Lord of the Wolfyn

chapter 12

Doors slammed open on both sides of the road and club-wielding men hurtled out from the buildings and flew from around corners, boiling into the street, shouting things like “Get him!” “Cut him off!” “The money’s mine!” and “Don’t let him get away!”

Cursing, Dayn dodged one club swing, took another on his shoulder and leaped into the road, swinging his sword in a wide arc that was more intended to drive his attackers back rather than hurt them. His mind raced, jammed with thoughts of Damn that witch, and Now what? He was horrifically outnumbered, but he didn’t want to kill the villagers. He was trying to save them, damn it!

Looking around frantically while he batted off club swings with the flat of his sword, he searched for a thin spot, an exit, and found—

“Now!” a voice shouted.

Too late, he looked up to see a heavily weighted net flying down at him, flinging open as it came.

“Son of a—” He spun to bolt, but it caught him hard and knocked him down.

Roaring, he lunged back to his feet, staggering as he fought the tangling lines. He got his sword arm free and slashed out, heard a cry of pain and saw the villagers shrink back for a second. But that didn’t last long; they closed in just as he freed himself from the net, leaping away and flailing with his sword. He slapped for his crossbow, but it was gone.

He was surrounded, but the villagers didn’t come at him, instead hesitating, keeping their clubs raised as they shouted, egging one another. For a second, their hesitation didn’t make any sense. Then he realized: they were afraid he was going to change, didn’t know that he’d only succumbed twice in his life and didn’t intend to do it again. Not when part of his promise to his father had been to remember his true self, which wasn’t wolfyn.

Heart rocketing, he went for his bloodline magic, sending his secondary canines spearing through his gums. Then he bared his teeth and roared at the nearest villager, doing his best impression of Keely on a bad-fur day.

The man shouted and fell back, stumbling into the guy behind him. They both went down and three others shied away as Dayn lunged through the small opening and raced for the open area beyond. For a second he thought he was going to make it, but then the guys at the outer edge of the crowd saw him coming and started closing ranks.

Zzzt. Thwack! An arrow whizzed past the men and sank itself in the building opposite. They shouted and fell back as a second missile followed the first, coming even closer to them before nailing a rain barrel.

Dayn didn’t stop to wonder who or how; he put his head down and hauled ass for the nearest village gate.

“Close the gate!” The shout went up behind him, and up ahead, two men scrambled from a rickety guard shack and moved to comply, pushing a heavy door that slid sideways on ponderous rollers.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Sudden hoofbeats pounded behind him and a familiar voice called, “Dayn!”

And his heart. Stopped. Dead.

His body might have kept running as he looked back over his shoulder, but the rest of him froze at the sight of Reda galloping toward him on a bald-faced bay horse with white-ringed eyes. She was wearing a mix of the clothing he’d last seen her in along with a few Elden-style pieces, including the close-fitting pants and boots typically worn by the members of the cavalry or elite guard. They were old, but the royal colors of his own house still shone clearly.

“Reda,” he whispered through a throat gone suddenly dry with mingled joy and dismay. “Sweet gods.”

The villagers scattered like blown leaves as she bore down on him. Then she was steering with her knees and weight as she knocked an arrow in a sleek compound bow and let fly, burying the missile in the village gate no more than a handspan from one of the guys who were fighting to get it shut. The two men shouted, took one look at her and dove for cover, leaving the gate half-open and unattended.

“Grab on!” She pulled even with Dayn, offered a hand and, when he locked his wrist to hers, used the bay’s momentum to pull him up behind her.

It was a familiar move, one he’d done a hundred times with Nicolai, sometimes even with his father. But the bay squealed and spooked at the move, swerving and then flattening out its haunches as it accelerated to a flat-out panicked bolt that left him sprawled awkwardly on the animal’s haunches, being jolted loose with every stride.

“Whoa!” Reda started to haul on the reins, but then glanced back at the villagers, thought better of it and yelled, “Hang on!”

Dayn did his best, getting a good grip on the empty bedroll straps at the back of the age-cracked cavalry saddle as Reda rode the bolt, steering the white-eyed bay through the village gate and out onto the main road, where they thundered for nearly a mile before the animal began to tire, slowing to a bumpy canter, then to a tooth-jarring trot.

Still, though, the horse was restive and upset, refusing to settle, to the point that it was all Reda could do to spin the creature in a circle as Dayn slid down. The brute kicked out and scooted away, but she hauled it back around in a few snorting, prancing whirls, and then it finally started to calm down, blowing elephant-bugle snorts at Dayn.

Who just stood there in the road, staring.

She didn’t say anything, either, just met his eyes with a cool expression that didn’t tell him a thing. After a moment, she lifted her chin as if to say, Well?

“You can ride,” he said, which was dead stupid because that was far from the most important thing. But the sight of her astride the wall-eyed bay, carrying a weapon from her own realm and wearing clothes mixed from the other two, shifted his perceptions, jarring him and replacing his image of wide, scared blue eyes.

“I did Pony Club for a bit, played polo now and then in college.” She paused. “That and the archery were the closest I could get to living out the fairy tales. Until now.”

He had told himself he didn’t want her here in this wreck of a kingdom, that he didn’t have it in him to protect her and do his duty both. But now that she was here, really here, he wanted to fall to his knees and thank the gods and the magic, wanted to kiss her booted toe and work his way up from there, and wanted, somehow, to make things right between them. Because she was here.

The kingdom was a wasteland, Moragh had turned the villagers against him and put a bounty on his head, his siblings were nowhere to be seen and, given how much had been drained from the land, the Blood Sorcerer’s powers must be immense.

But sudden, illogical joy wrapped itself around his heart as he stood there staring up at a woman who looked like something from the stories of his own childhood—a goddess of the hunt, perhaps, or a patroness of the king’s elite cavalry. Yet at the same time she was the Reda he had known in the wolfyn realm, the one he had made love to, cared for, wanted beyond all reason.

His throat tightened, burning with emotion. “You used the Elden spell.”

But she shook her head. “I was sent here.”

His blood cooled a degree. “Then how…?”

“Your father. At least, I think that’s who it was. He pulled me into limbo, told me I had to help you get all the way to the castle, and that you need to remember your true self. And that if I do that, I can go home for real.”

“I know what I am and what I must be—a prince of Elden, with all that it entails.” He paused, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why did he send you with the message? Why not just talk to me while I was in the vortex?”

She looked past him. “I have a theory on that. I got here a few hours ago, bought MacEvoy here—” she indicated the bay, who had leveled off to flat-footed, eye-rolling suspicion “—and clothes that didn’t scream ‘outsider’ quite so loudly. Then I just…I don’t know. Started riding. And that gave me time to think.”

He was still working to catch up with the sudden differences in her. The fear was gone—or if not gone, so deeply buried that he couldn’t see it anymore. More, she was calm and competent, automatically settling her mount with a touch here, a shift of weight there, and wearing the bow naturally across her back as if it had been made for her. The Queen’s Guard would have been proud to have a woman like her. And a kingdom in need of rebuilding could do worse.

Slow down, he told himself, all too aware that their entire relationship had taken place at a flat-out gallop, and that a single misstep at such speed could be fatal. “Your theory?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

Meeting his eyes, she said, “I think I’m a test.”

“A… Oh.” He stared at her. “No. That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” Looping the reins in one hand, she crossed her arms and just looked at him.

No, it wasn’t impossible and they both knew it. More, it made a horrible sort of sense. He was supposed to remember his priorities and his true self. And just as the voice that had come to him as he floated out of his body had demanded a sacrifice from him in exchange for another chance, the magic—and his father—could be trying to teach him the lessons he hadn’t yet learned, the ones Elden needed him to master. Focus. Dedication. Discipline. Humility.

Gods, no. Not this way. He wanted to make it up to her, to be with her. Their time together had been the brightest spot, not just in the past two decades, but in all the years he had been alive. With her, he had been a man, an individual, a lover, a mate.

Sacrifice.

Moving slowly, keeping an eye on the horse, he crossed to her. The bay gave a half rear, but then subsided and held its ground, nostrils flaring as he came up beside them, close enough to touch her leg, though he didn’t.

He was viscerally aware of the long curves of her taut muscles beneath the cavalry breeches, though, and the familiar royal crest stamped into the leather at the top of her boot, now wearing a slash that indicated it was part of a rebellion, some sort of organized resistance. And deep down inside him where the wolfyn magic dwelled, arousal and satisfaction mingled at the sight of her wearing his family colors. He wanted to drape her in fine silks in those same colors, wanted to run their slippery softness over her body, then follow the same paths with his hands and lips. He hadn’t even begun to deal with her loss, could barely comprehend her return.

But, gods and the Abyss, she could be right that this was a test, a call for him to prove that he had learned his lesson. And a reminder that Elden needed him—or rather, them—to do their duties and hold true to their roles despite their feelings.

Not to mention…what were her feelings? He couldn’t see beyond her guarded, impassive mask, the one that seemed to say, This is the situation. What are you going to do about it? He knew the look from his father’s elite security forces, could guess that it went with being on the humans’ police force. And it drove home not only her new confidence—or, he suspected, the emergence of a deep-seated confidence that had been within her all along—but also that she had a life outside of him, duties of her own.

When he’d asked her to come with him, he had been so caught up in not wanting their gallop to end, so focused on getting what he most desired, that he’d lost sight of her needs and desires outside of the two of them. More, he had lied to her—by omission, yes, but a grave sin considering the lie. And the fact that he hadn’t even considered telling her. Just as he had hidden his blood-drinking self from Keely, he had planned to leave Reda entirely ignorant of the spell-curse that had turned him into his own prey.

Son of a bitch. He hadn’t grown up nearly as much as he’d wanted to think.

Aware that the silence was stretching thin, he tried to find the words, but didn’t know where to start, or how. Or even whether he should try.

Yes, he needed to try. He owed that to his honor, and to her.

He touched her knee, curving his fingers around the flesh and bone, not meaning the gesture as a come-on, but rather hoping the touch would carry his sincerity to her through the fitful emotional link he had felt once or twice before.

“I got so caught up in the rush that I lost sight of my honor and your right to have the same honesty from me that you had offered me. For that, I am ashamed.” He tightened his fingers on her knee. “By the gods, Reda, I’m sorry.”

She went white for a second, expression stark, but then flushed hard and hot as her eyes took on a dangerous glint as she leaned down to bat his arm away and hiss, “You’re sorry? You enthralled me, you unholy bastard.”

Shock rattled through him. “I—”

“Don’t you dare deny it. I may not know magic, but I can take a good guess what being brainwashed feels like.” She straightened in the saddle and touched the reins to quiet the bay, which had lit up once more, pawing and tossing its head while its ears flipped back and forth. “When I was with you, nothing else mattered. I didn’t care where we were or what we were doing, or even what was going on around us. I would have done anything you asked.” She glared through the glint of tears. “Anything, damn you. An ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t even begin to cut it on that one.”

Her words got inside him, making him profoundly wish he had been born a simple man in a simple life, that he had just met her on the street one day, without all the other chaos involved. But that was exactly the sort of thought process that had gotten him in trouble before, wasn’t it?

Part of him even wondered if it might not be best to let her think that he had enthralled her. It would probably be better if she hated him—because knowing that she was, or at least had been, feeling the same crazy single mindedness he was, that the world had threatened to disappear for her, as well, made him want to drag her out of the saddle and hold her, kiss her, talk to her until she agreed to give him—to give them—a chance.

But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. He couldn’t leave another lie between them.

“There was no enthrallment,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest where she had liked to lay her palm and feel his heartbeat. “I swear it on my soul.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There must have been.”

“There wasn’t.” He didn’t repeat the oath. She would either believe him or not. Have faith, he urged her inwardly. You know me. But did she know him enough to believe?

For a moment she didn’t say anything; he could almost see the inner battle written on her face. She wanted to believe, but didn’t trust him or herself anymore, didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t—not out in the realms, but inside herself.

He knew her. He understood her. And by the gods he wanted her to trust him. Abyss, he just damn well wanted her. This was a mess, he was a mess.

Finally, she said, “Could you have enthralled me without knowing, without meaning to?” She looked forlornly hopeful, as though she, too, knew it would be easier if they were at odds.

Or maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see.

“I chewed the wolfsleep gum to block the wolfyn magic.” Using Keely had helped, too, staving off his urges, but he didn’t think it hurt anyone to keep that to himself. “What you saw was only my second change. I kept the urges strictly contained, so I would never forget who I was and what I was waiting for.”

“And now?” She swept the tree line on either side of the road. “I don’t see any wolfsleep trees.”

“The magic functions differently in the kingdoms. I’ll have to work hard to change here. And I don’t intend to. All of the messages I’ve received from the spirit realm say that I need to be entirely true to myself if I’m going to have a chance against the sorcerer. Which means staying the hell away from the wolfyn magic.”

“Yet you changed back at the archway.”

He couldn’t read her expression, didn’t know what she wanted him to say. His better sense said to leave it alone, but he went with the gods’ honest truth instead. “You were in danger and I didn’t see another option.”

“You…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “Never mind. And thank you. For saving my life.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. They both knew he had nearly sacrificed the hopes of an entire kingdom in the process. And what kind of a prince did that make him?

Exhaling, she nodded as if they had reached an agreement. “Right. Okay, then. We should get moving before the villagers get their torches and pitchforks and come after us.” She kicked her foot free of the stirrup and shifted forward in the saddle to give him room to climb on behind her. “I’d let you drive, but I don’t think MacEvoy likes you.”

“He must be able to sense the wolfyn magic.” Which was damned depressing, because one of the things he had looked forward to doing in Elden was once more riding a beast-chaser.

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes went sympathetic as she tightened her reins in one hand and held out the other.

He hesitated momentarily, wishing he could say something that would unravel the tangle they had wound up in together, connected yet not, and with so much confusion around them. The perfect words didn’t come to him, though. They probably didn’t even exist.

Exhaling, he took her hand and swung up behind her, but stayed well back on the saddle skirt and held on to the cantle for balance rather than tucking himself right against her as he longed to do. And, as they rode into the first reddening of dusk, there was only silence between them. They had said what needed to be said, after all. Now they had jobs to do.

Which seriously sucks, he thought. But all of a sudden the human words didn’t come as easily as they had before, as if the past twenty years were being canceled out now that he was back in his home realm.

The idea was damned disconcerting. Worse, the past three days suddenly seemed a little distant and indistinct, too, as if they had happened to someone else, in another lifetime. It was as if Reda was already gone, like he was already forgetting what they’d had together, when she was sitting only inches away.



“We’re coming up in the world,” Reda commented later that night as she poked at the folding bowl she had suspended on a tripod over the small, sputtering fire. “This cave is much nicer than the last one. It even came with utensils.”

“Tonight a cave, tomorrow a castle, gods willing,” Dayn said from the rear of the space, where he was cobbling together a small horse enclosure from the remains of a large corral.

The huge cavern, which had been the hideout of an outlaw band that Dayn and a detachment of guardsmen had tracked and arrested just prior to the sorcerer’s attack, offered a small stream, a scattering of useful items that had somehow escaped the looters, three exits that let out at various points in the forest and accommodations for the bay horse, who she was still calling MacEvoy after the shop owner, even though the stoner-quiet personality he’d originally shown her had gone right out of his furry head the second he saw Dayn.

The horse was too tired and hungry to be in full-on panic mode anymore, and had gotten somewhat used to carrying a wolfyn, but even as he hoovered down the travel cakes his seller had thrown in along with the tack and clothes, he kept a white-ringed eye on Dayn.

No wonder there weren’t any normal horses in the wolfyn realm. They had probably all died of fright, or else been eaten. Or both.

Shuddering at the thought and the echoing slurp-crunch noise it put in her head, she glanced over at Dayn, and caught him looking at her.

They both shied away and went back to their tasks, but the already tense air between them strung itself a little tighter, as it had been doing, degree by degree, ever since he’d boosted himself up behind her and done his damnedest not to let their bodies touch.

Was it possible to simultaneously exist in both heaven and hell, or whatever this realm called them? She thought so, because she was there right now.

Part of her, idiot that it was, was basking in the glow of having rescued him so grandly, and having him right at hand now. That part of her kept reminding her that they had spent the past two nights alternately making sweet love and screwing each other blind, both equally satisfying, and it relentlessly dredged up increasingly erotic memories as the night wore on. The sensory replays tortured her, turning her insides to molten heat and putting a longing tug between her legs each time she looked at him and thought that it was nearly time for them to hit their bedrolls.

Another part of her, though, said she’d be better off sleeping outside in the cool, foggy night. That part of her was all too aware of MacEvoy’s ringed eyes and flattened ears, and knew she should take a cue from the horse—prey animal that it was—and keep her distance.

“Stew’s almost ready.” She poked at a lump of rehydrated meat floating in a brown slick that looked entirely unappetizing, but smelled great.

“Just let me get these last three rails up.”

She snuck a peek, and this time caught him turned away, which gave her a few seconds to stare at his broad shoulders as he fitted the last rails into place and lashed them with the worn rope he had salvaged. The plaid shirt she had taken off of him a dozen times in a dozen different places curved lovingly around his muscles, poignantly reminding her of how it felt to run her hands over him, how his skin tasted and how he seemed to know instinctively how to touch her, as if he really could read her mind, though he claimed he couldn’t.

She wanted to believe him, just as she wanted to believe that he was telling the truth about her not being enthralled…but at the same time, without that excuse she would have to admit that she had done it all of her own free will, falling hard and fast for a fairy-tale prince who turned out to be far more complicated than she had thought.

Finished, he gave the enclosure a last check while MacEvoy tracked his every move. Then, satisfied, Dayn ducked through the fence and headed for the fire.

Reda looked quickly away and concentrated on stirring a stew that wasn’t going to get better or worse with more stirring. Her hands were trembling, her insides alight with warmth and need. She didn’t want to be with a wolfyn, a liar or a manipulator, but she wanted to be with Dayn. And she couldn’t have it all.

Maman, what am I supposed to do? The question came unbidden; it had been a long time since she stopped asking her mother’s spirit for advice. But even as she told herself not to be ridiculous, she still listened inwardly for a few seconds, wondering. Because if she had truly been some part magic, maybe, just maybe…?

There was no answer, though. And as Dayn leaned too close to her and tipped half the stew into a big tin cup he had scavenged and scoured out in the river, her breath went thin and her insides tugged longingly. But at the same time, unexpected tears threatened, making her blink so hard the fire seemed to waver as a new reality solidified within her.

She had lost her maman and Benz. And tomorrow, one way or the other, she was going to lose Dayn. Which would she regret more, being with him tonight…or not?

“Reda,” he said, voice choked, “for gods’ sake, talk to me.” His ragged tone brought her head up and the emerald green of his irises caught her, sucked her in.

She wanted to lose herself in his eyes, in his kiss, in the warm strength of his arms. But then what? logic asked, unfortunately making sense. Because if she made love with him tonight, knowing what he was and that he had lied to her, she would always know that she had caved, that she had let herself be seduced without even the excuse of enthrallment.

“I can’t,” she said on a shuddering breath, turning down not just a conversation but all of it, all of him.

His eyes dulled but he didn’t push. He just nodded, rose and took his stew back over to the edge of the corral, where he sat with his back against the wall and his eyes on the main entrance, not on her. But he was aware of her, she knew, just as she was entirely focused on him as the night dragged on.

She was acutely conscious of him eating, then pulling a few swallows from the waterskin he’d left over there while working. She knew when he set his cup aside and when he stretched his legs, shifted his big body with the soft sigh that meant he was settling in to sleep yet staying on his guard, ready to react in an instant. He closed his eyes but didn’t immediately fall asleep. She knew he was awake because she caught his faint responses when she banked the fire and curled herself into a bedroll marked with his family crest, saw a reflected glitter when he cracked an eye to watch.

Her heart told her to go to him, but her head said she needed to stand her ground and resist the temptation, or she would regret it going forward. She didn’t want to go forward, though; she wanted to relive the past few nights with one more. In the end, though, she closed her eyes and listened to the hiss-pop of the fire because she didn’t have the guts to take what she wanted when everything else was so unclear.

She might have ridden to his rescue today, but she was still a coward when it came to this.