Page 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

My palm heats and begins to glow. I can feel the sword, though I can’t explain how.

Gunnar steps out onto the porch, his weapon still pointing at me. “You dare to come back?” He turns his glare to Harek. “And you! The entire town knows what you are. How dare you show your face again? The whole lot of you aren’t welcome.”

I’m tempted to tell him his own children are part of Harek’s pack, but I can’t risk saying anything. He could turn on them. I wouldn’t put it past him.

My stepfather glares at my father. “And who are y…” His voice trails off and recognition flickers in his expression. “You’re her father.”

“That I am.” Einar squares his shoulders. “I heard you haven’t treated my daughter very well.”

I swear I catch a flicker of fear in Gunnar’s stance, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “You have no authority here. I was the one who stepped up and took in the unwanted orphan and her whore of a mother.”

My mouth falls open at the insult. As much as he’s always hated me, I’ve never heard him speak ill of her. Either he didn’t think as highly of her as I thought, or he’s upset seeing her previous lover. That’s probably it.

Einar steps closer to the porch. “Say that again. I dare you.”

I exchange a worried glance with Harek. Things are about to get real before I even have a chance to find my sword. My palm is still warm, so that’s a good sign. Hopefully I’ll be ready with just that, considering my powers don’t seem to work against humans.

Gunnar laughs cruelly and steps toward Einar. “Don’t tell me you have feelings for the dead wretch. Why did you ever let her go if you cared so much?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. Give us the sword, and we’ll be on our way.”

“What’s so special about it?” Gunnar turns the gun toward my father.

“No!” I run in front of him.

Both Einar and Harek pull me out of the way. I stumble to the ground. “Don’t hurt him!”

Gunnar sneers at me. “This loser means something to you?”

I scramble to my feet. Before I have a chance to respond, my father rushes toward Gunnar. They’re a similar height and build, but Einar is both taller and more muscular. He’s also probably killed many more times. Plus, his sword, while meant for fae, will be equally effective against a human.

Harek turns toward me, fear in his eyes. “We have to find your sword! Let him handle Gunnar.”

“No! You help him, I’m going to find my sword alone.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. You’re both skilled hunters in your own ways. The faster I can find my sword, the better.” I step away from him.

“All the more reason for me to help you.” Harek steps toward me.

“My palm will lead the way. Please help my father.” I give him my most pleading look.

Harek’s shoulders slump. “Fine. But shout if you need any help at all.”

“I will.”

He hesitates, like he’s thinking of going with me despite his promise.

“Help my father.” I run around the side of the house before he can change his mind, though there’s nothing stopping him from chasing after me. He can be stubborn like that.

Thankfully I don’t hear any footsteps behind me. My hand feels a little warmer as I near the back of the house.

I’m getting closer.

Crash!

That came from the front of the house. I resist the urge to race back and see what’s going on. If I’m going to help anyone, I need my sword.

The orange mist grows almost blindingly bright, increasing so much in its intensity. I’m either on top of the sword, or there’s an evil fae very close. The souls race around in my stomach worse than before. Do they sense something, too?

Acid churns, threatening to rise to my throat. I ignore it, looking around. Hold out my palm, spin slowly. The mist doesn’t grow bright or dimmer.

Shouting sounds from the other side of the house, followed by more crashing noises.

I need to hurry. Using my mist as a light, I study my surroundings. The ground appears undisturbed, meaning Gunnar didn’t bury my sword here. But there are bushes next to the house. I step near them.

The orange mist intensifies, forms into a ball. This has to be it.

Someone cries out in pain. From this distance, I can’t tell who. Hopefully Gunnar.

I kneel down and check under the bushes. No sword, but the dirt appears to have been moved around recently. Given how bright my mist is, my weapon could very well be buried here.

As I begin digging, the souls rage against each other. My stomach lurches, but I manage to keep from throwing up. The mist ball seems to soften the soil, making it easier for me to pull up dirt.

My fingernails scrape something metallic.

I stop, my breath hitching. Could that be my sword? It has to be. I dig faster, The souls thrash around.

Around the house, fighting noises grow louder. More intense.

Faint light shines from the ground. I reach down. Feel around.

A blade.

Heart pounding against my ribcage, I find the handle, pull it free of the mud. Yank the weapon out of the ground. Stumble back. Dirt falls from the sword, and the etchings glow the same color as my palm.

The blade points upright and shakes slightly in my grip, the runes changing from orange to black—yet somehow still lit. The souls slam around inside of me. It feels like they’re going to explode out of me.

Like I might explode.

I open my mouth to cry out, but they reach my throat before the sound. Pressure builds as they all fight to move through my windpipe. I choke, struggle to breathe. Try again to call out. Can’t.

My sinuses burn. A force gathers, so strong I cover my nose in attempt to keep it from breaking to pieces. Cold, black mist bursts out, swirling in the same way it did before. Only this time, it’s leaving me instead of entering. It darts away from my weapon then suddenly turns toward it.

The blade shakes, and so does the mist, as if they’re struggling against each other. My head jerks back as the mists pull completely away from me.

Finally I can breathe. I gasp in air, desperate for as much as I can inhale.

Meanwhile, the mist and my sword struggle against each other. Once my breathing returns to normal, I hold a steadier grip on the handle. Both my palm and the etchings glow bright orange. With a hard thrust, the mists all slam against the blade, and the weapon absorbs them.

It remains upright seemingly on its own. I stare in disbelief, my grip unsteady but not affecting the sword.

Once I regain my composure, I hurry around the house.

A cloud of dust rises from where Gunnar, Harek, and Einar are rolling around on the ground. Grunts and thuds sound from their direction. My father’s sword lies off to the side.

I hurry over. They’re moving around too fast to see who is where.

This leaves me with only one option. I reach for the nearest arm and yank, not even sure who I’ve grabbed. If it’s my stepfather, then I have to fight him. If it’s one of the other two, they can take a moment to recover before we jump in.

Dreadlocks appear from the dust cloud. My father steadies himself and brushes dirt from his face. “Thanks!”

I start to respond, but he grabs his sword, and jumps back in before I can say anything.

Harek cries out—I’d recognize his voice anywhere

The stench of blood fills my nostrils. I’m not even sure how I can smell it, but I do. Must have something to do with my new werewolf capabilities. A fierce anger rips through me at an intensity I’ve never experienced. If Gunnar has hurt Harek, I will kill him. The thought of something happening to my friend turns my anger into rage, and it pulsates through me in uncontrollable waves.

My sword’s etchings glow brighter than before, but that barely registers. My bones ache as if set on fire. The pain tears through me as if it’s eating me alive from the inside out. Everything turns into a blur as it feels like every single one of my bones are snapping. As something like tiny blades slices through every inch of my skin. Fur.

I’m transforming into a werewolf—even though it’s nowhere near the full moon. Shreds of the fancy clothes Vivvi gave me fly in all directions.

A howl sounds from somewhere.

Me. It’s from me.

All my senses are sharper than ever. Everything lights up as if it’s suddenly not dark. I can smell everything . Including Gunnar’s fear.

I turn to him, sniffing with my elongated nose. His eyes widen, and he tries to scramble away, but he’s not only outnumbered— he’s now facing a predator.

A growl escapes me, the noise vibrating through my mouth. My fur bristles and I take measured steps toward him with all four legs. This is simultaneously unreal and at the same time the most natural thing I’ve ever experienced.

The scent of Gunnar’s fear grows stronger, and it makes me salivate. He shoves Harek and my father. Stumbles as he tries to run.

I lunge for him. Flesh, blood, and muscle fill my mouth. Gunnar’s screams fill the air. He hits and kicks me, but it all bounces off me. I barely notice, my focus on keeping my loved ones safe.

Shots ring out. Voices sound in the distance, footsteps thunder as people approach. I pull my attention from Gunnar to the commotion. It appears half the town is headed our way.

A wind picks up and a shriek blasts through the air.

Sapphire.

My stepfather pulls from my grip then limps away toward the mob.

More shots ring out. A bullet whirs past me, barely missing.

Einar calls my name. He’s mounted the dragon and is waving me toward them.

Harek, also on Sapphire, has my sword. “Hurry, Eira!”

The townsfolk outnumber us by at least five to one, and they have guns.

In one swift movement, I leap onto Sapphire’s back. She flaps her wings, roars, and then flies into the air. I somehow manage to stay on by gripping the dragon’s sides and using my leg muscles to stay in place. It would be easier to shift back into my human form, but then I wouldn’t have any clothes.

Harek clings to me, helping me to remain steady.

More shots ring out, bullets shoot past us. Sapphire darts to avoid them.

I whine and fight my heavy eyelids.

Harek gives me a sympathetic look and rubs one of my ears.

This night truly couldn’t get any weirder.