Rift (46 page)

With a movement of such grace and strength that it stunned Alistair, Cian took hold of Mercer and Fitch—one in each hand—and threw them in opposite directions. Mercer rolled over once before jumping to his feet. He had no weapon to draw, but his fists were raised. Fitch, either reeling from Cian’s sudden intervention or still shocked that Mercer had regained consciousness, fell back onto his hands and heels.

Cian’s sword hissed out of its scabbard. “What is this talk of treachery?”

Mercer stared at her, and without breaking her gaze, he pointed at Fitch. “There is your traitor.”

When Cian glanced at Fitch, his eyes bulged. He began to crawl backward like a crab. “You . . . you—”

“Yes, traitor.” Cian moved toward Fitch. “You should fear me.”

When Alistair realized Cian’s intention, he rushed at her. “No! Wait!”

He didn’t reach her in time. Cian brought her blade down in a clean arc, and Fitch’s head toppled from his body.

“Damn your impatience!” Alistair watched blood pour out of Fitch’s severed neck. “He was the one who came to me seeking aid. Why would you kill him?”

Unruffled by Alistair’s fury, Cian said, “Your companion claimed he had a confession to make. One must sin to require confession. Fitch’s face spoke to me plainly of his guilt. I’ve no doubt that his sins were great.”

Alistair was shaking with outrage when she walked away from him.

Mercer stood still, face pale and fists raised. His expression was resigned, as though he expected to meet the same end by Cian’s sword.

“You’ve seen how we deal with traitors.” Cian spoke slowly to Mercer, holding his gaze. “Perhaps you would like a chance to confess, and if your contrition proves genuine, you’ll be shown mercy.”

Drawing a sharp breath, Mercer said quietly, “You cut him down like a common thief. I desire none of your mercy, and I have nothing to confess.”

“Very well.” Cian raised her sword.

“Put down your sword, Cian,” Eira commanded. “When did my sister become a barbarian?”

Cian paused, glancing at Eira. “Death is the penalty for traitors.”

“Of course it is,” Eira answered. “But we’ve yet to learn the cause of these accusations.”

“Lord Hart brought the men.” Cian turned to Alistair. “I assume he has the answers we need.”

Alistair jumped forward, speaking as quickly as he could. “I found Fitch in the stables. He’d beaten Mercer senseless and claimed there was a conspiracy against Conatus.”

“Is there any truth to his story?” Eira asked him.

Alistair looked with regret at Fitch’s headless body before he answered. “I don’t know, my lady. Fitch desired to make a full confession to you personally. That’s why I brought him here.”

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” Eira told Cian. “It was reckless.”

Cian returned Eira’s stare without flinching. “To my mind, they’re both traitors. The only difference between the two is that Fitch was clearly the coward. I took his head to make a point. A necessary one.”

“You let your temper get the best of you, and you dishonor yourself by making excuses for it.” Eira regarded her sister coolly. “Go with Alistair and take Mercer to the stockade. Secure him there until we know the truth of this.”

Cian gave a curt nod and then said to Alistair, “Wait here. I’ll bring irons to bind him before we go to the stockade.”

Alistair nodded. The chaos in the room gave way to an uneasy quiet. Alistair heard Fionn retching behind the tree.

Claudio approached them cautiously. He eyed Mercer, gauging whether any threat remained.

Mercer stared blankly ahead, giving no sign of worry that Alistair stood close by with his sword drawn in case of any trouble.

“You’re going to question him, then?” Claudio asked Eira.

“I know one more suited to the task than I,” Eira answered. “I’ll ask Lord Mar to join us shortly.”

Eira walked in a slow circle around Mercer, looking the knight up and down. Her smile made Alistair shiver.

Turn the page for the first chapter of

the book that began it all

I’D ALWAYS WELCOMED WAR, BUT IN BATTLE
my passion rose unbidden.

The bear’s roar filled my ears. Its hot breath assaulted my nostrils, fueling my bloodlust. Behind me I could hear the boy’s ragged gasp. The desperate sound made my nails dig into the earth. I snarled at the larger predator again, daring it to try to get past me.

What the hell am I doing?

I risked a glance at the boy and my pulse raced. His right hand pressed against the gashes in his thigh. Blood surged between his fingers, darkening his jeans until they looked streaked by black paint. Slashes in his shirt barely covered the red lacerations that marred his chest. A growl rose in my throat.

I crouched low, muscles tensed, ready to strike. The grizzly rose onto its hind legs. I held my ground.

Calla!

Bryn’s cry sounded in my mind. A lithe brown wolf darted from the forest and tore into the bear’s unguarded flank. The grizzly turned, landing on all fours. Spit flew from its mouth as it searched for the unseen attacker. But Bryn, lightning fast, dodged the bear’s lunge. With each swipe of the grizzly’s trunk-thick arms, she avoided its reach, always moving a split second faster than the bear. She seized her advantage, inflicting another taunting bite. When the bear’s back was turned, I leapt forward and ripped a chunk from its heel. The bear swung around to face me, its eyes rolling, filled with pain.

Bryn and I slunk along the ground, circling the huge animal. The bear’s blood made my mouth hot. My body tensed. We continued our ever-tightening dance. The bear’s eyes tracked us. I could smell its doubt, its rising fear. I let out a short, harsh bark and flashed my fangs. The grizzly snorted as it turned away and lumbered into the forest.

I raised my muzzle and howled in triumph. A moan brought me back to earth. The hiker stared at us, eyes wide. Curiosity pulled me toward him. I’d betrayed my masters, broken their laws. All for him.

Why?

My head dropped low and I tested the air. The hiker’s blood streamed over his skin and onto the ground, the sharp, coppery odor creating an intoxicating fog in my conscience. I fought the temptation to taste it.

Calla?
Bryn’s alarm pulled my gaze from the fallen hiker.

Get out of here.
I bared my teeth at the smaller wolf. She dropped low and bellied along the ground toward me. Then she raised her muzzle and licked the underside of my jaw.

What are you going to do?
her blue eyes asked me.

She looked terrified. I wondered if she thought I’d kill the boy for my own pleasure. Guilt and shame trickled through my veins.

Bryn, you can’t be here. Go. Now.

She whined but slunk away, slipping beneath the cover of pine trees.

I stalked toward the hiker. My ears flicked back and forth. He struggled for breath, pain and terror filling his face. Deep gashes remained where the grizzly’s claws had torn at his thigh and chest. Blood still flowed from the wounds. I knew it wouldn’t stop. I growled, frustrated by the fragility of his human body.

He was a boy who looked about my age: seventeen, maybe eighteen. Brown hair with a slight shimmer of gold fell in a mess around his face. Sweat had caked strands of it to his forehead and cheeks. He was lean, strong—someone who could find his way around a mountain, as he clearly had. This part of the territory was only accessible through a steep, unwelcoming trail.

The scent of fear covered him, taunting my predatory instincts, but beneath it lay something else—the smell of spring, of nascent leaves and thawing earth. A scent full of hope. Possibility. Subtle and tempting.

I took another step toward him. I knew what I wanted to do, but it would mean a second, much-greater violation of the Keepers’ Laws. He tried to move back but gasped in pain and collapsed onto his elbows. My eyes moved over his face. His chiseled jaw and high cheekbones twisted in agony. Even writhing he was beautiful, muscles clenching and unclenching, revealing his strength, his body’s fight against its impending collapse, rendering his torture sublime. Desire to help him consumed me.

I can’t watch him die.

I shifted forms before I realized I’d made the decision. The boy’s eyes widened when the white wolf who’d been eyeing him was no longer an animal, but a girl with the wolf’s golden eyes and platinum blond hair. I walked to his side and dropped to my knees. His entire body shook. I began to reach for him but hesitated, surprised to feel my own limbs trembling. I’d never been so afraid.

A rasping breath pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Who are you?” The boy stared at me. His eyes were the color of winter moss, a delicate shade that hovered between green and gray. I was caught there for a moment. Lost in the questions that pushed through his pain and into his gaze.

I raised the soft flesh of my inner forearm to my mouth. Willing my canines to sharpen, I bit down hard and waited until my own blood touched my tongue. Then I extended my arm toward him.

“Drink. It’s the only thing that can save you.” My voice was low but firm.

The trembling in his limbs grew more pronounced. He shook his head.

“You have to,” I growled, showing him canines still razor sharp from opening the wound in my arm. I hoped the memory of my wolf form would terrorize him into submission. But the look on his face wasn’t one of horror. The boy’s eyes were full of wonder. I blinked at him and fought to remain still. Blood ran along my arm, falling in crimson drops onto the leaf-lined soil.

His eyes snapped shut as he grimaced from a surge of renewed pain. I pressed my bleeding forearm against his parted lips. His touch was electric, searing my skin, racing through my blood. I bit back a gasp, full of wonder and fear at the alien sensations that rolled through my limbs.

He flinched, but my other arm whipped around his back, holding him still while my blood flowed into his mouth. Grasping him, pulling him close only made my blood run hotter.

I could tell he wanted to resist, but he had no strength left. A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. Even if my own body was reacting unpredictably, I knew I could control his. I shivered when his hands came up to grasp my arm, pressing into my skin. The hiker’s breath came easily now. Slow, steady.

An ache deep within me made my fingers tremble. I wanted to run them over his skin. To skim the healing wounds and learn the contours of his muscles.

I bit my lip, fighting temptation.
Come on, Cal, you know better. This isn’t like you.

I pulled my arm from his grasp. A whimper of disappointment emerged from the boy’s throat. I didn’t know how to grapple with my own sense of loss now that I wasn’t touching him.
Find your strength, use the wolf.
That’s who you are.

With a warning growl I shook my head, ripping a length of fabric from the hiker’s torn shirt to bind up my own wound. His moss-colored eyes followed my every movement.

I scrambled to my feet and was startled when he mimicked the action, faltering only slightly. I frowned and took two steps back. He watched my retreat, then looked down at his ripped clothing. His fingers gingerly picked at the shreds of his shirt. When his eyes lifted to meet mine, I was hit with an unexpected swell of dizziness. His lips parted. I couldn’t stop looking at them. Full, curving with interest, lacking the terror I’d expected. Too many questions flickered in his gaze.

I have to get out of here.
“You’ll be fine. Get off the mountain. Don’t come near this place again,” I said, turning away.

A shock sparked through my body when the boy gripped my shoulder. He looked surprised but not at all afraid. That wasn’t good. Heat flared along my skin where his fingers held me fast. I waited a moment too long, watching him, memorizing his features before I snarled and shrugged off his hand.

“Wait—” he said, and took another step toward me.

What if I could wait, putting my life on hold in this moment? What if I stole a little more time and caught a taste of what had been so long forbidden? Would it be so wrong? I would never see this stranger again. What harm could come from lingering here, from holding still and learning whether he would try to touch me the way I wanted to him to?