Page 3 of Heart of the Wolf

A chilling revelation settled in the pit of her stomach; there were two options for her, neither appealing.

Bile churned in her stomach as her nose twitched. Death would be a mercy. One, they wouldn’t give. Not at first. They would toy with her before taking what they believed was their right.

Or she could fight with all that she had and ensure there was nothing left of her for them to claim.

Brielle straightened her shoulders and held her chin aloft.

A fire blazed in her golden eyes as resolve seeped into her bones, warming her like the first rays of the summer sun.

All she wanted was to fell one man, to take him with her into the afterlife, for she had no intentions of letting them do whatever they planned for her.

Perhaps, if she did just enough, she would go to Valhalla, where she would see her handsome warrior again, welcoming her after her last battle.

Out of the corner of her eye, a mass grew larger in the distance, consuming the trees.

Ignoring it, she raised her sword and advanced on the smaller of the two, slicing cleanly over his calf.

An agonized bellow roared through the forest, scaring birds from their boughs as the man collapsed to the ground, a pool of crimson swirling at his feet.

Her chest heaved with each labored breath as she blew a curl off her face.

The pleased smile she smirked vanished when the other man wrapped a meaty hand around her hair, dragging her to the ground and kicking the sword from her hand.

“No!” she shrieked, clawing and kicking at his mottled skin.

Despite the pain blurring her vision, she fought him, digging her nails into his forearms and drawing blood. She thrashed in his unyielding grip, her heart freezing when an empty, deadened laugh purred in her ears, making it hard as stone.

“Falleg leikfang,” he purred in her ear, licking her cheek.

The vile stench of him was so thick in the air that she could taste it, unable to stop the gag that bubbled up her throat.

The looming shadow in the forest shifted, a mournful Death coming to collect his due, pressing in on them like the winds of fate, reminding her of the darkness she was now bound for.

No tears came; she refused to cry.

Pointed teeth dug into her cracked lip as she grew tired. Her body was weak from her frivolous assault. Her brow furrowed as the dark silhouette turned bright, a blanket whiter than snow moving toward them.

Thudding sounds thundered as the figure came into view. The man holding her instinctively tightened his grip on her hair, making her yelp.

Glacial eyes tinted with silver found hers as giant paws lumbered beneath a massive, white wolf. A breath caught in her throat as Brielle forced down a dry swallow. The wolf stood nearly as tall as the men who held her.

The creature was a vision, its coat shimmering like freshly fallen snow.

A shuddering breath fell from her lips, releasing the tight coil of fear from her chest. Perhaps God had sent Death to claim her as the visage of a celestial wolf.

It would be more humane than whatever torture awaited her at the hands of her captors.

Knocking its head back, the wolf let out a deep howl that shook the forest. Its teeth bared in a snarl, etched on its otherwise beautiful features. In a breath, the wolf lunged at the man whose hand was buried in her hair.

Long, pointed fangs dug into the flesh of his throat, ripping it open as blood spilled out.

The ghost of a scream died on his lips, spraying her icy face with hot crimson.

Eerily still in the chaos that surrounded her, she wiped the blood out of her eyes, smearing it across her cheeks as the coppery tang of it danced over her tongue.

The creature tore flesh from bone, ravaging the man until little remained, his bloodied corpse discarded on the cold ground, eyes open toward the sinking sun.

Rooted in place, Brielle knew she should run, but her feet wouldn’t move. Lazily, the wolf brushed past her. Its soft coat rubbed along her in its wake. The creature prowled toward the other man, who had just stood, still unsteady on his feet from Brielle’s attack, axe swaying wildly in his hand.

The wolf barreled at him, a white and red blur in the hazy cloud of dusk. A guttural yowl rumbled through the trees as the man slashed at the wolf, slicing a deep gash over its hind leg. Despite the pain, it only spurred the creature on as it pounced, pinning the man to the earth.

Blood covered its muzzle and teeth, etched in a snarl before ripping the man’s head clean from his body.

Brielle weakly rose to her knees, staring at the carnage in the clearing. Her mouth fell open, the back of her head throbbing.

Releasing the severed head, the wolf gingerly moved toward her, growling at its hind leg and sitting. A pained grimace broke out on its muzzle. Blood matted into the fur, staining the pearlescent coat scarlet. Endless gray eyes bore into hers, the wolf panting with strained breaths.

Without looking, Brielle felt for her satchel, which, surprisingly, she hadn’t lost in the scuffle. Her shoulders fell from the pinched position by her ears, relieved to find it still notched to her hip.

Night would soon take hold, the light of dusk quickly fading behind the mountains. Slowly, she stepped toward the wolf, watching as something flickered in its gaze. Her heart hummed steadily despite the towering beast that stood taller than her. For whatever reason, its presence didn’t unnerve her.

Again, another pull nudged behind her navel, something guiding her feet.

“Shhh. It’s alright,” she soothed, like a mother to their young child.

The wolf just stared at her, its tongue darting out to lick blood and flesh from its muzzle.

Keeping her eyes locked with the slate-gray ones of the wolf, she opened her satchel and retrieved a salve and bandages, not knowing how much good they would do. She paused before the creature, holding the items in her hand, and dipped her chin.

“I would like to help,” she murmured, confident the creature would understand her intentions. “May I?”

She eyed the gash on its hind leg, which appeared more superficial than she initially believed.

Dropping its muzzle, it gazed at the injured leg, which Brielle took as approval to work on the wound.

It was the least she could do for her savior.

Brielle sank to her knees, scooping out some of the salve and rubbing it over the gash.

She held the bandages up and stared for a moment, deep in thought, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I’m not sure how well these will stay with your coat.”

A broad grin spread across her face as she reached into her curls, procuring a few pins nestled there.

Brielle wrapped the cloth over the cut and around its hind leg, securing it snugly with her hairpins.

She smoothed out the fabric with her hand and then looked up to see those icy eyes gazing at her intensely.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not perfect. It’s dark now. If you don’t go far, I can find a stream in the morning, clean you up, and then reapply the salve. It’s not too deep. I think you’ll mend.”

She tried to stand, but lost her footing. The wolf pressed its head to her back, a thin and reedy whine trilling in its throat. The motion steadied her, keeping her from tumbling down.

“Thank you,” she smiled, swearing the wolf grinned back.

Silver streams of moonlight and stars illuminated the darkened woods; Brielle sighed. There was no way she could trudge back to the village this late. In the drying blood, she spotted her sword and notched it back to her belt.

“Do you…” she paused. “I’m mad talking to a wolf. Do you know of a cave or a place nearby where I could spend the night?”

Gingerly, the creature stood, moving more slowly than before. It looked back to ensure Brielle was following. Soon, they arrived at an outcropping of rock that would suffice for the evening.

Would anyone notice that she hadn’t returned?

Usually, after foraging, she went home alone. She would return in the morning with no one wiser, most likely. Her father didn’t care enough to send a warrior with her when she left. She doubted he would notice her absence. She wondered if he would even care if he had noticed.

A weary sound escaped her.

For all her importance as the only healer for her village, she often felt like nothing more than a wisp, moving from one day to the next.

Since her mother’s death, all-consuming loneliness seeped into every part of her, festering like poison, slowly eroding all the good parts of her life.

She didn’t wear fancy garments from the city, she didn’t put effort into her hair, and she did all the things ladies weren’t supposed to do.

Men at home didn’t see her as a suitable option to wed.

Maybe she was destined to be alone.

She splayed her fingers over her sternum, sadness settling into the spot.

A fleeting smile tightened across her face. A vision of her Dane appeared in the recesses of her mind, making a warmth blossom deep in her belly, comforting her when no one else would.