Page 42 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

brOKEN THINGS

KATHERINE

D orian gasps as he awakens. I sit beside him, soaked in blood and sweat that isn’t mine, my hands on his shoulders, trying to will life into him with touch alone.

“Please wake,” I say, “for we do not have time for rest.”

His skin burns hotter than fever, every vein is made visible and pulsing.

Then, his eyes open.

One is green and the other, hazel.

They are his.

He blinks slowly, and his lips part.

“Dorian,” I whisper, choking on the knot in my throat. I throw my arms around his neck, relieved as I throttle him with a hug. “You’re alive...”

No words—only breath, raw and ragged. He knows where he is. He knows who I am. That is enough.

“You’re back,” I say. “But there’s no time.”

Wexmoore leans through the broken doorway behind me. “They’re coming.”

Dorian exhales once. Then tries to sit.

“No, don’t—” I press against his chest, but he’s already rising, his hand bracing mine. His skin sizzles under my palm.

“I must,” he croaks.

“Just five more minutes to recover. You need the rest. You cannot fell nine when just one renders you breathless, Dorian.”

He scowls. “One beast and one pirate, you mean.”

“His Grace meant well.”

“There’s no such thing,” he says with a cough.

“Here, I will help you stand,” the rake in question offers.

We exit the carriage. Gabriel appears beside Wexmoore, his face pale, sleeves rolled, sword in hand. “They’ve taken the bait. All nine. Caleb attends the men, already leading the last ones to the south flank.”

“How long until they reach the warehouse?” I ask.

“Minutes. ”

“Then that’s all we have,” Dorian replies.

We move as a unit, quiet, determined. There’s no time to talk about what’s broken, who’s bleeding, what’s been lost. The runners are already herding the giants across the muddy plain, down past the ridge.

The beasts lumber like great diseased gods. Nine monsters. That’s what we’ve whittled them down to.

Nine left.

Dorian walks beside me, stiff, every step a fight, his breathing shallow but steadying. He doesn’t speak. By the time we reach the eastern ledge above the warehouse, it’s already begun.

The bait is laid. The bodies of cattle, pigs, and deer, were slaughtered and left raw, warm and glistening and sprawled across the warehouse floor in obscene abundance.

The creatures don’t question it. They never do.

Hunger overrules instinct. They storm the space like insects, shoving through the great iron doors, trampling each other to get to the meat.

They are loud. Wet. Snarling.

Ravenous.

I count them again. One—two—three. Four. Five. Six.

Seven.

Eight.

There.

Nine .

“All in!” someone shouts .

“Seal it!” Gabriel commands.

Chains rattle. Iron latches groan. The giant doors slam shut behind them by two runner teams hauling pulleys. Bolts twist into place.

Hooks lock.

It won’t be enough to hold them long.

I exhale a single breath of relief.

And then I see him.

Dorian steps forward.

But he is no longer beside me.

He is already inside, balancing on the beam hanging close to the ceiling.

No one speaks. No one dares move.

He peers down into the pit of monsters feasting below, eyes growing darker by the second. The transformation begins and he jumps.

My stomach turns inside out.

Dorian…

He drops and lands in a crouch on the blood-slick floor of the warehouse, silent and deadly, fully formed, his skin burned with red and his eyes pitch black.

The giants turn.

One lets out a sound shriek as it towers above him.

I cannot blink.

I cannot breathe.

Dorian lifts his head.

And all of hell answers.

His body bursts into motion of black and red. His coat rips apart as his limbs extend, muscles tearing then reknitting, bones cracking in fast, inhuman succession. A giant swings a spiked limb toward him—too slow. Dorian vanishes, then reappears behind it.

One slash from neck to chin is all it takes.

The creature’s head is lopped it.

It splats onto the floor before disintegrating.

Screams erupt.

I see it.

A metamorphosis.

His body is no longer his.

“He is no longer a man, nor beast,” I whisper. “He is apocalypse incarnate.”

His claws are long as daggers, limbs lithe and wrong. His skin begins to shift in patches, flaring red where heat escapes, black where red was. His tail lashes out —barbed and sharpened.

And he rips through the giants like a plague. It is annihilation.

One is bisected clean down the middle.

Another is impaled, then torn limb from limb.

And still he moves.

Still, he kills.

All men grow silent and nobody speaks as guts sprays against the walls.The warehouse shakes with every blow. The other creatures scream in disbelief, that anything dares to strike back.

Dorian answers with his teeth and tail, and hell itself. I see one creature grab him—massive hands closing around his body—and I scream, “No!”

It tears his arm off.

Rips it free.

I choke on bile, a sound breaking from my throat that I’ve never made before.

But he does not fall.

A low, demonic sound erupts from deep within his chest.

It is…a laugh…?

And then—

Skin reforms and muscles weave.

The arm grows back.

I grab the railing and hold.

Inside, the other giants tear flesh, and each other as they try to devour him. But without movement, and the doors sealed, they slam into each other, scraping at the walls, and tear the floors.

Dorian growls.

One giant throws itself at him in final desperation. Dorian grabs it by the jaw and tears the head free, spine and all.

Another comes. Dorian mounts its chest.

And punches.

Once.

Twice.

Ten times.

Twenty.

Until the head is pulp. Until there’s nothing left but a red crater where a skull used to be.

I turn away.

I must.

Even the men around me turn away.

The building groans behind us.

A long, drawn-out crack runs through the ceiling.

“Get back!” someone screams.

But it’s too late.

The wall explodes as he crashes through it.

Red and black.

Smoke, fire, and bricks rain down.

He stands there in the open now. Skin like ember. Eyes pits of void. His tail whips behind him like a scythe, lashing at the ground. Steam pours off his body.

Behind us, the room is empty.

Gabriel shouts something. I don’t hear it.

I see Wexmoore.

He’s running toward Dorian. Sword drawn, clutching the same diamond blade that struck true once before.

He thrusts.

The blade shatters.

A stunned expression blooms on the Duke’s face.

“Fuck!” Wexmoore bellows.

Dorian grabs him by the chest and throws him. Wexmoore flies—ten feet, maybe more—and crashes through the front of a building, stones crumbling in a plume of dust.

Chaos erupts .

Gabriel screams, “Retreat!”

Men scatter. Horses scream. The perimeter breaks. Five men fall. Dorian parries and just like that their bodies become nothing but a mess of rotting meat.

I cannot stay.

Time distorts and I forget where I am. All that remains is this moment.

I don’t think.

I run to the nearest horse—one of the spares. He rears, but I grab the reins and force him still. My hands are shaking so violently that I can barely mount.

And then I do the unthinkable as I mount him. I scream with my throat tearing.

“DORIAN!”

His head jerks toward me.

“YOU FOOL!”

I don’t stop.

I yank the reins and kick the horse into motion.

“NOW I MUST PUNISH YOU!”

He does it.

Dorian follows.

God help me, he follows .

The hooves beneath me thunder against damp earth as I ride hard toward the tree line, not daring to look back, not daring to stop.

The wind slaps my cheeks raw. Branches rip at my hair.

Behind me, I hear him moving through the mud and leaves, a shadowed beast whose hunger no longer distinguishes between enemy and beloved.

A tunnel of darkness appears up ahead, through brambles.

The forest.

Quickly , I tell myself.

I drive the horse deeper, dodging roots and fallen trees, breath strained, legs aching with every turn, unused to riding astride.

The canopy swallows the light from the village, dimming everything until it’s just rain and nothing but breathless pants of terror.

Still, Dorian comes.

Each step shakes the soil. Birds scream and scatter. Deer flee in blind panic. The very woods fear him. I reach the clearing, knowing I must find the barrow. The poisoned feast awaits there.

The path tightens into thick bush and darkness swallows me.

Without another choice, I dismount fast. With the reins gripped tight, I guide the steed inside the forest. After ten minutes, there, to my left, raw meat glistens on a giant platter.

Blood pools off the bones and onto the ground.

Every beast can smell this. They crawl over it by the masses, feasting upon it.

I gag at the sight.

Then, something moves in the night. Caleb appears in the distance. The men’s heads shoot upwards.

God’s teeth…Dorian is certainly on his way.

“RUN CALEB!” I scream. “NOW!”

His eyes widen and then, he is gone .

Panting comes. The grunts come. The wet, slapping footfalls of something too heavy to exist, come.

I turn, slowly and my stomach drops.

He steps into the clearing.

He isn’t running.

His body has warped even further. He is taller, now. Beneath his skin, he is not quite contained. His jaw has changed. Elongated. His teeth are longer and his eyes — round, black and pulsing. His skin is mostly black now, streaked with crimson red.

Those eyes…are a stranger’s.

Dorian…what has happened to you?

He sees me and I do not wait as he comes for me. I fling myself sideways, and out of the way, crawling to my knees as I hide beneath the cart of meat.

“Eat,” I whisper as I hug myself. “Please…”

The cart rattles as he launches himself atop it. I become masked by the scent.

The crate shakes as he tears into the feast.

The sound is unbearable—ripping, snarling, chewing. He devours, claws scooping blood-soaked meat into his gaping maw. His tail lashes behind him, gouging the trees.

Sweat pours down my face. I crouch low, hands trembling, every instinct in my body screaming to run.

He eats everything.

And then, there is silence.

A wail erupts and Dorian collapses onto the muddy floor beside me, eyes wild and mad as he glares at me. His body spasms. He lurches once, with an arm outstretched, as if to grab me.

Dorian …

I scurry backwards, then again, as if pulled by invisible strings, his back arches unnaturally, tendons jerking under skin like taut wire.

His mouth opens.

And then, he vomits.

Blood. Bile.

And Skin.

Great heaves of black spill from him in gouts, sizzling as they hit the Earth. His body convulses, staggering to one side. His claws swipe at nothing. He drops to all fours, then his tail rolls inward.

“Dorian,” I breathe.

He lifts his head.

He sees me .

And in those eyes, there is only terror.

Dorian…he is still inside…

His pupils dilate and contract, pulsing, twitching, limbs jerking. The corrupted muscle begins to tear itself apart. His shoulders fold inward. His chest collapses, then reshapes.

A rasp scraped from his shredded throat comes.

“K-Katherine—”

“I’m here,” I wail, and with tears streaming down my cheeks, I crawl to him. “I’m here— please fight it. Hold on.”

My heart squeezes painfully.

I cannot bear it. I cannot watch him like this.

His body thrashes once more and then he collapses, limbs sprawled, twitching in the wet leaves.

Blood seeps from his nose, his ears. He goes limp as his claws shrink, then fall away entirely.

His tail disintegrates into black pulp. His back snaps, his spine shrinking, compacting, reshaping into something vaguely human.

I slide under his body, lifting his head into my lap. “I am here, Dorian. I am here.”

His skin peels and reforms, flesh rippling like liquid. His face—what’s left of it—is a ruin of muscle and bone, half-shifted, half-mortal.

His skin cools beneath my fingers. His features settle. Bones stop shifting. His body stills. He has returned to me. Fully human. Naked, blood-soaked, trembling—but human.

And alive.

He morphs until his eyes are his again..

“I didn’t know if this would work,” I whisper. “I thought-I thought maybe it would kill you. I didn’t care. I just couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t.”

His lips part. A wheeze. Then breath.

He blinks.

“Princess…”

I laugh.

I sob.

I don’t know what I am doing anymore.

“You’re alive,” I say, “ you damned fool.”

One hand rises, and fingers rest weakly against my chest.

“Did I hurt anyone?” he asks.

He does not wait for a response.

He closes his eyes.

His chest rises. Falls.

“I remember… nothing after the arm.”

I nod. “It came off. Then grew back.”

His breath hitches. “That is…grotesque.”

I smile and press my forehead to his. “You’re grotesque.”

He chuckles. Barely. Then winces.

“Don’t move,” I whisper. “Rest. Just rest.”

His hand finds mine. He grips it.

And then his eyes close as he drifts into slumber.

The rain falls steadily around me.

Droplets hit my cheeks. The forest is silent, save for the slow drip of water from the trees.

The battle is over.

The monsters are gone.

The blood-soaked warehouse is behind us. I don’t know who survived. I don’t know who died. I don’t know what’s waiting when we go back.