I’m also not in my bed with Mother. I’m on the chilly ground, folded up inside the Witch Collector’s strong arms, covered by his blanket. My head is nestled firmly against his muscled chest, my arms tight around his waist. Even our legs found their way to one another in the night, weaved like we’ve slept together for years.
I was already still—half asleep—but I become even more motionless, locking down every muscle, even stilling my breath, like I can shrink from this moment without him noticing.
“Good morning, Bloodgood.” That deep voice crawls over me, through me, and something big and firm presses against my stomach.
Oh, my gods. I slam my eyes shut and squeeze my eyelids tight. One of Alexus’s laughs—the low, deep kind that rumbles—radiates into me, sending a strange sensation straight to my stomach,making it flip.
“Breathe, Raina. It’s all right. The world isn’t going to crumble because you touched me. A lot, I might add, but still.” Unexpectedly, he dips his head, his beard and lips tickling my ear. “Also, you’re very warm, and I rather enjoyed your company if that’s not obvious, but now that you’re awake, could you please disentangle your legs from mine? If I don’t piss, we’re both going to be in trouble.”
My face has never burned as severely as it burns right now.
Mortified, I pull away and sit up, scrubbing my cheeks, only to meet Hel’s icy stare from across our shelter. She pokes at the ashes with a stick, jostling what’s left of the kindling. The sweet smell of woodsmoke lingers in the air, but it doesn’t mask the sulfuric aroma wafting off her.
Bent over to protect his head from the overhang, Alexus wraps the blanket around my shoulders, giving me the last remnants of our heat.
“What?”I sign to Hel once his back is turned and he’s stalking into the snow toward the forest.“You abandoned me.”
She raises a brow, not unlike Hel, but her lack of words is startling. She’s usually filled with witty comebacks or snide remarks, yet there’s nothing but silence between us.
Alexus can’t go far—to the edge of the dying firelight is all. The snow is deep beyond our shelter, and though it’s lighter than when we fell asleep, it’s still dark, like late dusk.
Scrubbing my neck, I look his way, noticing the loosening of his trousers from behind.
“He is your enemy.”
I snap my head around, caught in my voyeurism, but also surprised by Hel’s words and the sound of her voice.
“I am fully aware who he is,”I reply.
Her dark eyebrow arches higher, and her nostrils flare. “Are you?”
Alexus returns and checks the oil lamp. “I’m not sure how long we slept,” he says. “Feels like forever. We should get back on the path while it’s not pitch dark out. Take advantage of the light and cover some ground.”
He creeps to the rear of the overhang where rock meets rock. Clusters of grass have broken through the stones there, brown and dead. He jerks them free of their roots and heads to feed the horses. When he returns, he has the flask, an apple, some walnuts, and half the loafof stale bread. Carefully, he nestles the bread and apple on a rock in the embers to warm.
“The apples are mush, and the skins of water are frozen solid, but this”—he shakes the flask—“should be fine.”
In a short time, we’re enjoying our first food in days. Toasted bread with warmed apple mush and roasted walnuts. It isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to ease the pain cramping my stomach.
I don’t want to leave the heat. In truth, I’d like nothing more than to tend the fire until it’s roaring, forget about Hel’s odd behavior, and curl back up against Alexus. I cannot believe I’m thinking such a thing, but I’m cold and hungry, tired of not having a roof over my head or stew in my belly or a bed under my back. I miss everything about the cottage and the vale.
Everything.
I say nothing, and soon we’re struggling through deep snow, the horses making every effort to travel back the way we came. I ride with Hel, and Alexus leads the way.
Not far from camp, it becomes evident what stamped down the snow enough to reveal the path.
It wasn’t Nephele.
Alexus stops and dismounts. About a dozen Eastlanders and their horses lie half-buried in the snow, scattered beneath the trees. We couldn’t see them before, but now, with more light, they’re impossible to miss. They must’ve gotten lost, or maybe they were wet from the lake and froze to death here. They look like statues, all shades of black, gray, and white, leaving yet another image of death in my mind.
They could be us. Mightstillbe us, eventually.
Alexus digs around in the snow, searching for weapons. My stomach turns as stains of blood and torn flesh become visible.
He glances up. “Look away. White wolves have been here.”
I bury my face in the hood of his cloak and stare at the ground while he continues digging, until he comes within sight. He’s freed a curved knife and stuffs it in his boot, replacing the dagger he lost on the lake.
