find the man in me abhorrent.”
A flicker dances across her eyes.Worry. She would have me believe that she’s convinced I’ll become an even worse experience to endure as a man. But the truth I already sense is that she fears I’ll become something even more appealing to her than I already am. Something far more dangerous and beguiling.
She would be right.
“Do you have it memorized?” I ask. “The ritual song?”
“I do. Now, all we need is this.” She slides her cold hands together, back and forth to create warmth, and tugs her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. She tries and fails to unfasten the clasp on the necklace holding the remnant of my heart. “Damn it.” She shakes her hands and stretches her fingers, the skin reddened from the air that has yet to heat from the morning sun. “I can’t feel anything.”
I hold out my hand, making every effort to prove that even gods can be chivalrous. “May I?”
She considers my offering as though I hold a poisonous adder between us. I wait patiently, trying to ignore the curves of her lovely lips, pursed into a full pout as she thinks. Blessedly, she finally gives in and lays her small hand inside my larger one.
Wishing I could really feel her, I close my fingers around hers and send all the power I can into her body, a wave of warmth radiating up her arm and spreading throughout her core and limbs. Her eyes drift closed, her pretty mouth parts, and she breathes heavily—once, twice, three times—before a shudder of relief rolls through her.
She opens her eyes and, again, quickly jerks away from my touch. “I won’t pretend that isn’t handy,” she says. “But it also feels intrusive. Like you’re…”
I watch her closely, seeing her mind at work, gnawing at a thought as she bites her lip. “Like I’m what?Insideyou?”
Her cheeks turn pink, and this time, I’m fully aware that it isn’t from the cold.
“Turn for me. I’ll get the clasp.” Much to my surprise, and though it happens after a moment of hesitance, she does. Like a little bird, she tilts her head down, exposing the delicate length of her slender neck.
In those next few seconds, I notice so many things about her. Every dainty blonde curl coiled tight around her hairline. The way her marked flesh rises from a cold wind, or perhaps from my nearness. The gently sloping line from her ear to her shoulder, and the streak of colorful flourishes that follows it.
These last weeks have been a battle of wills and want, a fight with yearning. It’s been so long since I’ve been capable of succumbing to carnal longings, and I’ve been captivated by her for enough years now that it’s difficult not to imagine kissing that soft skin, tangling my fingers in her silken hair, and whispering against her ear how badly I want her.
But this is not the time. If she brings me back, the right moment will come, and I will be more than ready when it does.
Carefully, I unlatch the aged clasp. Nephele catches the necklace in the palm of her hand. “Now, all I must do is sing the song? That seems rather simple. Surely there were more protections in place for such a serious task?”
Now is not the time to gain a conscience either, yet the guilt from before returns. Given the years I’ve lost, I can’t recall the last time I felt the need to lean on the side of integrity, but I cannot allow her to go any further unless I divulge all I know. Gods are not creatures of honor or loyalty, but wolves are a different story. I’ve often thought Loria might’ve made me more wolf than god for a reason.
“It was rumored that permission from the queen and her scholars was a requirement, lest the trees of the grove dole out some sort of repercussion or demand a penance. Since we’re not asking for Fia Drumera’s blessing, all you need to do is press the pendant into the earth, returning my remnant to the soil, and then no matter what happens, sing like a sparrow until I’m whole again.”
Uncertainty lines her brow as she runs her thumb over the facets of the stone in her hand, causing it to emit a soft glow.
I let out a low sigh, hating myself for my next words. “Or I can take you back to Fia’s palace, and we can part ways.”
