Page 2

Two

W hen Wick awoke from his blood frenzy, the hunters had fled.

This was good. Wick did not want to surrender to yet another frenzy. Especially after the mysterious way his last one ended.

He stared at the human in disbelief. He’d carried her to his nest in the depths of his cave, not knowing where else to put her. Her amulet was no longer glowing, and yet the frenzy didn’t return. He only wished he hadn’t knocked her out when he was shaking it off.

Wick sat down in the nest next to her, considering.

His shoulder twinged where the hunter had shot him, but with the arrow taken out, it was barely a scratch.

He was more concerned with the unconscious human, whose pale brow kept furrowing in sleep.

He knew very little about humans. He could not figure out why she wouldn’t wake or why she went to sleep when he struck her accidentally in the head.

Maybe they go to sleep if you hit their head in a specific spot , he thought, stroking his horns thoughtfully.

He had fuzzy memories of striking mortals during blood frenzies, but that generally ended with their skulls open on the ground.

Her skull was perfectly intact. He had checked.

Her head was incredibly light in his grip.

He could have crushed her entire body with little effort.

The mortal made a soft noise. Wick immediately banished any thought of crushing her and sat back.

The mortal’s brow scrunched yet again. Her eyes fluttered open, and Wick marveled. They were as blue as the bottom of a lake.

Those blue eyes filled with horror. She sat up, fumbling a knife from her pack before scrambling back until she hit the edge of the nest.

Wick raised a clawed hand in greeting. Mortals did that sometimes; he had seen them do it from a distance.

“Hello,” he said, as politely as he could manage.

The mortal said nothing. She glanced around at the nest, her hand remarkably steady around her knife.

Her other hand curled against the nest, catching on the feathers and furs he had spent so much time collecting.

She stank of fear, and not for the first time, Wick wished he didn’t have such a sensitive nose.

“You were asleep,” Wick explained. “The other humans fled. I only killed one of them.”

The human laughed. Strangely, she smelled much more panicked than she looked.

“I wish you’d killed more,” she said hoarsely.

“I would have. But your amulet broke my blood frenzy.” Wick gestured at the amulet hanging from a chain around her neck. “Where did you get it?”

“From my…” She frowned, rubbing her head where he had struck her. “From a witch I’m journeying toward. She said it was for protection. I didn’t think it would work this well,” she added with a shaky laugh.

She sat up straighter in the nest, eyeing him with suspicion. She was smiling, which was strange. Wick had never had a mortal smile at him before. It looked nice on her, even when it flickered at the edges. Even if she still stank of fear.

“You didn’t eat me,” she said warily.

“No,” Wick agreed.

“You begged me to hurt you. So I could…” Her smile got huge, like she was telling herself a satisfying joke. “So I could get away!”

“I do not want to kill if I do not have to,” Wick said.

Briar laughed again. It was beginning to sound hysterical. Then she coughed, shaking her hair out of her face.

“Where are my manners?” she said, surprisingly casual as she tucked her knife into a belt holster. “I’m Briar Copperwood, notorious scamp and down-on-her-luck thief.”

She held out her hand. Wick stared at it, uncomprehending. Was he meant to spit on it? He had seen humans spit on each other once. Then again, they hadn’t looked very happy about it. Maybe that was an angry greeting, not a civil one.

He wanted very badly to be civil. He had not gotten many chances. Most mortals he encountered met with an ugly end, unless he stayed at a safe distance. This was the closest he’d ever been to one without ripping them apart.

“I am Wick,” said Wick. He didn’t spit, just to be safe.

Briar reached out like she was going to touch his arm. Then her hand faltered and fell back to her belt, rubbing her dagger hilt.

“Nice to meet you, Wick,” Briar said, laughing once more. “Never thought I’d say that to a Skullstalker. Void take me, I never thought I’d say anything to a Skullstalker except—OW!”

At first, he assumed it was part of her sentence. Then she jerked, her hands clasping her chest, and an agonized sound escaped from behind her teeth.

Wick stood, his horns scraping the top of the cave. “What is it?”

“Shit.” She grimaced, her face twisting up before it forcibly smoothed out. “I need to get back to town?—”

She cut off in another agonized cry, curling over in his nest. She smelled like pain and fire and death.

Wick fell to his knees beside her helplessly. He had always wanted to speak to a human like this, have a real conversation. Now it was finally happening, and she was dying because of… what?

“I do not understand what’s happening,” he told her.

She groaned, her knuckles becoming white where they clutched her chest.

“None of your business, big boy,” she panted.

He bent down and inhaled. “You are dying. I smell no wound.”

She choked out another laugh. This one was wet, the scent of salt joining the acrid stench of heat and death that was filling his cave.

“I do not understand,” he repeated with increasing urgency.

Briar made an animal noise through her blunt teeth.

“I’m cursed. Alright? Some entitled warlock bastard cursed me so that I—so that—” She swallowed, her expression collapsing in on itself.

“I have to fuck someone every day, alright? Or I’ll die.

And the day’s almost gone. I can feel it climbing my heart. ”

He sniffed harder. The stench of heat was creeping around her heart, getting hotter and hotter. It would be an unpleasant way to die.

Briar cried out and curled in on herself, shuddering.

Wick stepped back on instinct. His presence had never helped mortals, only hurt. But an idea was starting to brew in his mind, dubious and incredulous.

“I could help,” he said.

She stared up at him, pained tears in her eyes. “What?”

Then she blinked, and her mouth opened in shock. She sat up again, shaking with effort as she considered him.

“Gods,” she said. “I didn’t even… But I guess you do have…”

She trailed off, her gaze dropping to his loincloth. Then she jerked, squeezing her hands over her chest yet again.

“Shit,” she hissed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he said, unable to keep the uncertainty out of his voice.

He had never lain with anyone, mortal or otherwise.

Any time he had come close, the blood frenzy took over.

It was upsetting, and he quickly accepted that it was unavailable to him.

But if she had that enchanted amulet, maybe it could work. And if the blood frenzy set in…

Well. She would die anyway. Hopefully, he would make it quicker than her curse.

Briar straightened again, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. The cave was dim, but he could see her perfectly: her cheeks flushed with blood, her smile blazing despite the pain.

She looked almost… excited. The scent of excitement filled the cave, musky and hot. It was nice. Much nicer than cold, pungent fear that would most likely make him give in to the blood frenzy again.

“Fuck it,” Briar whispered. “Let’s go, big boy.”