Page 50 of A Spell of Bones and Madness (Nostos #2)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ajax

H e bolted. Ember’s warm, delicate hand had stroked against his fur as she whispered, You don’t scare me, Commander , and he couldn’t bear to linger, to lean into it .

That touch was all he wanted, all he’d yearned for, to let her see him as he truly was—the terrifying parts of his soul and his being that he shared with noone but his own kind.

But he was a coward, afraid that his instincts might take over, that he might hurt her, even if it was unintentional.

He could not risk her safety, not now. Running was the only thing he could do, the only thing he knew how to do.

It was exactly what he did when he left these shores for Alentus over ten years ago—unable to face the path he was dealt by the Fates.

Servants and court members eyed Ajax as he wound through the halls of the castle, but none of them gasped in shock.

It was commonplace for the Nexian wolves to shift within these very walls, to prowl about like guardians of the castle.

In this moment he was no guardian, no majestic creature that put kingdom above self.

He was merely a gutless being, escaping into the cover of night.

There was something haunting about racing through Castle Kirassos, clawing his way to the Nexian Woods beyond the alabaster wall.

The need to let his mind clear, forget what lay within these very walls was as overwhelming as the urge he had to shift just moments before.

Consuming. Damning. History was etched into every hall he strode by, deafening, earth shattering history he had not faced in years.

The history of who he was. Who his family was.

It was easy in Alentus—to pretend his primal nature was nothing more than a gift he’d been given.

But it was not a gift, it was a curse. A curse that had killed his parents—and would likely kill him one day as well—because pack law was clear, it was beholden to nothing other than itself.

Not loyalty to the kingdom. Not family. Not love.

If you were asked to fight, to protect the ancient mysteries of the wolves, you were bound by more than just words.

It was instinct, much like the need to shift.

Something one could not control, even if they wished to.

Ember thought she knew duty—that the laws surrounding the Prytan were harsh—but what of his laws?

What of his promise to the pack? He loved her—had admitted as much just now—but would that be enough?

To mark her? To claim her as his own? Did she even want that? Would his people even accept her ?

Late autumn air and the char of burning fires filled his lungs as Ajax made his way closer to the forest. The crisp breeze was nothing to deter him, not with his thick coat and the heat of regret flowing like a fire through his veins.

Silvery shadows cast about the trail that led deep into the forest, the elongated trees swaying like a dance to the melody of his steps crunching against the earth.

Faster he bolted, swerving between fallen branches and vines that littered the forest floor.

With each step, he released a modicum of that anger and guilt and self-loathing, inching Ajax closer to the man he claimed to be.

The man that he should be if he hoped to have Ember as his own.

The man that was deserving of his place in the pack, in the Nexian court.

Someone who would not let the others he served with fall tragically at the hands of wicked men.

Left, right, left he ran. Giving into the urges of the moon above, letting loose a howl—more so a whimper.

Most would think it was freeing, this primal state, being the beast he was born to be.

They could not understand that it was only a reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to him—that he longed to be rid of this ability, this tax on his soul, especially on nights like this when he could not help but turn into the creature he loathed so much.

But he kept going, past the lake, and the field of poppies, farther than he should have gone.

Ajax didn’t even know where he was running to until the small clearing broke before him, a carefully placed carving of stone in the center.

Deep green vines curled around the stone, creeping up sides, covering the markings that were etched into it.

He had avoided this place since he stepped back on the shores, unable to face the demons of the past. For so long he buried those emotions deep, but it was impossible to keep them locked up any longer.

It was driving him to the brink of madness, trying to forget.

Forget their faces as they bled, the way they reached out toward him for help.

There was nothing he could have done. Time and time again he told himself that—until he believed it, until it could only be true.

He was just a boy, he could not have stopped them, even if it haunted him still in his dreams that he could have.

That he could have saved them if only he was faster, if he had gotten to them mere moments before.

If he had begged them not to sail to their death.

Ajax shifted back, hair now swept in the wind, covering his eyes.

He fell to his knees before the place he laid his parents to rest. The image was so clear, the crimson-stained fur that lay broken before his feet, another member of the pack holding back as a young version of himself screamed, begged to go with them, to not be left without family.

An arrow protruded out of each of them, pierced straight through their chests.

One day he would get his revenge, but for now he would have to remind himself that it was not his sneaking off the ship in Voreia that caused their death.

It was not him overhearing plans of the enemy and being chased after through the streets of Harrenfort that let those arrows fly through the air and meet their mark.

“I miss you. I miss you both so much,” Ajax whispered into the night sky. He lay down beside the stone, outstretching his arm and laying a palm flat against it. As the stars twinkled above, and the moon cast its eerie glow, for the first time in more than ten years Ajax wept.