Page 11

I didn’t think, didn’t give myself a chance to back out.

A cold mist washed over me as I sprinted through the veil.

The crossbow loomed closer, but a shuffling noise started after me.

My arms pumped as I closed in on the weapon.

Snarls erupted, and a heavy weight collided with my back.

I flew forward, propelled over the crossbow.

A thrashing thin wolf skidded along next to me.

Twigs and thorns needled my palms as I righted myself and crawled toward the bow. I reached for it—jaws seized my arm.

“AGH!”

Teeth ribboned my sleeve and skin. The wolf thrashed, trying to tear my arm off.

I grabbed a rock and clubbed the wolf’s snout.

It yipped and fell away, just as another wolf nipped my boot.

Flipping over, I kicked the wolf. I scrambled up and grabbed the crossbow.

I aimed—a broad shoulder pummelled my stomach, and a gust of air left my lungs in a wheeze.

My feet left the ground, and the bow tumbled from my grasp.

The trees pitched forward as I was thrown over someone’s shoulder. All around, wolves encroached.

The Hound’s voice growled, “Get back!”

“Let me go!” My lacerated arm spewed blood as I pummelled the Hound’s back.

A wolf approached, and I screamed, “Watch out!” My world spun with the Hound.

He kicked the skulking wolf and sent it sprawling.

The Hound’s strength was breathtaking, and the crushing grip on my waist dizzied me as he ran for the veil.

Drooling mouths lunged for my throat, I punched snouts and teeth.

Relief and frustration coursed through me as we passed through the veil.

“Foolish, stupid girl!” The Hound dragged me forward, into his arms. I threw my head sideways—a move I’d learned from Lottie—and smashed the Hound’s nose.

His head snapped back, and I hit the ground.

I rolled away and righted myself, rubbing my bruised rear.

Blood poured from the Hound’s nose, which he tried staunching with the back of his hand.

It was no use; he gave up and spit. Looking suddenly vampiric, blood trickled over the Hound’s mouth and dribbled through the opening of his white, flannel shirt.

His chest heaved as he gestured at his side, where a splotch of red seeped through his shirt: the crossbow wound reopened.

“Well, that’s just marvelous!” he snapped.

My own blood dribbled down my arm and splattered the cobblestones.

Seeing my mangled limb, the Hound pointed and cried, “I knew it! I knew you’d try some idiotic escape!

” He paused, gasping for breath. “Between you and me, I thought you’d be cleverer than this!

” He swept a hand toward the wolves. “I’m astonished you managed to do something so intolerably stupid! So reckless—”

“You know nothing of me!” I shouted. “I won’t stand here while a beast questions my intelligence!”

The Hound’s nostrils flared. “I’m not questioning it!” he snarled. “I’m denying its existence entirely!” He shoved angry tangles of hair from his face and strode forward.

“What’re you—” I took a tentative step back.

The Hound continued advancing, I turned and ran.

“Don’t—where do you think you’re going?!

” The Hound overtook me, grabbing my good arm and shoving me toward the castle.

“Go!” His voice rattled my eardrums and sent birds flying from the nearby trees.

Pointing to the castle, the Hound shouted, “Where I can see you. Right now!”

I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “I didn’t need your help!”

Standing in shocked disbelief, the Hound started to speak and stopped. He started again, and then snapped his mouth shut. He looked like a silly fish gasping for air.

“I had the crossbow!” I continued. “I shot you; what makes you think I couldn’t have done the same to them!” I waved at him, and then the frothing wolves. “Thanks to your meddling, we’ll never know!”

The Hound tilted his head, fixing me with a petrifying, unblinking focus.

Clenching his fists, the Hound bellowed, “Walk, or I’ll throw you back to the wolves!

” There was such conviction in his voice, I obeyed.

One foot in front of the other, the prisoner walked back to their cage.

The Hound, accompanied by his incensed, obnoxious breathing, followed me all the way to the sage room.

When we were safely inside, the Hound snapped his fingers and barked, “Show me your arm!”

“Keep your claws off me!” I wriggled from his grasp.

The shock from the attack had worn off, and an excruciating ache throbbed up my arm.

I had to work fast, before pain altered my capabilities.

I cleaned myself with the water skin from my satchel and then crouched by the fire to examine the lacerations.

Though he was probably just observing, the way the Hound loomed over me felt…

supervisory, and I struggled to see through the rage that tunnelled my vision.

With trembling fingers, I sewed the punctures.

The Hound watched in a horrified trance as the needle pierced my flesh.

I didn’t flinch, not even once. I met the Hound’s eyes on the last stitch for emphasis.

He scowled in response.

As I tucked my sewing kit away, I caught sight of the blood marring the Hound’s shirt.

His proud stature had changed, slightly stooped to his right, as if he was expending a great deal of effort not to curl around the flaring pain.

Though I couldn’t see the wound, I knew what I’d find if I lifted the fabric.

The gash in his side, raw and bleeding. The skin around the stitches stretched, like a deer hide spread and hooked for drying.

Disgust turned my stomach. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, he tore those stitches while prying me from the jaws of the wolves.

With slow determination, I withdrew my sewing kit.

I hated the Hound, but my fingers could not sit idly while any creature—even a beast—suffered.

To heal, to ease the agony of others, it was a compulsion I couldn’t explain.

It was for my own benefit, not the Hound’s, that I pointed to a chair by the fire and said, “Sit.”

The Hound raised his brows and scoffed.

“Fine.” I shrugged. “Bleed to death.”

Shaking his head, the Hound did as he was told.

“Shirt,” I sniped.

The Hound grimaced and leaned into the chair.

Through strands of dark hair, his cunning eyes inspected me.

One-by-one, the Hound undid his buttons.

He watched me as he pulled his shirt away.

The muscles along his chest and stomach were well-defined, though he was thin.

Like he’d come out of a plague, starved.

Kneeling beside him, I ripped out the first stitch and the Hound flinched.

Through gritted teeth, I asked, “What’s your nam—”

“Rook.” The word slipped out urgently, like one might call for help. The beast wanted me to know his name. Perhaps hoped I’d see the man, and not the monster.

Impossible.

After removing the remaining stitches, I said, “One of our neighbours, Colette, used to have a problem with rooks in her orchard.” I sewed in a rough stitch, enjoying the Hound’s accompanying wince.

“They’d steal all the ripe apples just before the harvest…

” My words faded into a thoughtful smile. “I think she poisoned them.”

Rook gave an absent, disgusted shake of his head. “ Everard Rook. I prefer Everard. That’s what my companions called me”—his brows pulsed bitterly—“when I had companions.”

I put in the last stitch and traced my work. I’d done a good job; it would heal well. Tucking my sewing kit away, I said, “I’m all done here, Rook.” I stood while he buttoned his shirt. “So, what happens now? Is it your intention to imprison me, forever?”

Rook raised a finger, silencing me. I eyed the digit, and it wasn’t a small part of me that considered biting it off.

“Now,” Rook said, gesturing to his bloodied face and shirt.

“I will clean the evidence of your lunacy from my clothes.” His gaze travelled from my face to my feet and back.

“I suggest you do the same. You look every part the witless swamp dweller that I’m certain you are. ”

Fortunately, years of arguing with Lottie had hardened me to petty insults.

“For someone who kills so freely, I’d have assumed you were accustomed to sitting in blood.

” I returned the same condescending look Rook had given me.

“Or are you upset it’s your own blood, hm?

Unaccustomed to victims fighting back and spoiling those pretty clothes?

” Rook pushed to his feet, and I swore the room darkened as he towered over me.

“You know nothing of what I’m accustomed to.”

Refusing to be intimidated, I snapped, “Tell me then! What is it you do, if not slaughter and trap innocent people in this castle with you?”

“If it were up to me, my loneliness would remain unbroken!” Rook shouted. “I am not your warden, I am your cellmate! Like it or not, I’m trapped here, just as much as you are.”

“Liar!” I spit.

Rook recoiled like I’d thrown hot coals on him.

I advanced, yelling, “I found you outside the castle!” I pointed through the window, toward the veil.

“You can evade the wolves!” Rook’s angry, baffled eyes tracked my movements, as if he were viewing some agitated badger, and not someone who had the audacity to speak to him so.

Irritated by Rook’s silent stare, I shouted, “Well?!”

“You come here, barking questions at me?” Rook’s thin finger jabbed his chest with such force the knuckle cracked, and I was fairly certain it broke. “At me ?!”

Observing the man before me, my words were true when I screamed, “I’m not afraid of you!”

Rook stooped so that his face was a breadth from mine. “Then your idiocy is depthless!” The copper stench of blood hit me, and I covered my mouth. A muscle in Rook’s jaw clenched, and he pulled away. “I will return with water, so you might clean yourself.”

“I’ll do no such thi—”

“This is a castle, not a pen for unwashed livestock,” Rook interrupted.

“We’re trapped here. Together. I will not spend my life recoiling when you draw near.

” Rook headed to the door but paused. “I am not your jailer; I will not lock you in. If you decide to run like a frightened rabbit into the mouths of the wolves,”—Rook shrugged—“I care not.”

Rook closed the door.

A boiling, childlike rage filled me. I looked for anything I might throw.

On the fireplace, delicate objects littered the mantle.

I snatched a porcelain figurine and—it was too nice.

With an angry huff, I put the figurine back.

My foot nudged the stand holding the fire implements.

I lifted the heavy iron poker from its hook.

After nudging around a few logs, I examined the red-hot tip.

Heat radiated from the iron; it was nothing compared to the fury burning in my veins. I nestled the poker back in the fire.

And I waited for Rook to return.