Page 58 of Wraithwound

Lena heard the whinny of Taryk’s horse and the sound of hooves retreating as he was forced to find another inn to host him for the night. Cross seemed pleased with this and turned his attention to the stable hand.

He dismounted, turning to offer his assistance to Lena. She couldn’t help but glance at the small puncture wounds in his arm, now crusted over with dried blood. She half expected to see small wraithwounds in their place, but there was nothing but tanned skin. Relief washed over her, and she wondered if the Bud of Brielle had somehow made him immune to any sort of wraithwound.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, passing her cloak over and leading Kharon toward a stall at the back.

“Fine, just a little stiff,” she lied, willing her legs to keep her upright. She was more than a little stiff. Her muscles ached, the cuts all over her body throbbed, and she was sore in places she’d didn’t want to consider.

Cross nodded and then turned to tend to Kharon. He relieved the horse of its saddle and gear as he waited for the stable hand to retrieve food and water.

“We’ll have to be careful here. As you can imagine those who live here aren’t friendly to strange creatures or⁠—”

“I understand,” she said. “What about Taryk?”

Cross turned and studied her face; those blue eyes looking beyond her words at what she’d left unsaid.

“I’m not sure what he’ll do, he’s . . . unpredictable,” Cross said, annoyance flitting across his face.

“Is he a threat?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet. But I intend to find out,” Cross said.

She followed Cross through the stables with its fortified stone walls and makeshift stalls inside. Just outside the door that connected the stables to the inn, Cross turned so suddenly, Lena almost ran into him. Tilting her head back to look into his face, he wore a thoughtful expression as he examined her hair.

“What?” Lena asked, running her fingers through it.

The strands on the left side felt different. As opposed to the thick, smooth strands she was used to, this section above her left ear felt wiry and coarse. Wondering if it was due to having lost some of the feeling in her hands, she pulled pieces of her hair into view. Her mouth fell open slightly as she caught a glimpse of the coarse, wavy locks.

“Maybe just push it forward to ensure it covers your shoulder,” he said at last, “and”—He took one of her hands in his and turning it palm up—“what can we do about these?”

“Couldn’t you pass me off as an artist or something?” she asked as she dug into her pack. Cross gave her a deadpan look. Once she had adjusted her hair and donned her gloves, she looked up at him as if to ask, There. Happy?

He nodded and proceeded toward the door with worn letters that spelled “THARA’S INN.”

Behind a stone counter sat a tall, lean man with a dusting of grey hair. Lena wasn’t sure what he was reading, but he seemed more interested in that than attending to them. Cross pulled out a stamped metal badge and slid it across the counter. Lena recognized it as the same one she’d pulled out of his satchel. The sound of metal scraping on stone was enough to capture the man’s attention. He sat up, promptly shut the book, and glanced at the badge on the counter, steel-gray eyes going wide.

“My apologies sir, I thought you were one of the Comman—uh, someone else,” the innkeeper said apologetically.

“My companion and I are quite tired and would like to request lodging,” Cross said. The softness in his voice was gone. Only a soulbound soldier stood before her now.

“Of course, sir,” the man said, handing over two keys. “If you’re interested in some hot food, I could have our bar maid bring something up.”

“Is the suite available? The one with the tub?” he asked, the keys on the counter undisturbed.

“The, uh, the marital suite?” the man asked, peering over at Lena, who was staring intently at Cross.

“Yes,” Cross said simply.

“Yes, sir, here you go,” the innkeeper said, handing it to him.

He led them back through the stone building towards a room at the end of the hall. They passed the bar located in a large sitting room, a small fire smoldering in the hearth. The place was sparsely decorated, but it was clean and well kept.

Once they arrived at the door of the room, their room, Lena’s heart rate picked up. Suddenly, she was aware of how hot it was, her heavy cloak suffocating, and the heat from the fire oppressive.

The innkeeper was still talking to Cross, something about mealtimes, his interest in a bath and the rates for Kharon’s upgraded accommodations. She caught Cross peering over the man’s shoulder at her, and he abruptly ended the conversation. The innkeeper walked away mumbling something about the bath, and when Lena turned back, Cross was holding the door open for her.

She stood there staring at the threshold. Images of her backtracking through the forest to Ada and Eduard’s house flashed in her mind. This time, she couldn’t stop the flood of images: her bloody hand buried in Eduard’s chest and Ada’s face as she approached Lena, knowing she’d meet the same end as her beloved.

“Lena?”