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Chapter Seven - Luka

S o far, the plan has gone as well as expected.

The soldiers guiding Luka and Cathalan back to the prison clearly don’t anticipate that the rumors about the demonic princes of the South held any weight. It is easy enough for Luka to stumble again – they already knew from their walk up that he is terrible at using snowshoes. As one of the guards mutters, helping Luka to his feet, Cathalan slams into her, teeth ripping into her neck, before moving on to his next victim, lips wet with red.

Dressed in the guards’ clothes, Cathalan is able to tear his way through the guards remaining at the prison. Luka tries to help – he tries – but his hands shake so violently when he lifts a stolen blade that he is nearly impaled on the guard’s sword. Only Xyla’s quick movements save him.

“Don’t bother,” Xyla says when she sees Luka’s tormented face. She glares at Cathalan over her shoulder. She had been furious to learn that he is king of Balivartia – that he has been lying to her this whole time. She changes her hands easily from human to beast, and she withdraws her bloodied fingers from the soldier’s side, wiping them on his armor. Luka gapes at her. When did she learn to do that? At her side, Darri moves like a shadow over water, swift and deadly silent as he trips a guard, plucks their sword away, and then cuts their throat. Luka swallows down hot bile. Don’t bother. Xyla’s words echo in his head to the beat of his heart.

But Luka does bother. He does try to change – but the fox won’t come to him. After years of forcing it away, of bending it into an odd shape, it refuses him.

After tearing Theo’s location from a dying guard's lips, they sneak across Akull, and Luka’s heart starts thudding in his ears when he hears an execution underway –

“Commander Jennison has been found guilty of aiding a traitor to our people,” a low voice intones. It takes Luka a moment to sort through his panic, to understand the meaning behind the words, but the small-boned scholar is already continuing: “When Theodori found his mate in the enemy – in Xyla Mobiele –”

Luka closes his eyes.

This is all my fault.

Commander Jennison. Theo’s commander.

His heart slaps his chest, beating so quickly, it hurts. His lungs are too small. Stop this – I need to stop this –

He calls on his beast again, desperate now, clinging to it like a child, begging it to the surface –

His skin itches and ripples. Russet fur shoots down his arms. Their group, racing awkwardly through the snow, pauses. Xyla blinks in surprise. Cathalan and Darri both blanch, and it takes Luka a few panting breaths to realize they are staring at him in horror.

“Is he… supposed to look like that?” Cathalan asks Xyla.

Luka opens his mouth to reply, only to realize he cannot. He tries to lick his lips, but his tongue – it encounters too-long teeth. He makes a noise of panic, a low animal whine.

Xyla looks pained. “No,” she finally says. Luka balks. “It can happen to inexperienced impyassi . Sometimes they get caught between… two forms.”

Luka stares at his hands – not hands! Half paws, half fingers. Pads have formed on his palms, fur covering his skin. Claws ridge from his nails, but wrong, it’s all wrong.

He catches a glimpse of himself in Xyla, Cathalan, and Darri’s wide eyes.

He has been caught halfway between his fox form and his human form. His teeth creep past his chin, forcing his lips up in an almost comical grin. His back hunches as his body tries to force him into a quadrupedal gait, his hips curling unnaturally. Russet fur covers his forearms and cheeks, and his eyes gleam with an animal-like light.

Darri sighs, and Luka nearly crumples in shame. “Cathalan, I don’t have time for this. I need to find our people.”

Cathalan touches Luka’s shoulder before capturing Darri’s arms. They exchange low, tense words. Darri shakes his head. “We have to save them,” he says, and Cathalan, sighing, nods.

“You are right as always,” Cathalan says. “If only it were you wearing this crown. You have always been better suited for these hard decisions.”

Darri shakes his head. Either affection or irritation – perhaps both – crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I will be back, my king. We’ll all return alive.”

“You better.”

Darri looks at Luka and then Xyla, expression turning fierce. “You will keep him safe.”

Luka means to open his mouth, to tell Darri that the Kiterans will treat Cathalan with kid gloves, but all that emerges is a garbled growl. Darri’s brows furrow. Xyla steps in instead. “You need not worry,” she says.

With that, Darri leaves them slowly, clearly torn. He goes to rescue his soldiers, wearing a worried frown and the blood of the dead.

The sun rises, casting golden light on them as they return to the main hall. Cathalan makes quick work of a guard, withdrawing truths from him by exposing flashes of his too-sharp teeth and threatening irreparable damage to important parts. They keep their heads low as they move through the snow, shouts rising on the horizon speaking to the bodies they left in their wake.

“Hurry along now,” Cathalan says, wincing as sunlight catches his cheek. Cathalan's pain fills Luka, the burn scorching across his face glancing but impossible to ignore.

It is only by the grace of Thought that they find Theo’s rooms without hitch. A fierce blonde woman stands guard outside his door, but before she can raise an alarm, Xyla is on her, nails like knives. Luka can only swallow great gouts of bile to keep from losing his lunch as his friend unleashes herself, using surprise to take down the Kiteran warrior.

“Working through something?” Cathalan asks when Xyla steps away.

Xyla looks at him through narrowed eyes, flinging drops of blood from her claws.

“Aren't you Siacchians supposed to be pacifists?”

“This one was my ally when I first arrived,” Xyla finally says. “And aren’t we supposed to be in a hurry, idiot noble?”

“Right. Yes,” Cathalan says, and with a complete lack of fanfare, heaves open the door before them.

Luka only has a moment to worry – perhaps they have gone to the wrong place, perhaps that had been Theo on the executioner’s platform – but then Theo is standing there before him, brown eyes wide, blond hair braided. Luka can only stare at his mate, unable to form words around the horrendous teeth hanging from his mouth. Sweet relief fills him.

They have only been apart for a little over a day, but the twenty-something hours have carved bags beneath Theo’s eyes. Theo’s gaze darts from Cathalan to Xyla before it finally lands on Luka, and though relief eases the tight stretch of his shoulders, something else ignites in his eyes – anger?

“Oh, good,” Cathalan says. His eyes dart around the room, and, finding it empty, he looks at Theo again. “It really wasn’t you they were executing. They work quickly here, don’t they?” His teeth gleam in the weak dawn light, red with blood.

“What did you do?” Theo hisses.

“None of that now,” Cathalan says. “We’ll explain on the way. Come on now – I don’t think Xyla succeeded in killing that woman standing guard at your door. We’ll explain on the way. This isn't the time for angry, silent staring.”

“Luka,” Theo says. “What did you tell them? What did Jennison take the fall for?” He snaps his teeth, and yes, he is definitely angry. “I didn’t need your help. You should have let me handle this alone.”

Chills raise the russet fur on Luka’s arms, but still unable to speak, he can do nothing more than jerk his head toward the door.

“No time for angry grumbling either. Talk later, Theodori. Run now.” Cathalan moves as if to seize Theo’s arm but, thinking better of it, he turns and scans the hallway.

“It’s clear,” Xyla says. “I would have told you if it wasn’t.”

“Of course, my sweet melody.”

Xyla glares as she checks the body of the Kiteran woman – Vittoria. The Kiteran is already healing. Xyla curses at the sight.

“You’ll need to cut off her head,” Theo says distantly. He still lingers in the room, his hands hanging limply at his sides. “If you don’t want her to heal.”

Xyla moves to grab the axe from Vittoria’s back, but Cathalan stops her. “She’s a Sevell now. We can’t murder their prominent leaders,” he says. “No need to burn our bridges here.”

Xyla snorts. “You think we haven’t burned them already?”

In the distance, a cry of alarm rises. Cathalan closes his eyes, exhaling a long breath through clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” Cathalan says. “Which is why we need to move. Now.”

They burst into the dawn, and the cold is a knife to Luka’s exposed skin. He shudders despite his fur, his shaking exhales clouding his face as he squints into the light. They are trapped in the heart of Kitera. Guards and soldiers swarm in the distance, cries of alarm sounding like birds against the glistening ice buildings.

Cathalan curses at the sight of the sun. “We’ll need to be quick,” he says, muscles flexing in his jaw. Theo glances at the king in confusion as Cathalan seizes the remains of Luka’s cloak and pulls it over his head.

“Try to keep me alive, Luka,” Cathalan says with a grim smile as they race across the paths cleared through the snow, stealth abandoned. Towering buildings crusted with ice flash by as they head for the city walls.

Over the rise of the hill, the alarm bell clangs with a wailing, incriminating cry.

Luka grits his teeth against a sudden bite of pain near his ankle. He glances toward his leg and his stomach tightens when he sees the skin has been burned away, revealing raw, red flesh beneath.

That isn’t his injury.

“Cathalan,” Luka hisses, the word garbled around his teeth, nearly impossible to make out.

“I told you to try and keep me alive,” Cathalan growls in response, the words thin with pain.

Luka looks at Theo and, with stumbles and starts, manages to say, “Give… cloak. Need something… longer.”

Theo stares at Luka, that same alien flare of anger lighting in his eyes again. No – not alien. It’s familiar in the way that Cassian’s face is familiar to Luka; it’s something Luka has seen before, but it’s been a long, long time.

It’s the same way Theo used to look at Luka after Luka was first captured.

Don’t think about that now.

Thankfully, Theo says nothing more as he hands the cloak to Cathalan, who wraps the fabric around his exposed calf. Theo takes in Cathalan’s ruined skin, burned by the shy kiss of the sun, his eyes darting from Cathalan to Luka, and his expression grows impossibly stonier.

Xyla ignores them all as she leads the way, winding through the streets. They run in silence for only a short stretch – the early hour means the city is still mostly empty – only to jerk to a skidding halt when they see a wall of soldiers positioned around a side gate.

The soldiers, miraculously, don’t notice them as they press against the side of a building, the stone cold enough to shock Luka’s claw-like hands into numbness. They only remain for a handful of pounding breaths, before Xyla shakes her head and starts running back the way they came.

“Why are we returning to the city center?” Cathalan pants.

“I spent several weeks living here before you arrived and blew my cover. I know another way we can get out,” Xyla replies. She’s breathing hard, too, Luka realizes, and limping slightly. Imprisonment has been unkind to her.

Behind them, a chorus of shouts arise, mixing with the alarm bell.

Panic tightens Luka’s throat.

They’ve spotted us.

He presses clawed fingers against a stitch in his side, heart pounding so loud in his throat, it drowns out the cries of their pursuers and the clang of the alarm bell. His legs slow, and suddenly, it’s like he’s running through sand. He is so tired.

“Don’t stop now,” Cathalan growls. Biting pain rips through Luka’s arm, and he can’t restrain a howl of pain.

He glares at the king – who has revealed a patch of skin on his arm to the rising sun. The skin flakes away as it cooks beneath the light. Luka’s forearm suffers the same punishment.

Theo takes this in with narrowing eyes. The flicker of anger grows to a flame of rage. He says, quietly, barely loud enough to be heard above the clamor, “Luka, what did you do?”

Luka isn’t able to respond; it’s like his lungs are neatly folding themselves into squares. His arm burns with pain as his impyassus healing tries to wipe the injury away. When he starts to slow again, Cathalan reveals the skin of his elbow.

“Stop that!” Luka growls in an inhuman voice.

“Keep up,” Cathalan replies.

Xyla throws a glance over her shoulder, her short red hair whipping in the light like a bloody flag. She leads them toward another wall, another exit, still so impossibly far away. They’re all sliding on the slurry of the pathway when half a dozen Kiterans whip around the street corner. Three of them have changed into their beast form, and the wolves close the distance quickly – too quickly.

“Keep up!” Cathalan shouts again. Luka bites back a cry and makes his legs move faster. They don’t have long. The Kiterans are closing the gap.

Ahead, the walls of Akull loom – and then, ducking through a narrow alleyway, a sloping door. A side entrance to the capital – with a single guard standing point.

“I have him,” Cathalan says as he tries to throw himself in front of the group.

“Don’t be an idiot, idiot noble,” Xyla replies. She flexes her fingers, and her nails sharpen to claws. The guard braces himself, raising a spear, but Xyla ducks beneath, preparing to slice his throat –

“No!” Cathalan shouts. He slams the back of his fist against the guard’s temple. The man crumples into the snow, narrowly escaping Xyla’s claws. “He’s human,” Cathalan hisses. “I told you – avoid killing when you can .”

“They were just fine with killing us,” Xyla says, though the words lack bite. She throws her shoulder against the wooden door, grunting as it barely gives.

Behind them, the snarls of their pursuers are so close, Luka imagines he can feel their teeth.

“Move,” Theo says when Xyla throws herself against the door a third time to no avail.

Xyla jumps aside as Theo rolls his shoulders and explodes into his wolf form. He’s so huge – Luka forgot how giant Theo is as a beast – even standing on all fours, he nearly reaches Luka’s chin.

Their Kiteran pursuers are seconds away. Luka can practically feel their hot breaths on the back of his neck.

Theo turns his head and charges the door – it gives upon the first heave, shattering into splinters.

And then the Kiteran wolves are on them.

The first of the three wolves launches itself at Luka. Luka goes down with a cry as teeth sink into his furry forearms. He scrabbles uselessly, half-human, half-fox nails slapping against thick wolf fur. Blood sprays as the Kiteran tightens its grip, and Luka gasps beneath its weight – the world going dim, gray – black –

And then air rushes into his lungs as the wolf is forced away.

Xyla faces the Kiteran down in full fox form. She’s significantly smaller, but the vicious spark in her eye and the snap of her teeth makes it clear she doesn’t care. She braces herself before Luka.

Someone yanks Luka to his feet, shouting, “Move!” and Luka is forced through the small door, Xyla stumbling after him as she snaps at the Kiteran.

Before the Kiteran wolf can follow, Theo is on him.

Theo moves like a snowslide, impossibly fast for his large size. He sinks his teeth into the Kiteran’s hind leg and yanks, pulling free sinew and muscle. Blood sprays. The Kiteran cries out, eyes bulging, as he falls before the small door, acting as a wall of fur.

“Move!” that same voice shouts in Luka’s ear again, and Luka realizes Cathalan is all but cradling him. They’re both soaked with blood, their arms bleeding with twin wounds.

Somehow, Luka finds himself running again, clumsily tearing up the thick snow. The path here hasn’t been shoveled. Each footfall has him sinking up to his thighs. Theo and Xyla race at his side, righting him when he stumbles, while Cathalan leads the way.

The sun only rises higher, and a terrible stinging travels across Luka’s face, like the top layer of his skin is burning away – though the pain is small in comparison to the ache in his arm. His arm. He can’t even look at it.

Behind them, a Kiteran howls angrily. The fallen wolf’s body is heaved to the side, and another four wolves pour from the mouth of the gates.

Oh, Thought.

The Kiteran wolves tear across the snow like they’re skating across ice. They’re so fast – so impossibly fast. Behind them, human soldiers move on foot, loading their crossbows.

“Shed my skin,” Cathalan mutters at the sight. “Hurry – we need to get over the rise of the hill – out of sight of those arrows.”

But every breath is like claws sinking into Luka’s lungs. His legs burn – and his arm leaks with blood, healing, but not fast enough.

We aren’t going to make it.

No. That’s not right.

They can make it without me.

“L-leave me,” Luka tries to say, but the words are little more than a guttural snarl when forced around fox teeth. He tries again, “Leave me.”

The group understands his meaning this time. Xyla’s lips curl, revealing needle-sharp fangs. Theo snarls.

“We’re not doing that,” Cathalan says. He adds, with half a glance toward Xyla, “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Sl-slowing you,” Luka manages to say.

They’re halfway up the hill now, and his legs might as well be made of dough. The four wolves are seconds away. Luka cringes as he imagines their fangs sinking into his flesh.

“Darri will come,” Cathalan says with more determination than his eyes betray. “He’s freeing our guards now. They will come, and we can stand our ground here. We can talk our way out of this if we show the Kiterans we have numbers.”

But there is no Darri.

It’s just their little group of four – just them and –

What is that?

A dark form rises from the hillside, cresting the hill opposite them.

Theo’s ears perk, his head rising. Luka tries to interpret the emotion that flickers across his mate’s wolf face.

The dark form shifts, wind catches its – fur.

It’s a wolf.

And it’s not alone.

Another dozen wolves crest the hillside, standing against the dawn light, looking down at them as they desperately climb.

Despair ties Luka’s stomach into a knot.

How did the Kiterans know we would head in this direction?

Did they really outplay us – outplay me?

But Theo isn’t slowing. If anything, he’s speeding up – heading straight toward the wolves. He lifts his head and an excited yip escapes his muzzle.

Wait – Luka has seen these wolves before. They used to be Theo’s pack.

The black wolf at the head of the pack raises her mighty head and howls at the winter dawn. Egarara, Theo named her, those handful of days ago as they hiked the mountain pass to Akull. She levels clear brown eyes with Theo as they approach, and then she braces her shoulders and charges past them, facing down their Kiteran pursuers.

The wolves flow around Luka, so close that they bump against the healing wound on his arm. He stumbles, only righted by the press of Theo’s furry side. Hysterical laughter pours past his lips, terribly distorted by his teeth, as they stagger up the hill.

Below, the wolves face down the Kiterans. The Kiteran beasts are larger, but fewer in numbers. They watch the pack with narrowed, darting eyes, looking beyond them to the escaped prisoners. Archers shout orders from Akull’s walls, their voices now made small and tinny by the distance.

Luka’s breaths puff, muscles tensing. If they have to run again, he won’t be able to. He will simply collapse.

Theo’s old pack brace themselves against the shifting Kiteran wolves, but then a loud horn sounds from Akull.

And, finally, the Kiterans turn and retreat.

A relieved exhale escapes Luka in a breathy whistle.

The Kiterans return to the snow-covered walls of Akull, their eyes fixed on Luka – on Theo. The intent behind their snarls and the audible yips of their hopiar is clear:

This isn’t over.

Luka’s legs give out beneath him as he falls into the snow. The cold sinks into his bones, though the sensation is distant.

Someone is speaking to him, shaking his shoulder. It’s difficult to make out the words over the roar of his heart –

“– breathe, Luka,” Cathalan says, his voice cutting through it all. He seizes Luka’s face, directing Luka’s eyes to his as he maneuvers the cloaks to cover his skin. “We need to get to shelter. You can’t leave me out in the sun, remember?”

Numbly, Luka nods. He doesn’t realize Theo is helping him to his feet until he finds his right side is warm – warm from the furnace of Theo’s body. Comforting cedar and smoke fills his nose as Theo pulls him up the rest of the hillside.

We made it.

I don’t know how, but we made it.

The wolf pack meets them at the top of the hill. Their leader, Egarara, looks each of them over, gaze lingering on their still-healing wounds and Cathalan’s raw skin. Theo shifts to human form, skin pinking and gooseflesh rising as he stands naked in the snow. He wraps one arm around Luka to hold him close, though Luka isn’t sure if the movement is for Theo’s sake or Luka’s.

Before Theo can speak, Cathalan jerks his head about and says, “Where is Darri?”

Xyla, returned to her human form and wearing the scraps of her prisoner’s uniform and a stolen cloak, looks down the bend of the hill. “I don’t think they abandoned the chase here just because the wolves were backing us up.”

Cathalan’s eyes widen, genuine fear yanking color from his face as he looks back to Akull, as if he can make sense of the city now made toy-sized by the distance between them. “He said he would meet us outside the gates,” Cathalan whispers, and the words are clearly meant for his ears alone. “Darri never lies.”

“Egarara,” Theo says as he greets the enormous black wolf. He tips his chin to his chest. “Thank you for your help. You saved us – you saved our lives.”

The wolf’s nostrils flare as she exhales. Her eyes, which are nearly the size of Luka’s palms, flicker from Cathalan to Xyla, before finally landing on Luka. She raises her head before she looks at Theo again.

Theo’s cheeks color as he presses his lips together. “It’s complicated,” he mutters. But before he can speak more, a pack of three wolves, nearly half the size of the female, charge into him. The creatures are still enormous, and Luka stifles a cry of alarm as the first knocks Theo into the snow.

Theo grunts, but his face cracks in a wan smile as he ruffles the fur of one of the russet wolves. “I’ve missed you, too,” he says, his expression warming further as the brown wolf licks his face.

“No time for that,” Cathalan says. “Can you get your wolf friends to help us go back? We need to make sure Darri is alive – and then we need to get out of this sun.”

Theo shoves away the russet wolf, and Luka stifles a bizarre spark of jealousy at the sight of Theo’s hands on another creature’s fur.

“Don’t be foolish,” Theo says. “We only escaped because you had the element of surprise. They didn’t know… what you are.” He looks pointedly at the cloaks shielding Cathalan from the daylight – which is becoming less effective as the sun climbs higher. Luka’s skin still sizzles faintly.

Theo continues, “We can’t launch an attack now without you burning alive – apparently. Beyond that, it’s impossible for us to surprise them –”

Cathalan throws his arms out. “We can’t leave Darri there!”

The panic in his voice shows in the bulging veins in his face. His fingers break free of the cloak, and under the glare of the sun, begin to burn. The pain is so powerful, the world flashes white, and Luka grinds his teeth together as the stench of burning flesh fills the winter air.

“Stop that,” Theo growls. “I don’t know how – and you’re going to explain it to me as soon as we’re safe – but you’re hurting Luka.”

Cathalan holds Theo’s stare for a long moment, flesh falling from his fingers in red hunks. Blood melts the snow. The wolf pack watches them, eyes darting between Theo and Cathalan before lingering on Cathalan’s raw, meat-like fingers.

Then, just as abruptly as he revealed his arm, Cathalan shoves his hand back into the cloak. The pain doesn’t end, but it softens. Luka could have sobbed with relief. A sheen of sweat gleams on Cathalan’s forehead.

Theo says slowly, “We can return for him. But first, we need to get out of here. Unless you would like to injure my mate further.”

Luka didn’t notice through the haze of pain, but he now realizes, with shock, that Theo is barely human. His eyes have changed to liquid amber, and his arms are covered in dark fur. At his back, the wolf pack bristles, lips lifting to reveal gleaming teeth.

Xyla lays a hand on Cathalan’s shoulder. Cathalan jumps at the weight, staring at her with alarm before his panicked expression softens into something Luka can’t read. Cathalan heaves a sigh.

“We will come back for him,” Cathalan growls. “We will not leave him behind.”

Theo’s shoulders relax. The pack behind him calms as well.

“Where are we going?” Xyla asks. “We need to get this idiot noble under shelter, and surely the Kiterans will send reinforcements. We need to move quickly.”

Theo glances at the black wolf at his side. She raises her head, her eyes gleaming with an intelligence that makes Luka shiver. All his life, Luka was told never to give into the beast because it would sap his intellect, but here is a creature that has never been anything more than an animal, and judging from the look on her face, she keenly understands the conversation. The sight makes Luka want to look away, to deny it – it is even more uncomfortable than the sensation of new tendons regrowing in his fingers.

Theo places a hand on her neck, fingers sinking into her deep fur. “Are you sure?”

The black wolf dips her head and turns, looking back once over her shoulder.

“We’ll follow Egarara,” Theo says.

“Follow her to where? Allies?” Cathalan says, his voice a little too acerbic.

“To the one place Kitera would never think I’d return,” Theo whispers. He doesn’t look at Cathalan – or even Luka. He stares at the rising sun as it casts red shadows across the snow, expression distant – pained. “I’m finally going home.”