Page 24 of The Howling (Monsters of the Yeavering #2)

H er scent was perfection, absolute perfection. I might not have mated, but I have smelt enough matings in my time to recognise arousal.

I want my little deer more than anything. But then she closed her eyes and screamed.

She screamed his name, and the note of terror which it held, I know she did not want anything he was offering.

When I caught him in the dungeons, he wanted what she didn’t want to give.

It causes anger to rise within me like the hot liquid rocks from hell.

It makes me want to stop him all over again.

To rip his filthy soul from his form and throw it into the fire.

I don’t have anger, I have pure, unadulterated rage which I cannot see past.

He hurt her.

When she opens her eyes and I see her again, I know what I want to do. I want to burn the Faerie to the ground.

But when Wynter leaves my protection, my own soul, as twisted and wrong as it is, is desperate to follow. It needs her like I need air.

“Don’t.” The damned Hedley Kow is at my elbow. “Don’t chase her. She will come back to you.”

“How do you know?” I round on the creature with a growl. “You don’t know anything.”

I’ve had enough of the castle, of those who think they know everything, of the Reaper who wants what I want, and of the Faerie who damage everything they touch beyond repair.

I don’t even realise I’ve shifted or I’m running until the flashing scenery tells me I’m on the move. If I take another village tonight, perhaps the Reaper will leave me be.

But something pulls at me. An invisible hook in my chest which stops me dead on the outskirts of the small settlement.

There should be destruction, screaming, fear.

I don’t want any of that today. Or ever. I don’t want to take more souls, to be the harbinger of the Reaper.

To be his servant.

I want to protect my mate, fill my castle with light and life once again. I want to be part of a pack.

And Wynter, my little deer, is my pack, my living pack.

A flame flickers across my face as I lift my shifted head to the heavens and release a howl.

“Begone, Barghest,” a voice shouts at me. “Leave us be.”

I growl at the torches and pitchforks.

“The Reaper will come for your souls regardless of what you do to me,” I rasp.

I can tell they don’t care when the flaming arrow impacts my side and the scent of burning fur reaches me. But my desire for destruction has abated.

I can assuage my ire by being with my mate, proving to the old gods I can do something good with what fate has given me.

And I can keep Wynter’s soul from the Reaper and her body for myself.

She needs me, not an absence of me. I have to protect. I have to be there to attack anyone or anything which wants to harm her.

I was nearly too late with Lord Guyzance. I will never be too late again.

More flaming arrows hit my hide, but I pay them no attention. Instead, I retrace my steps, following my nose, taking myself back to my castle, back to my home.

Back to my Wynter.

I might have been feral once, but I cannot be that Barghest anymore. I have to be her mate if I want her to be mine.

I pad through the great hall, the fire now a deep red glow and the table cleared of the limited food Fenrother left behind.

I growl my thanks to the Duegar, even though I know they will not show themselves.

However the glow of the dying fire picks the outline of something familiar within these walls.

“Mother?”

“No, Reavely.”

The spirit of my sweet youngest sister, Ellie, steps into the firelight. It glows behind her and instantly my heart is gripped with guilt.

She was too young to end up like this, trapped here, with me, with the rest of the spirits who haunt this place.

Who cannot leave and who cannot leave me alone.

“You deserve to be happy, brother.” Ellie says. “If she makes you happy, then you need to be with her.”

“But if it doesn’t break the curse…”

“Yes, we stay here but I don’t care. Life is for the living, Reavely. Not for what might have been.”

I can’t look at her, I have to avert my eyes because the anger which rises like hot rocks from the underworld would have me destroy the entire Yeavering for what has been done.

When I look again, Ellie has gone.

“Ellie? Mother?” I call out, feeling hopelessly alone.

“Oh, you’re back.” The damned Hedley Kow wanders into the hall from the kitchens. “And I am not your mother, or I’d be telling you to get a grip and go look after your mate.”

I refrain from saying she sounds exactly like my mother as the small sprite stomps past me.

“You need to decide what you want, Barghest. Your old life or the new,” she grumbles. “Because the human you brought here needs your presence and your protection more than you could ever know.”

With that pointed remark, she does what mischief makers in the Yeavering do and disappears as if she was never there.

Two tiny embers dance up from the glowing bed of the fire and spin around as if they live, while almost everything else in this place is dead.

It doesn’t mean anything, even in a place filled with magic like the Yeavering, even if I want it to be more.