Page 111 of Blood of the Fairest

"Verena," I whisper. I set down everything I have been carrying, but I keep the axe ready.

"Holy shit," she repeats. "This is Little Red Riding Hood. You're the huntsman who saves⁠—"

"Get inside the house. Now."

Whether it is the harshness of my voice or whether she spies the monsters stalking closer, Verena moves at once. She darts forward, avoiding the dead monster on the steps.

She hesitates for a second in the doorway, casting a worried look back at me.

"Wulf—"

"Close the door," I warn.

"He'll be fine, Fairest," Eris insists from a reflection I do not look for. "Leave the fabled warrior to his fun and quickly grab what you can of the dead old woman's desirable fabrics."

I hear her arguing with him even as the door slams shut—but then the leibwraiths descend upon me.

With a swing of my axe, the first monster's head slides off. Blood sprays as I swing at the next one.

Another leibwraith tries to snap at me.

These beasts seldom use their teeth, usually swallowing the souls of their prey whole instead. But whatever magic was used to curse my soul, it is more powerful than any creature I have met with—and when these beasts realize they cannot take my soul from my body, they try to slay me instead.

Embedding my axe in the forehead of the snapping leibwraith, I turn to grapple with another monster. With the aid of the runes upon my arms, I put it to sleep before snapping its neck.

The howls of leibwraiths fill the air as I slay them, yet they are wising up. Now that they have learned I am no easy target, they try to flee.

But if they are not slain now, they may return to try consuming Verena's soul.

I will end such a danger before it has another chance to threaten her.

Retrieving my axe, I slice cleanly through the flank of another monster just as it begins to run. One more swing ends it.

It is the last of the blood I must spill for my cursed form to take hold.

All at once, the world blurs. I cry out as pain rips through my body.

Bones break and reshape, bending and warping beneath my skin. My cry turns into a roar as my face becomes a sharp-toothed snout. Fur blooms everywhere my flesh tears away, my body multiplying in size.

It is an agony I have felt many times, but it never becomes less painful.

Yet finally, I charge through the woods after the attackers. I am faster at short distances than they are, so the slaughter begins anew. Clamping my teeth onto the hind leg of a leibwraith, I rip it away. At the same time, my claws dig into the belly of another.

Since leibwraiths primarily consume souls, the contents spilling from this one's stomach include two strange, vaguely glowing orbs.

For a time, I am lost to the grisly thrill of the hunt. I bellow and tear through the fiends who would have harmed Verena, littering the forest with their pieces. Savoring the taste of their blood.

This zeal for carnage has always lurked within me.

When I was a boy, it frightened the elders of my clan. When they realized I must be cursed, they did not wish to banish me from my people—so instead, they taught me great discipline.

They took a beastly child and turned him into a warrior. Now, as they drink mead around their campfires at night, they boast of the renowned hero of Nordhjem with great pride.

But deep down, I am still this bloodthirsty beast.

At last, when the remains of the leibwraith are strewn about the ground, and their blood drips from the trees, I slowly lumber back toward Ida's cottage.

It is difficult for me to think clearly in the lingering exhilaration of a good hunt⁠—