Page 67 of Woods of the Raven

“You are tiresome.”

I’d been called worse. “But who is he, precisely?”

“His name means death.”

It always did. All of them peddled the same line of terror and annihilation. And she’d already killed an innocent young woman, so it wasn’t that I was doubting her resolve or her belief in her master, but still. The whole his-name-means-death bit had been wildly overdone.

“Your mistress, the Morrighan, fears him.”

I scoffed. I couldn’t help it, and it popped out before I could stop. Not that I was on a first-name basis with the Morrighan—had in fact never met her or any of her incarnations—but I knew she would never cower before any god. It was not who she was.

“You would wager my gift from my lord, with yours?” she screeched at me.

The sound, like the howling, shrieking wind, was designed to hurt me, perhaps rupture my eardrums. So I stepped back inside momentarily to let the sound dissipate before leaning back out. “I don’t want to wager anything. Maybe we could simply—”

Lights had appeared at the end of my driveway, and I groaned as Lorne, in a bright-yellow rain slicker and galoshes, came running up the cobblestone path. The man looked like he was prepared for a monsoon. It was adorable, but really, I was going to give him an award for having the worst timing ever.

He stopped moving when he saw me—and probably, more importantly, the wolves—and the moment he did, he was tackled down hard into the mud, grass, and leaves to the right of the path.

“I’ll trade you for your man, mage,” she said, moving close again. “What do you—”

The vargr was grabbed and flung away from Lorne, hitting the ground in a bloody heap, his head having been separated from his body so cleanly, it looked like it had been done with a blade. It took a moment for the dog to drop out of the sky from how high he’d apparently leaped, and he landed softly beside the man I wanted to take to bed.

“You have a familiar,” she said, just like Sola did the other night, sounding unafraid when really, seeing Osko should have scared the crap out of her. I had no idea how anyone saw these dogs that were bigger than Great Danes and more muscular than mastiffs and thought, Oh no, those aren’t frightening in the least. And yes, the vargrs were definitely scarier-looking—their hairlessness was what had always freaked me out the most—but still, that dog should have given anyone pause. This went back to reading being fundamental. Research was imperative if you were going to cross from one realm to another.

Lorne sat up, and Osko tipped his head, staring. That, more than anything, scared me. The issue being, one of the Cŵn Annwn was watching him, making a conscious determination whether he was prey, and therefore something to be hunted, or could instead be, like me, someone to protect.

“Thank you, buddy,” Lorne said to the dog, lifting his hand and reaching for Osko’s muzzle in a perfectly normal motion between man and his best friend.

I was holding my breath—Lorne could be eviscerated in moments if the dog decided they weren’t comrades—and my not making a sound, combined with the terror and hope that must’ve shown clear as day on my face, made Rulaine regard the animal.

“You have no dominion over this creature?”

“No,” I answered honestly, taking a breath as Osko moved forward so Lorne could give him scratches under his chin, and then Lorne got his second hand in there to get behind his head and his ears.

“You have…no control?”

Gwyn leaped off the top of my house then, down in front of the porch, and dropped her head and growled low, baring her teeth at the vargr close to me. She was the biggest, the size of a small horse, and though she looked more like a fuzzy greyhound than a Great Dane or mastiff, when she snarled again, I felt the wave of fear wash over me.

Rulaine gasped and spun, trying to disappear in a swirl of black smoke that many magic users could manage. But then Dar was suddenly there, out of thin air, plucking her from the maelstrom and flipping her over his back.

It was impressive how Rulaine didn’t fall from the sky, but instead landed gently, facing Dar, and slashed the air with her hand.

I could feel the energy, hot and full of wrath, so I rushed forward, in front of the dog, and lifted my arm to shield both of us.

It hit like a wave breaking on rocks, splashing over me, the runoff hissing as it hit the dirt, sinking into the ground.

“Come on, boy,” Lorne called to Osko, who, amazingly, followed him in his dead run toward the house.

Another vargr came for Lorne, but Dar must have moved, even though I couldn’t track it with my eyes, and in the next instant the vargr was beheaded as quickly and expertly as Osko had the first.

Lorne and Osko ran by me, not stopping, and I was so relieved that Lorne didn’t check on me, instead assuming I knew what I was doing. I couldn’t worry about the vargr facing off with Gwyn, or that she’d turn on Lorne. I had to have faith that the man’s inner strength would allow the dog to see him as he really was: my protector.

“To whom do the dogs belong?” Rulaine screamed at me.

“To the god who branded me,” I answered. “As such, I cannot let you harm them.”

She lifted her hand like she was holding a whip, striking at me, and I felt it hit the sides of my shield, dig into my power, and strip some away. I understood, almost too late, that she was powerful. I needed to be smarter, more prepared. Witches did that by separating themselves from others and being solitary. The thing was, I’d never had any intention of making guardianship and battle my life. I wanted to be part of the world, part of my community, have friends, and now, suddenly, I wanted Lorne. I wanted him bad.