Movement catches my eye, and I tense. My lips begin to move with the whispered words of a spell of protection, but I also pull out my dagger as backup. Before I can complete the charm, something leaps from the cover of trees.
A huge white wolf, its lips pulled back in a feral growl, its canines aimed at my throat. No magic is fast enough to stop the inevitable.
I swing my dagger, the blade nicking the wolf as it lands on me. A scream rips from my throat as its teeth sink into my arm, causing me to lose hold of my weapon.
My pack goes flying, and I’m tossed into the snow, blood flowing crimson across the pure white drifts as the wolf pins me down, paws heavy on my chest.
The animal growls and bares its teeth, stained red with my blood. I cry out, throwing up my arms to stop it. Teeth catch on my sleeve, piercing my forearm and ripping at the skin there.
I struggle to kick out, fighting back as the animal continues its attack. It nips at my throat, tearing the flesh of my neck but not eviscerating me entirely, thank the goddess.
A distant howl interrupts the wolf, who backs off me and cocks its head, listening. It responds to the howl with its own.
Great, it's calling for back up.
Both my arms are bitten into, and I can barely move one of them, plus my entire upper body feels mostly paralyzed from the bite in my neck. With my left arm I pat my cloak until I find the herb pouch I’ve tucked away there. Drawing it out, I use my teeth to free the drawstring—causing untold pain from the movement—then toss it at the wolf before it can attack again. The herbs dance in the air, and the wolf yelps, jerking further away as I whisper the words that will activate the spell.
When I’m finished, the wolf backs off and lets out a mournful howl then turns and runs away.
The herbs fall to the ground around me, shimmering a pale blue hue against the snow, still offering protection and repelling anything else that might do me harm.
I fall back against the ground, breath heavy as I test my limbs for movement. Already, I’ve lost a lot of blood and am woozy. But I can’t stay here. I’ll die.
And Willowdale is counting on me.
A few moments pass, and my heart rate begins to slow. Maybe too much. I know this, and yet I can’t make myself move. Blood spreads in the snow and the cold becomes a cocoon of numbing comfort. I sink into it, lost to my purpose after all as a blissful numbness replaces the pain.
When I stir again, I peel my eyes open and find the wolf has returned—this time with friends.
They stand just outside the protective boundary I’ve cast. Dried blood coats the alpha's muzzle, matting its fur. Beside it, two other wolves flank the first. All of them watch me hungrily, and a cold fear snakes its way through my bones.
The large one that originally attacked me tests the boundary of my spell, and jerks back with a yelp when my magic zaps the creature. Still, the wolf doesn’t leave, but rather stays and waits. Like it knows.
My charm will wear off eventually. And I cannot step outside the borders of the spell without exposing myself. With a sinking sense of failure, I realize I’m trapped.
Consciousness comes and goes, but the wolves remain, waiting, as if they know I cannot thwart them for long.
In a more lucid moment, movement just beyond the trees draws my attention.
A blur of something too quick to make out.
I tense, afraid more wolves have arrived. Or something worse yet. But then one of the wolves is snatched away. There one moment and gone the next. It yelps then falls suddenly silent.
The other two paw at the snow restlessly.
Another blur of something in the trees. Then a second wolf vanishes, whisked away by some unseen force.
When it comes for the third, it stills just enough for me to see.
A man.
Tall and lean. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. With silver eyes that pierce right through me. He stares down at my bloody, dying form for a moment, his nostrils flaring, his pupils dilating, then turns back to the wolf that's begun to growl at the stranger.
Like it’s nothing, the stranger grabs the wolf around the torso, like it's a toy doll, and they both disappear into the trees.
The wolf's last yelp is followed by utter silence.
I try to sit up, but the pain in my neck and arms are too much, and I fall back again. I can feel my life force fading, and the only thing that truly terrifies me about dying is that I haven't saved my people. Not yet. This can't be the end.
The man returns.
His collar and sleeves are stained with blood, but his skin is spotless—and so porcelain he looks almost made of snow.
Despite the fact that he saved me, I shiver with fear as he approaches.
If I could run, I would. Something about his eyes, the way they assess me. Like a predator sizing up its prey. He moves like a beast in the wild, with stealth and fluid ease. It unnerves me, and a voice in my mind screams for me to flee.
But my injuries are too critical, my blood loss too severe. I have no strength left with which to move, let alone fight. I can do nothing but watch as he stalks toward me, a burning hunger in his now-glowing silver eyes.
Chapter 3
The truth of my situation hits me with the suddenness of a snowsquall, and fire burns in my veins at the realization.
As the tall figure stares at me, his cold, hard eyes assessing me, I glare back up at him, using the last of my strength to challenge him silently, to show him I will not go meekly into the coldness of death.
Because I know who he is.
And that knowledge settles into me like a bitter frost.
It's him.
The demon who killed my parents.
The creature I’ve come to kill.
I know it without asking, thanks to some deep intuitive understanding. That and the fact that no other man would survive out here with nothing but the thin, black cloak he wears.
As he steps closer, I hold my breath, unsure how the protective boundary will react to his approach.
But he steps easily through it like it’s not even there.
I frown, letting my eyes unfocus just enough to see if the magical perimeter is still there, and it is. But somehow it didn't work on him.
He crouches beside me, his sharp eyes raking me over. My heart races, and I brace myself. What the wolf did to me is nothing compared to what he’s capable of. But he only frowns at my wounds, making no move to touch me.
“Are you all right?” he asks in a deep voice laced with concern.
“I’m not sure. I . . .” I try to sit up but once again, the pain stops me.
“Here. Let me.”
He reaches for me, but I shrink away.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says.
It’s a lie. Or a temporary truth. But when he reaches for me again, I let him scoop my broken body into his arms. He stands easily with my weight balanced and my head leaning against his chest. This close, I should be able to feel his heartbeat through the thin layer of cloth covering him, but there’s nothing. Only cold stillness where a rhythmic pulse of life should be.
He turns and heads up the path; the same one I was heading toward when the wolf interrupted my journey. But his steps are much lighter in the snow than mine were. I tilt my head as much as I can and am surprised to see he's barely leaving any footprints, whereas you can see mine easily.
I marvel at the strength and ease with which he moves.
Only then do I remember—
“My pack,” I say suddenly, and he stops, frowning down at me. “Please,” I say. “It has all of my belongings.”