“Run!”
Everything becomes fragments. Flashes of bodies fleeing. A blur of ivory fur tearing through the dark. Gleaming teeth. The carriage door splattered red. I cannot tell how long it lasts, seconds or minutes or an eternity, only that the forest fills with horror and then, just as suddenly, with silence.
I lie still as heavy breathing ghosts over my face. Hot breath brushes my neck. Something nudges my cheek.
I force my eyes open.
Mismatched eyes stare back at me. One gold. One blue.
But it is not Luceran’s face.
It is the face of the great white wolf.
He stands over me, enormous and terrible and beautiful, his fur spattered with red, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left.
I do not scream.
Because I am not afraid.
Not of him. Not of my protector.
He will come when I need him, and the unshakable certainty of that settles deep into my bones. A knowing as old as the dark itself, that I will never need to fear what lurks in the shadows again.
He nudges beneath my arm, a gentle insistence, urging me to move. I try to stand and my legs bow instantly, useless beneath me, but he is there at once. I wrap my arms around his thick neck, bury my fingers in his coarse fur just to stay upright, and he moves with me, slow and careful, his great paws padding softly through the churned dirt as he guides me back toward the carriage.
He helps me inside, his massive head braced against my side to keep me steady. I collapse onto the velvet cushions, the world tilting and dimming at the edges.
Then he shifts.
I feel it more than I see it, the ripple of power, the reshaping, fur and fangs dissolving, the wolf giving way to the male beneath. Luceran stands where the beast was, bare and blood-smeared and terrible in his quiet fury. He tears a blanket free from the seat and wraps it around his waist before climbing in beside me.
Strong hands turn my head gently. He examines the wound at the back of my skull, his jaw tightening as I murmur something incoherent, my thoughts slipping away, my eyes too heavy to keep open. Then I feel the brush of his tongue against my temple.
Is he cleaning the blood away?
The thought barely forms before his voice reaches me, low and urgent, cutting through the haze as I struggle to keep up with what is happening.
“We need to get you back to the castle.”
Instead of his tongue, his lips brush my forehead, the kiss lingering just long enough to steady me before he pulls away.
Through the open carriage door, I catch him in flashes through half-closed eyes, his towering form moving with surprising care as he lifts the sprites from the snow. When he returns, he lays them gently on the opposite seat, tears the nets apart with a low, restrained growl and flings them into the dark before placing one large hand over their small bodies.
Frost curls from his skin, pale and luminous, spilling into them in swirling waves.
They gasp.
Blue eyes snap open as they cough and sputter, wings twitching weakly while they struggle upright. When they see him, they bow without hesitation, and he inclines his head in quiet acknowledgement.
Then he steps from the carriage and closes the door behind him. I feel the shift of his weight as he climbs onto the driver’s bench, the reins settling into his hands.
The last thing I see before I pass out is his silhouette against the snow, ivory hair streaked with red and streaming behind him like a battle banner as he snaps the reins and the carriage surges forward.
Home.
We are going home.
22
