Page 28 of The Princesses of Ruin (The Princesses of Ruin #5)

Chapter twenty-six

Adrik

W e wrap ourselves tightly in leather and cloth, sealing in our heat and scent. I spray both of us several times with the scent-obscuring mixture, and Emillia sighs.

“How does this hide scent?”

I relish the sound of her voice, muffled as it is by her wrap.

“Charcoal, glycerin, witch hazel, and strong spirits.”

“I don’t care what it’s made of.” Her eyebrows furrow beneath the brim of her hat. “How does it work?”

“It’s not magic—just simple alchemy. Charcoal absorbs odors, witch hazel makes us smell of the wild. The spirits and glycerin keep the mixture stable and sharp. That is all.”

“You think it’ll fool a wolf?”

I meet her gaze. It’s intense, perhaps frightened, but she is ever the strong captain, never one to admit her fear.

“It’s better than parading out there with six days of stink on us.”

She snorts a laugh. “I suppose.”

I spray her again, staining her leather black in splotches like a painter. She must be covered. She must be safe.

“Adrik… ”

My name is soft from her lips and hidden by her scarf, but it stills my heart.

“Emillia?” I ask, spraying her a few more times to avoid her.

Her gloved hands cup my hood-covered cheeks and she pulls on me until we are eye to eye.

“I like you.”

My heart squeezes at the same time my stomach flips. The sensation flowing through my body is erratic, invigorating, and unwelcome. We have a wolf to hunt, and now I’m just thinking of her.

“Sorry,” she says, dipping her face into the cradle of her coat. “I just thought—if we die—you should know. I like you more than the lovers I’ve taken in temporary ports and I just…don’t get hurt, okay?”

I drop the spray and pull down her scarf, dragging her face to mine. The kiss is cold but filled with passion. I band my other arm around her lower back and drag her to me. We’re both very fluffy, and friction is impossible, but it feels good to have her against me either way.

I break the kiss, leaving her breathless.

“I like you, too.”

She drags me back for one more feral kiss.

“When we’re done, I’m going to fuck you.”

My mouth is salivating at the thought of last night, and what comes next. I want to survive to enjoy it, so I pull another two vials from my bag.

“My own special cocktail,” I say, handing her one. “Pain dampener, calming draught, amplifier, and wakefulness.”

Emillia whistles and uncorks her vial, then takes a whiff of it. I’m not sure if she’s looking for poison, or if this is a customary Wolish thing, but once it passes the check, she clinks her vial gently against mine.

“Bottoms up.”

I uncork my potion and throw it back. The tingle of many drugs mixes with the taste of Emillia on my tongue. The resulting flavor is like a noxious dessert. I drink it down and sigh deeply into the instant relief from my painful erection as it begins to abate.

There’s a wolf to be hunted.

She pulls up her scarf, then secures mine. We don’t need words anymore.

I spray our tent and camp area with the deodorizer mixture, then do continual sprays as we move through the thick trees. Thirty minutes later, we’re nestling down into a snowdrift twenty feet from where we’ve left the gutted rabbit and the poisoned one.

We sit close together in the snow, our bodies touching. I thank my skill for the potion that has my mind on the task ahead rather than the goddess beside me. Minutes drag into an hour, then into two. It’s cold, but with our goggles and tightly wrapped faces, it’s endurable.

Emillia tenses beside me and then holds up two fingers, then makes an “O” with her hand. She then gestures for walking and points to our two o’clock. Two wolves close? Or maybe it’s twenty paces away? I’m not sure, but I direct my gaze to the location she pointed at, and I focus on it.

For a long time, we stay like that. Eyes trained on a thorny bush between the thick of the trees. Just as my attention wavers, I see movement. My heart picks up for a moment, but my potions do their work and keep my breathing steady.

Emillia shoulders her blunderbuss. Its muzzle sits in a valley of snow, frost-covered and cold. She moves ever so slightly, turning the barrel toward her target. I follow the straight line of the gun and see where she’s aiming isn’t the rustling bush, but a thick pine tree a few paces from it.

There’s a flicker of white in the bush that draws my gaze, but Emillia is steadfast on the tree. The white isn’t a wolf at all, but an arctic fox.

Yebat .

It’s going for our bait.

The creature twitches its tiny ears as it steps into the bloodstained clearing. It’s maybe twenty pounds, if that, and sees those hares as a fine meal indeed. It wouldn’t be much for a five hundred-pound wolf however, so why would it be hunting the tiny thing?

It takes a tentative bite of the gutted rabbit, avoiding the poisoned one. Then it starts dragging its prize away.

I hiss a curse through my teeth, prepared to pounce on the fox and make it my new lure.

“Wait.”

Emillia’s voice is so quiet I almost miss it. Her finger strokes the trigger, anticipation building in the space between her and the end of her gun. I follow the length of the barrel back to its spot, poised on an unassuming tree.

Glowing green eyes is all I see before the pine tree explodes with movement. The blunderbuss barks beside me and I’m deaf, wincing my eyes shut for a fraction. A sharp ring pierces my ears, and I open my eyes to a horrifying sight.

Emillia hit her target, but the wolf is not dead—it’s running toward us.

Emillia rolls and kicks me in the side, shoving me out of our snowdrift.

White powder fills the air as the wolf slams into what was our hiding spot.

Irrational fear takes hold as I worry for Emillia.

Did she make it out of the drift in time ?

Through the haze of snow I catch the eyes of the wolf again.

Green orbs of killing intent lock on my face, cutting short all thought like a candle snuffed between pinched fingers.

Its teeth gleam with drool as it stalks toward me.

Blood drips from its chest and mats its fur, but there’s no blood on its teeth or claws.

It didn’t get Emillia.

I snatch a grenade from my belt and quick-detonate it, covering myself in a cloud of sleeping powder. I close my eyes and roll to the side, hearing the wolf pounce on where I’d just lay. It hacks, a deep, resonating noise that sends a chill down my spine.

I rush to my feet and run for the closest tree, snatching another grenade from my satchel.

I slip, falling into the underbrush of the pine, and lose the sleep grenade in the snow.

A loud crash above me snaps branches, and the white wolf comes slamming down in front of me.

It rights itself faster than I can, and I find myself scrambling backwards on my elbows.

There’s another bang and blood explodes from the wolf’s neck. Its green eyes dart away and it leaps over me in a single bound.

Emillia’s scream breaks through the ringing in my skull and pulls on my stomach. Fire fills my body and I roll to the side, grabbing another grenade. I push into the snow and it gives, making me slip again.

Curses bellow from the pit of my chest as another shot rings out.

I come to my feet and take a half second to understand the scene.

Emillia’s arm is in the wolf’s mouth, her pistol dangling from her limp fingers.

The wolf shakes its head, spraying blood from its eye and shredding the leather on Emillia’s arm.

She screams again and I prime the grenade.

As it leaves my hand, I realize it’s not a sleep tonic, but Reina’s magic and ipsain. It smacks against the creature’s side and detonates in a blinding blue flash. The wolf howls, going up in a blaze that eats away at it faster than any real fire could manage.

“The fur!” Emillia screams as she falls to the ground.

She cradles her right arm to her chest and recovers her pistol, then fires another round at the flailing wolf.

The beast goes down in a dramatic whumph , and is extinguished by the snow.

The scent of charred flesh permeates the air with pungent stink.

I pull up my scarf to hide from the reek, then run to Emillia, wanting to hold her above all else.

“Are you all right?” I ask, stopping myself short from touching her. “Your arm?”

She grits her teeth as she stares at the wolf, her pistol still aimed at it. “Bruised at least. Maybe broken.”

“ Fuck. ”

A gurgling noise comes from the mouth of the beast, and she shoots it once more.

“This really puts a damper on my plans for tonight,” she says as she holsters her gun.

Adrenaline still lines my veins, so I don’t laugh. I can’t. She’s hurt, but she wouldn’t be if I’d been a little faster, a little smarter. Now, she’s injured and we have no fur.

She places her good hand over the bloody scraps of her coat and soft pink magic flows into it. A groan rumbles through her scarf and her knees buckle. I catch her under her good arm and hold her steady as she works.

“Fuuuuck,” she growls, her hand trembling.

I need to distract her…

“So, you’re a high-blood magus?” I ask.

“Mmhmmfff,” she mumbles, her voice laced with pain .

“I’m not surprised you kept it from me, but I figured I would’ve tasted it.”

She turns her pain-contorted gaze on me with an air of a question.

I shrug. “I’ve heard that princess pussy is the best, is all.”

She barks out a laugh. “I’m not a princess.”

No, you’re a goddess.

“What are you, then?”

She throws her head back and sucks air between her clenched teeth. I guide us to the ground so I don’t have to worry about her slipping from my grasp.

“I’m the king’s niece.”

“By blood or marriage?”

“Blood. My father. His brother.” Her words come in quiet, disjointed breaths until— snap! “Fucking hells!”

She curls in on herself and pants heavily. Her hand trembles over the open spot on her coat, the flow of her magic cut off. I let her breathe for a while as my own system cools down from the battle, and I start to think.

We still need fur. There’s no way we can return without it.

“I’m going to check the body,” I say, releasing her.

“It went up like dry tinder. I doubt there’s anything left.”

I grunt, knowing her words are true but wishing they weren’t.

The wolf is a massive thing even when hairless. I swallow my fear and crouch down beside the charred, bloody mess. If nothing else, the fangs will be useful.

I pull a pair of pliers from my bag and extricate several of the shiny white bones from the monster’s mouth, dropping them into an empty pouch one by one.

I inspect the creature’s ears, hoping maybe a tuft survived in the hollow there, but nothing.

Down its neck to the chest where the arms are pinned, maybe a bit…

No, just cracked flesh. I snip off several claws while I’m down here, then continue my perusal until I reach the abdomen. Breath catches in my chest as I stare at the engorged teats of the female wolf. Something in my chest aches as I realize not all hope is lost.

“Emillia…”

“You found some hair on its balls, then?” she asks, standing.

“She has pups.”