Taking steps backward as quickly as she could in the sloshing water, she tested the knife in her palm. Her stomach plummeted instantly—it couldn’t be thrown. The balance was way off, and it was too dull to penetrate the mal’s fur and flesh anyway.

  Damnation.

  Devdan struggled to get back on his feet, but it was too late as the creature bounded toward her.

  With the useless dinner knife in hand, she sunk into a fighting stance. She had just gotten herself killed.

  The malwolf was five paces away from her when it was knocked to the ground. It thrashed, landing on its back with Devdan on top of it in human form. The mal opened its jaws, twisting to lunge at Devdan’s throat, but the hunter stabbed its torso and pulled the dagger down, opening its midsection. Steam, blood, and tangled insides poured from the open wound.

  Devdan was on his feet a moment later, stepping unsteadily toward her and away from the writhing and dying mal.

  “You’re hurt,” she managed to say after prying her clenched jaw apart and looking away from the beast. He shook his head but grabbed his shoulder, probing at some injury there.

  Before he could reply, though, a movement behind him caught her attention. The creature struggled to all fours, its hate-filled gaze set on her.

  The hunter must have seen the terror on her face as it lunged for her again, entrails hanging from its torso.

  Devdan stabbed it through the side of its neck a moment before it reached her. The mal skidded and landed at her feet, dead.

  She stared at its body for a long moment, shaking from the cold and her multiple near-death experiences.

  “We need to go,” Devdan said.

  She forced herself to look at him. Drenched in blood from the chin down, she couldn’t tell how bad his wounds were. But half of his tunic was torn away, and the wild look remained in his eyes.

  When he picked her up this time, she didn’t even protest.

  Chapter XVI

  “You need to get out of your wet clothes.”

  Rel stood shivering, the soaked layers of clothing not aiding her coldness.

  “Change,” he said more sternly, tossing a pack at her.

  She attempted to catch it, but her belated response and numb fingers sent it crashing to the ground instead.

  He followed the movement with an arched brow. “I can always rip your clothes off and dress you myself?”

  She bared her teeth at him in a silent snarl, but he responded in kind, an actual snarl tearing from his throat.

  They glared at each other until a particularly powerful shiver ran through her.

  He finally turned around, crossing his arms over his chest.

  When he turned, the wounds the malwolf had given him—lacerations on his side and back—were visible. The rain had washed a lot of the gore away from them both, which meant the remaining crimson was all his. Rel considered offering to tend to him but instead scowled at his back.

  He would live, she was certain of it.

  Bending over, careful not to put too much weight on her bad ankle, she rummaged through the sack. He had shoved random outfits in there, and there were definitely more pants than tops. She wasn’t sure where her bag was that she’d brought with her, but she was too tired to care. Piecing together a trouser and a thicker top, she began peeling off the wet, cold layers.

  “When did you notice I was gone?” she asked finally.

  “Couldn’t have been long after, but the watchmen made it more difficult. They left you alone, but I was stopped on several streets. Since I didn’t appear like a drunken reveler, they were suspicious of my intentions at being out so late. Gavenport prides itself on their low crime rate, despite being a large port city. I had to explain half a dozen times that I was looking for my drunken wife, and though they probably saw you, they were of no help pointing out which direction you went in.”

  She was fully naked now, and she dried her skin and hair off further with a towel.

  “Your scent was more challenging to track in the rain, but that mal reeked. I knew it was already on the hunt if it was in the vicinity. I followed its stench right to you.”

  And just in time. She would have been ripped to shreds. Some dark, cold part of her wondered if that would have been better than what waited for her at Romul.

  When she was finally dressed in dry clothing, she still didn’t feel any warmer. Minding her ankle, she climbed into bed and, not for the first time, wished the room had a fireplace. She rolled over on her side, her back to the hunter, and listened as he dried off and tended to his wounds. The sound of ripping fabric and splashing water were the only things that let her know he was doing so. Otherwise, he only grunted once with discomfort. When he finished, he tossed the bloody water out the window.

  By the time the mattress dipped from his weight, she was shivering under the covers, and her teeth could no longer be stopped from chattering.

  She wanted to go home. She missed the heat of the land, the crocodiles, her porch swing, her bed. The swamplands rarely got this cold, but whenever she was chilled, all she had to do was take a scalding hot bath and load up her fireplace. The cooler nights were some of her favorites, if only because she felt so snug and secure when wrapped in a thick blanket and seated before a blazing fire.

  But here, there were only the two thin blankets on the bed. No warm fire, no promise of heat when the sun rose the next day.

  “Come here,” he murmured.

  “What?” Rel said through clattering teeth.

  “Come”—an arm wrapped around her—“here.” He pulled her back, and she made a very embarrassing noise as the short distance between them was closed.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. He removed his arm from around her, but warmth radiated from him. As much as she would hate herself for it, she wanted to nestle into him.

  “You can hate me and be cold. Or you can hate me and be warm. As for me, I’d like to get a few hours of sleep not interrupted by your clacking teeth and trembling.”

  Silence permeated the room, and she couldn’t bring herself to move away. “How are you always so warm?” she finally asked. She cursed her voice for sounding as breathy as it did.

  “Lunae run exceptionally hot.”

  She fidgeted, trying to find the best position to get the most out of being pressed against him, when a hand curled around her hip with all the pressure of a warning.

  “Stop,” he commanded.

  She stiffened, not realizing she’d been wiggling her ass against him. And the hardening mass pressed into her backside was evidence of her unintended torture. The Fates had a cruel sense of humor.

  “Stay. Just… stop moving so much.”

  She rolled over instead, and his lunar gaze took her in with a hint of surprise.

  “If I’m going to use your heat, hunter, then I’m going to use it effectively.”

  He smirked wolfishly. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”

  She refused to respond to his insinuation. Her ankle was tender, but even so, she wiggled both of her feet between his calves. Showing him her hand, he tracked it as she sought to put it underneath his arm while avoiding any of his injuries. Then, she pressed into him as tightly as she could, every point where they touched immediately beginning to warm. Lastly, she pressed her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was thunderous, and she pretended she was being held by a lover instead of the man who hunted her down.

  She was good at that—pretending. There were years when she had only survived due to her unique skill of being able to escape within herself.

  “Settled?” he asked, breaking her reverie before it could begin.

  “Do you cuddle with all those you hunt?” she mumbled.

  “Usually only the ones who don’t annoy me. You’re the exception to that rule.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Quiet fell over them again except for his breathing and heartbeat. Her imagination was rich, but as she tried to call up a face of a make-believe lover, she could only see the hunter. His silver hair, mercurial gaze. His scowl or his self-assured smirk that hinted at what he would look like if he truly smiled. His lips on hers, incredibly full and warm, his tongue tasting of nectar and honey. Did he have someone waiting for him at home? Did he reserve his genuine smile and tender touches for them? Did he even know how to be gentle?

  She’d been saved by him tonight, but only because he was meant to take her to Romul. What would it be like to have someone willing to go to such lengths, not because of a bounty or out of duty, but because of something greater?

  It was a dangerous and traitorous line of thought. No one was coming for her. She silently cursed her mind for even considering it. There had been many years where she hoped for someone to protect her, to care for her, to take her away. The desires and daydreams of a little girl who would have done anything to be saved. In the end, the only person willing to save her was herself. There would never be a champion fighting for her honor, a lover burning the world down to get to her.

  It was just her. When she was in the streets of Romul after her mother died, when the princess left her behind, or when she was kneeling with her back being carved into. And now it was her who was alone with the wolf in its den. And still, she couldn’t banish thoughts of Devdan.

  Surely all these contemplations were from being overly tired. But it didn’t stop her from opening her eyes and shifting to look up at him.

  She was surprised to find he was already staring at her, his head tilted down, his mouth a brief distance from hers. Her lips parted, some explanation attempting, and failing, to come out.

  He marked the movement, his eyes tracing her nose to her lips and back up. “Will you ever grow exhausted of plotting my death when you should be sleeping?”

  Rel pressed her cheek against his chest again, looking away. “Never,” she managed with an appropriate amount of acidity. She was comforted to find that her loathing for him was still very much intact.

  Chapter XVII

  Rel awoke in the early afternoon to find Devdan gone. Even more disconcerting was that he had moved her somehow without waking her. But her head was heavy, and her body incredibly fatigued. By midday, it was apparent she was ill. She fluctuated between being hot and cold and was so weak that she wouldn’t have been able to move if she wanted to. Sleep took her to nightmarish lands filled with hungry creatures with crimson eyes and reeking of death.

  A knock at her door was the only warning she got before it was opened. She didn’t bother looking, too tired to care about any maid coming or going or the Wolf of Romul. So, when hands grabbed and shook her, she startled, her eyes snapping open and her body naturally preparing for a battle.

  But it wasn’t anyone she expected. An ocean-filled gaze took her in.

  “Silas?” she croaked. “What are you doing—”

  “I had to be certain. Last night, I just…” he trailed off, searching her face. “I want to be wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?” She shook her head, attempting to clear it as she propped herself up. The fever left her mind foggy.

  “Is he holding you against your will? You said you’d never return to Romul, and from what I could gather this afternoon, he’s claiming he’s a merchant, but he has no crew, no boat, no goods.”

  Devdan. If he found him here…

  But Silas had tracked down all that information? A swell of appreciation for the mercenary went through her, not for the first time. She was grateful to him—for the kindness he showed her when she was escaping Romul and his concern now. But hope was dangerous, this was dangerous. His curiosity and his care for her would be the end of him.

  “Listen to me—he will kill you. You can’t be seen here.”

  “He went to the stables, but we don’t have long. I can take you, hide you until the rain stops. I can get you out of the city, we could go anywhere. Disappear.” He was pulling off the covers, talking fast, but she caught his hands in hers.

  “You don’t understand. He’ll find me, and then he’ll kill you. I—” Her voice broke with emotion. She swallowed hard and tried again. “I greatly appreciate you, Silas, but I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. Please go. Just forget you ever saw me and...” But she had no more words. He had to leave. She squeezed his hands before she released them, another chance of freedom slipping from her grasp.

  “I’ll fight him then. We can—”

  “You don’t understand, he’ll destroy you.” Visions of him fighting off two violent mals were all she could see. If he could do that, Silas would be nothing to dispatch. “I wish I could tell you everything, but there isn’t time.”

  He straightened, pain and confusion in every feature. She could see his inner struggle—wanting to argue, wanting to help her.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, offering him a smile. “I always am.”

  Before he could respond, the door opened. The creaking hinges were an ominous sound, signaling Death’s arrival.

  “Fuck,” Silas cursed.

  Rel was already moving out from under the covers to stand between the mercenary and the hunter. Even as she swayed with dizziness and her tender ankle protested, she put her arms out to shield him.

  Devdan marked her. With his head slanted down and his tempest-filled gaze, he watched her in that way of his—as if she were prey running around in a trap he had prepared long before she realized it was sprung. His large form filled the entryway, and without looking away from her, he closed the door behind him.

  “What’s this?” His voice was eerily calm as if he’d known exactly what he would find when he opened the door. He began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, casually preparing for a fight. They called him the Wolf of Romul, but right then, he wore Death’s face. He was the god of it and had come to collect.

  “Let him go,” Rel pleaded. “He was just checking on me. I told him everything is fine, husband.”

  “Hmm,” he paused in his actions, considering her request. His gaze went from hers to Silas behind her, and she heard the mercenary involuntarily inhale.

  A knowing smirk curled the hunter’s mouth. “You’re lying is no better than your knife skills. Or your escape plans. I told you what would happen if he became a problem.”

  Silas, for his part, drew a crude-looking knife, the room much too small to use his sword strapped to his back. Closing his other hand around her arm, he attempted to pull Rel out of the way.

  She held her ground the best she could, putting weight on her bad ankle with a hiss.

  Devdan’s eyes darkened a moment before he pulled out a dagger—the same one he’d eviscerated the malwolf with just last night. He twirled it in his hand. “And you said he wasn’t an idiot.”

  Silas scoffed, pressing against her again. “Let’s be done with it then,” he said harshly.

  “Just stop.” She grabbed Silas’ forearm to calm him and motioned for Devdan to lower his weapon.

  But the hunter stepped forward instead with predatory intent. “Let’s.” And gods, she’d seen him fight, had fought him herself. If he wanted to kill the mercenary, there was nothing she would be able to do to stop it.

  “Do you have another weapon?” Rel asked Silas desperately. Maybe if they took him on together…

  But he pushed her out of the way and, landing on her bad ankle, she crumpled to the floor.

  “Don’t kill him!” she screamed, scrambling back to her feet, but it was too late.

  It took Devdan only a moment to close the distance between him and the mercenary. Silas attacked, his skill with a knife impressive, but not enough. The hunter dodged it easily, planting his fist in the other man’s face. A sound of cracking bone preceded blood gushing from his nose. The mercenary managed to recover enough to dazedly block an attack. But after the briefest of struggles, his knife spun high, and Devdan swiped it out of the air deftly. Silas was against the wall, his own blade at his throat.

  Silas bit out a curse, his hands coming up in surrender.

  “He’s just one man,” Rel said hurriedly, grabbing Devdan’s arm. “You can’t kill him here anyway!”

  When Devdan didn’t even glance at her, only pressing the blade harder into the mercenary’s throat, causing blood to pool on the silver edge, she tugged at his arm.

  “Devdan, please…” Her voice was hoarse.

  He turned his head to look at her, his focus moving from her hand to her eyes with such intensity she almost let his arm go. Instead, as soothingly as she could, she said, “I promise he’ll leave and never come back.”

  His gaze found Silas again, considering, assessing. Then he lowered the blade.

  The mercenary breathed a sigh of relief.

  But not even a second later, Devdan brought the knife down into his thigh, burying it to the hilt. Silas groaned, clenching his teeth as he doubled over from the pain.

  Rel gasped, lunging at the hunter, but he merely pushed her back. As sick as she was, it took little force to send her off balance.

  Stepping away from the mercenary, Devdan motioned with a tilt of his head toward the door. “If I see you again anywhere between here and Romul, that knife will be in your throat instead.”

  Silas spared Rel a single glance. His face was covered in blood, his blue eyes full of unshed tears. He had come for her, but he wasn’t enough. Never had anyone tried to rescue her before, and now it had happened twice in less than a day, and neither were pleasant experiences.

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, her voice lost somewhere in the depths of her.

  Silas’ gaze hardened before he looked away from her. Limping across the room, knife still in his thigh, he left her with the Wolf.

  The moment the door shut, Rel exhaled hard, slumping down on the bed from exhaustion.

  “You’re ill,” Devdan stated.

  “Obviously,” she said through gritted teeth. The room was spinning, the hunter just a dark blur in her vision.

  He didn’t say anything else before he left.

  But as she crawled into the bed, she only had a singular thought.

 

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