Edge of the Falls (After the Fall) (8 page)

“They’d never shoot me.”

The voice is guttural, a sound of teeth and growls. It jerks my eyes up, and I gape at him. In all our stories of ban-wolves, I have never heard of one who could communicate in anything more than a scream. His lips twist around sharp teeth and he tosses his head, throwing his hair from his eyes. “Too many of them trained with me,” he says, and I stumble. He catches me, steadies me easily.

“Why?” I whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

I don’t specify what—protecting me, helping me, following me, watching me. I can see from the flicker in his golden eyes he knows
what.

An eerie scream, so close that it makes my ears hurt fills the night. He growls, low in his throat, a sound that sends chills down my spine. But he steps toward me, pulls me closer to the protection of his body. His claws are so gentle they don’t even snag the rough fabric of my shirt. I can feel the heat of him, he’s so close. “I don’t understand,” I whisper, peering up at him.

His golden eyes are gentle and frustrated, but he smiles a little, dipping down so his breath warms the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Neither do I.”

“
Sabah!”

The ban-wolf tenses as Berg throws himself at me, pulling me away. I cry out, reaching for—something? What?

Berg’s eyes scan me quickly, and some of his panic eases as he turns away, back to the ban-wolf.

The man-beast is furious, and as Berg faces him, I feel my heart sinking.

“Go inside, Sabah,” Berg says, his voice low.

“He wasn’t hurting me,” I protest, and Berg stiffens.

The wolf’s golden eyes skip to me, and Berg snarls, “Don’t you dare look at her, you filthy animal.” He reaches for me, jerking me close to him.

The ban-wolf attacks. Faster than I think is possible, he’s on Berg, bearing him down to the icy mud, his sharp teeth snapping at Berg’s face. Berg wrestles him off, and I see a knife gleaming in his hand.

“
No!”
I shriek without thinking, kicking wildly at his blade. Berg’s eyes—both their eyes—come up to me for a moment, united in their surprise. Then Berg slams his elbow in the ban-wolf’s chest, throwing him off and scrambling to his feet. The ban-wolf charges him, ramming his shoulders into Berg’s chest and slamming him into the wall of the outbuilding. It shudders ominously and Berg swings out, slamming his closed fist into the ban-wolf’s ear. The wolf stumbles back, shaking his head and snorting. Berg crashes back to the ground and the wolf is on him in seconds, pounding at his face. Blood sprays from Berg’s nose, and the ban-wolf throws his head back and screams. It’s primal and chilling, and I clamp my hands over my ears, my eyes clenched tight.

When he drops his head back down and snarls, the noise is so vicious, his expression so savage, I honestly think he’ll kill Berg—he’ll rip his throat out and vanish into the graylight and leave me with a corpse.

“
Stop,”
I shout.

It’s stunning, how fast he reacts. He snarls once more, but he’s standing next to me, staring at me, anger still smoldering in his eyes. His chest heaves, but he reaches for me, his long claws curving around my face. “Because you ask it—I’ll spare his life,” he growls. His eyes flick away into the darkness and I’m suddenly aware of the screams filling the night, calling to him. “But I can’t promise any of my pack will do the same. Take your boy and get out of the night, little one.” His hand—a white claw streaked with Berg’s blood, smooths down my hair, and I nod, once, as his eyes gentle. “Go,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of my pack.”

Then he’s bounding away from me, screaming into the night. I stumble to Berg. He’s watching me, his eyes wide and wild and hurt. Bruises are already forming on his face, and I have no idea what we’re going to tell the Mistress.

And for a moment, I can’t care—all that matters is that he stopped. I said to stop, and the ban-wolf had.

And I have no idea why.

Outside.

I lie in the darkness, listening. Shrieks and shouts come to me from beyond the Manor, muffled by thick walls and weathershields. The girls cluster around the window, and I roll over, propping myself up on my elbows to stare at them. Alba glances at me, a smug smile on her face.

“The Rovers are back.”

I smile, tight and amused. “Pity you’re busy with Longest Night preparations, isn’t it? I’m sure the boys will be quite disappointed.”

Anger darkens her eyes and for a heartbeat I feel guilty. When she opens her mouth to protest, I rise from my bed, arching an eyebrow.

Whatever she sees in my gaze silences her, and she stalks from the room. Lilith sends me a reproachful glare as she hurries out after Alba.

Kaida looks up as I approach the window, a mix of fascination and fear filling her eyes.

“Why are they here?” she asks, leaning into me.

I shrug, studying the untidy column of metal carts and animals. The carts are pitted and scarred and new and shiny—a mixture of vehicles that speak eloquently of the brevity of the Rovers.

But every cart bears the same tribe standard, a wide black swatch with a white tree standing over a bloody wolf. A smile curves my lips, and I find myself searching for him in the graylight.

“Sabah?” Spiro is standing in the doorway, nervous and fidgety. “The Mistress wants you.”

Her words, that night in the garret, whisper through me and for the first time I feel uneasy, hesitant. Am I the reason for the Rovers on our front step? Are those boys, racing the rapids and darkness, racing for any reason other than the adrenaline rush? Are they hoping to catch my eye? Is Hawke foolish enough to think it would work?

I nod at Spiro and turn to my trunk. Kaida is already rummaging through it, her hair poking out in uneven tufts. I run a hand over it absently as she pulls out a cream dress and thrusts it at me. “Wear this,” she says.

I arch an eyebrow at her, and she grins. “It’s your best outfit, Sabah—and you want to look good for Hawke.”

“You are far too young to know about that,” I say primly, taking the dress from her. Her chiming laughter fills the room as she scampers away.

The cream does look good on me, I reflect, brushing my hair back from my face and securing it in a loose knot. A few tendrils escape, curling around my face, and I hook them behind my ears, snatching the girls’ dirty clothes from the floor and hurrying downstairs. Gwen rushes past me, muttering under her breath. A small stack of cups wobbles and I reach out to steady it. “Mistress is waiting. Better hurry—she’s in a mood,” she says. “Here, take these cups. She’s in the kitchen.”

Mistress is standing, pacing in front of the hearth, when I almost run into the kitchen. She glances up and frowns. “You took long enough.”

“The Manor needs work—why didn’t you warn me they were coming?” I ask, dropping the cups into the washbasin.

“Because I didn’t know,” she snaps. ”You know how the tribes are—they move with the winds.”

I pause, taking a deep breath, my back still to her. “Do I have to make a decision?”

Behind me, there is a soft sigh and I turn. She’s holding out a cup of tea to me, and I take it, sitting down.

“Of course not. I will talk to the Rover, gauge his interest. You might spend some time with Hawke, consider that possibility. But no decision, not today.” A tiny smile curves her lips. “Unless you can’t live without Hawke for another day.”

I pause, my tea halfway to my mouth, to give her a dirty look.

She laughs, somehow mocking and self-disparaging all at once.

**

When I step outside, I’m startled by the noise. The tribes are a loud people, full of laughter and screaming and the shrill cries of the orphan children, yelling back and forth in an elaborate game of catch and find. A little girl falls, tucking and rolling through the snow until she comes to a halt by my feet. I smile down at her, dirty matted hair, sharp gray eyes, crooked teeth in a mischievous smirk.

“Sorry, Miss,” she says, popping to her feet. She grins once more before scrambling away, absorbed into the laughing mass of children and dogs.

Rovers always travel with massive packs of dogs, silent shadows ghosting along the caravan until something unfamiliar approaches. Hawke told me, before kissing me, that they were the best defense the tribes had ever found.

A wild shriek pierces the air and my heart spasms as I see a boy racing past the pine, running headlong into the air and water.

Everything freezes as he launches himself off the rocks, into nothing, and then I scream, running, knowing that nothing can be done. He’s gone, battered to death by rock and water.

An unfamiliar, strong hand snatches mine, jerking me around to collide with his hard chest. Hawke grins down at me, amusement flickering in his hard eyes. “Wait, little one,” he says.

From the Falls comes another wild cry, and then a round of laughter. I shake my head, jerking away from Hawke to see the other young men, lining the gorge, a few pulling on a rope, hauling something up the side of the Falls.

I sway, dizzy, and Hawke smirks. “It’s a game?” I mumble, looking at him.

He laughs. “Everything is a game, little one.”

I’m suddenly conscious of his hands on my hips, hard and proprietary. I step away, as casually as possible. Hawke hasn’t changed since I last saw him. He stands easily next to me, a bow rising from behind his shoulder. Bloodred strips of cloth wrap around his wrists—the mark of a protector, one of the few Rovers dedicated to nothing but guiding and protecting the tribe.

“What brings the tribe to Mlena?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge the boy they are still pulling back to safety.

“The winds,” he answers with a shrug. “The winds bring curious news and we bring curious treasures.” He grins, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

I stare at him, really look. He’s still handsome yet a casual danger surrounds him that makes me uneasy. Is it that he is not Berg? But the ban-wolf doesn’t affect me this way—doesn’t make me nervous and edgy.

Hawke goes still, his eyes coming back to me. “Sabah?” he asks, reaching for me.

I stumble back, my heart pounding. “I have to go,” I say, twisting to look at the Manor, at anything other than the wild people in front of me.

He steps in front of me, blocking my way, and anger roils in me. I narrow my eyes and Hawke tilts his head. “Something is different about you, little one. What is it?”

I shrug. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

A grin, a flash of teeth in the graylight, and his hands fist in my hair, pulling me close for a harsh, thorough kiss that makes my knees weaken. When he releases me, I stumble again, and he laughs. His voice is a sexy whisper as he slips past me. “Know you enough to know you’ve missed
that.”

I glare at the Manor, hating the way his laugh floats around me, hating the unrelenting darkness. And the very few choices that I have.

“Making friends, love?” Berg wraps an arm around my waist, hugging me close. I look up at him. His bruises have faded, almost vanishing completely in the past two weeks. But he’s still tense and distant. This is the most he’s touched me since he fought with the ban-wolf. I follow his gaze to where Hawke is being surrounded by the other protectors. Even in the midst of his peers, most of them older and more experienced than him, he seems aloof, apart.

It occurs to me that being the Rover’s son must be a very lonely life.

“Where is the Rover?” I ask, leaning into Berg, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“With the Mistress. Talking barters and,” I feel his gaze on me, “the future.”

I squirm in his embrace, twisting to bury my head. He rests his chin on my hair, staring at the tribe. “Do you think it would be a bad life, Sabah?”

A life of danger and winds and scavenging. A life of killing and fighting, of constant change, without anything to promise safety. The freedom is alluring, despite the danger. I watch Hawke as he spars with another boy, graceful in his brutality. I struggle not to shudder. “It’s not what I want.”

Berg pulls away from me, looking into my eyes. “Does that mean you want the City?”

I know what the answer should be. I know what he wants me to say—what he has expected, even if he won’t demand my answer.

Instead of answering, I go up on tiptoes, kiss him quick and soft, almost a promise. It’s enough, for now. Berg settles me against his side, arms around me comforting and warm.

I slip into the silent snowstorm. The children are exhausted from the excitement of the tribes, the older ones are a bit drunk. All of them are sleeping it off.

The night is eerie, darkness illuminated by the brilliance of the snow and the lights from Mlena. It makes everything different, a world apart from what I know. And fitting.

I dart through the night, to the outbuilding. He is never there, but I know the ban-wolf still comes. He leaves gifts: berries in a nest of grass, eggs stolen from a wren, wild mushrooms, tiny pots of dyes. One time it was a rabbit, skinned and roasted.

As much as I treasure the ban-wolf’s small offerings, I miss him. I have so many questions that still have no answers.

After he spoke to me, fought with Berg, and vanished into the night, I spent days waiting on him. Waiting and hoping he’d answer questions. When he did not return after a week, I researched, poring over the rumors that floated on the interwebs network. Like everything, it is controlled by the Commission and that limits the conspiracy theories and accusations. But there is no mention of a ban-wolf speaking.

Ever. And it does not explain his aggression, his sudden stop when I called to him. It doesn’t explain him saving Berg from his pack.

It leaves me with more questions than answers. All I have are gifts and lost sleep, and a mounting frustration at his continued absence.

The outbuilding is quiet. Snow lines the exterior, pristine in its beauty and conspicuously absent of footprints—none of the rovers have come near it, laws of hospitality keep our meager storage shed safe from their theft.

My heart sinks a bit, even though I have told myself not to hope.