Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Chapter 31

Nyra exploded into the clearing like a bolt of silver lightning.

She didn’t think. She didn’t plan. She simply moved her body acting on instinct, guided by a power she had never known she possessed. The silver light that had been pulsing beneath her skin now blazed openly, streaming from her hands and arms like wisps of moonfire. Her short sword felt weightless in her grip. Her muscles, exhausted moments ago, sang with renewed strength.

A rogue lunged at Kael’s exposed flank. Nyra was there before it could sink its teeth into his white fur, her blade carving an arc through the air that caught the creature across the throat. It crumpled with a shocked yelp, and she was already turning, already moving toward the next threat.

Left side, Luna said, her voice calm and clear in Nyra’s mind. Two of them, trying to circle behind him.

"I see them."

Then show them what happens to those who attack our mate.

Nyra didn’t hesitate. She intercepted the first rogue with a spinning kick that Soren himself had drilled into her weeks ago, sending it crashing into a tree. The second lunged at her throat, and she dropped low, driving her blade upward through its chest. It fell. She rose.

And Kael turned to look at her.

The massive white wolf paused mid-fight, his golden eyes widening with something that went beyond surprise. He had seen her fight before had watched her struggle through drills and sparring matches, had corrected her form and pushed her past her limits. But this was different. This was not the hesitant prince who flinched at shadows. This was a warrior wreathed in silver light, moving with a grace and ferocity that rivaled his own.

And there was something else. Something he sensed more than saw. A presence within her that hadn’t been there before. A second heartbeat. A second soul. Her wolf. Awake. Alive.

"Mate," Kael growled, the word rumbling out of him like distant thunder.

Nyra turned toward him. Blood streaked her face. Sweat plastered her silver hair to her forehead. But when she met his golden eyes, she smiled a fierce, radiant thing that made his heart stutter in his massive chest.

"Took you long enough to notice," she said.

Then she spun and drove her blade into another rogue, and the fight resumed.

They moved together like they had been fighting side by side for years. Kael was the storm overwhelming power, crushing force, jaws and claws that tore through the enemy like paper. Nyra was the lightning fast, precise, striking at every opening his attacks created. When a rogue dodged his charge, she was there to meet it. When two tried to flank her, his massive body was suddenly between them, his roar scattering them like leaves.

He’s magnificent, Luna sighed happily. Look at the way he just crushed that one’s skull. So efficient. So powerful. We chose well.

"Can you focus on the fight, please?"

I can do both. I’m a wolf. Multitasking is what we do.

A rogue broke through their guard and lunged at Nyra’s legs. She leaped over it, landed on its back, and drove her dagger into the base of its skull. It collapsed beneath her, and she rolled off, already scanning for the next threat.

Kael was watching her again. Even in the chaos of battle, his golden eyes kept finding her, tracking her movements with something that looked almost like wonder.

He’s impressed, Luna said. And more than a little turned on.

"Luna!"

What? I’m just saying what we’re both thinking.

The last of the rogue pack fell beneath Kael’s claws, and suddenly the clearing was silent except for the harsh rasp of their breathing and the drip of blood onto moss. Bodies littered the ground a dozen rogues, maybe more, their scarred forms twisted in death.

But the leader was still standing.

And it still had Valeria.

Killian’s arm was on fire.

The rogue had come from nowhere a lean, vicious thing with claws that gleamed with something dark and oily. It had raked across his forearm before he could dodge, and now the wound was not healing. He could feel his wolf struggling, trying to close the gash, but whatever coated those claws was interfering. Wolfsbane, maybe. Or something worse.

He had lost track of his team. The battle had scattered them across the eastern sector like leaves in a storm. Proctor Kane had been separated from the group early on, chasing a pack of rogues that had tried to flank them. Xavier was somewhere to the north Killian had heard his distinctive whistle before the sounds of fighting swallowed it. Nikolai had simply vanished, as silent in disappearance as he was in everything else.

And Aldric was dead. The first-year’s body lay somewhere behind him, cold and still and utterly forgotten.

Killian pressed his back against a tree and tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped from his fingers, staining the moss at his feet. His vision was starting to blur at the edges.

Get up, he told himself. Get up and keep fighting. If you die here, Thorne wins. Corvin will never look at you. Get up.

But his legs wouldn’t obey. The wolfsbane was spreading, a cold numbness creeping up his arm toward his shoulder.

A howl echoed through the trees. Close. Too close.

Killian gripped his sword with his good hand and waited.

The forest had swallowed them whole.

Ragnar and Finn moved through the mist like shadows, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of dead leaves. They were alone now Marek had chased after a rogue with Tomas and neither had returned, Ashford had been separated during the chaos, and the Proctor’s apprentice had vanished while covering their retreat. Even Senior Lecturer Valdis, their instructor in charge, was gone, last seen fending off three rogues with nothing but a broken blade and sheer determination.

It was just the two of them now.

Finn was trembling. Not from cold though the Mistwood was freezing but from the aftershock of combat. His tunic was soaked with blood, some of it his own, most of it not. A gash across his ribs was slowly healing, his wolf working overtime to close the wound. His eyes were too wide, darting at every shadow.

"Finn." Ragnar’s voice was rough but gentle. "Look at me."

Finn looked at him. His face was pale beneath the bloodstains.

"We’re going to be alright."

"How do you know?" Finn’s voice cracked. "Marek is gone. Valdis is gone. We heard the flares, two of them, Ragnar. Two people just surrendered. That could be anyone. That could be—"

"Stop." Ragnar caught his shoulders. "Breathe. You’re spiraling."

Finn tried to breathe. It came out as a sob.

Ragnar guided him to a fallen tree and made him sit. The moss was damp, the bark rough against his back, but it was solid. Something to hold onto.

"Let me see that wound." Ragnar knelt in front of him and peeled back the torn fabric of Finn’s tunic. The gash was ugly deep enough to need attention, not deep enough to be fatal. His wolf was already working on it, but progress was slow.

"I’m scared," Finn whispered. "I know I’m not supposed to say that. I know I’m supposed to be brave. But I’m scared, Ragnar."

Ragnar didn’t answer with words. He tore a strip from his own shirt and wrapped it around Finn’s ribs, his scarred hands surprisingly gentle. When the bandage was secure, he cupped Finn’s face in both hands and kissed his forehead. His eyelids. The tear tracks on his cheeks.

Then he kissed his mouth.

It was not the desperate kiss from the briefing room. It was slower. Deeper. A reassurance instead of a demand.

"You’re allowed to be scared," Ragnar murmured against his lips. "Everyone’s scared. I’m scared. But being scared doesn’t mean you’re not brave. It means you’re still alive."

Finn kissed him back, his hands fisting in Ragnar’s torn shirt. "Don’t leave me."

"I’m not going anywhere."

"Promise me."

"I promise." Ragnar pressed their foreheads together. "We’re getting out of this forest together. Both of us. That’s not a hope. That’s a fact."

Finn laughed weakly. "You sound like me."

"Maybe you’re rubbing off on me." Ragnar kissed him once more, soft and brief. "Now get up. We need to find the others before the rogues do."

He offered his hand. Finn took it.

The rogue leader was cornered, but it was not defeated.

It stood at the edge of the clearing, its massive body trembling with exhaustion and fury. Its pack was dead. Its trap had failed. The white wolf and the silver-haired prince had cut through its forces like a scythe through wheat. But it still had one card left to play.

Valeria.

She hung limp in its grip, her throat caught between its claws, her dark hair dragging on the moss. She was beginning to stir her eyelids fluttering, her fingers twitching but she was still too weak to fight, too dazed to understand what was happening.

Soren had shifted back.

The transformation was swift and brutal, fur retreating, bones cracking, the white wolf collapsing inward until it was a man again. He stood naked in the center of the clearing, his body streaked with blood and sweat, his chest heaving. He took a cloth and covered his body with it, luckily his clothes were not fully torn and he took a cloth from a rogue beside him. The wound on his shoulder was still bleeding, but his eyes were clear and hard as he faced the rogue leader.

"Let her go," he said.

The leader’s laugh was a hollow, rattling thing. "Let her go? She’s the only thing keeping you from killing me."

"You’re going to die either way. The only question is whether it’s quick or slow."

"Bold words from a man who just exhausted himself saving his pack." The leader’s claws tightened around Valeria’s throat. She let out a weak, choking sound. "I know about you, Sword Sovereign. I know about your sense of duty. Your precious honor. You won’t risk her life, even to kill me."

Soren didn’t move. But his eyes flicked to Valeria’s face and he saw it.

Her eyes were open.

She was awake.

He gave the signal. A slight tilt of his head. A deliberate glance at the leader’s exposed flank. Stay quiet. Wait for my mark.

Valeria’s response was almost imperceptible the barest tightening of her jaw, the faintest flex of her fingers. She understood.

"You’re right," Soren said, stepping closer. His voice was calm, almost conversational. "I won’t risk her life. But you’ve made one mistake."

The leader’s eyes narrowed. "What mistake?"

"You assumed she needed me to save her."

Valeria struck.

Her claws wolf claws, sharp and deadly sprang from her fingertips and drove deep into the rogue’s exposed side. It howled in shock and pain, its grip loosening just enough for her to twist free and scramble away. She ran to Soren, putting him between her and the staggering rogue, her chest heaving with terror and fury.

And Nyra moved.

She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She ran at the rogue leader full speed, her feet pounding against the blood-soaked moss, and at the last possible second she leaped.

Luna’s power surged through her, lending her strength and speed she had never known. She sailed through the air like an arrow, her dagger coated in wolfsbane and poison, the very thing the rogues had used against Lucian gripped in both hands.

The rogue leader looked up. Its yellow eyes widened.

Nyra drove the blade into its throat.

The impact jarred her arms. Hot blood sprayed across her face. The rogue made a sound a wet, choking gurgle and its eyes went wide with shock. Its massive body swayed once, twice, and then crashed to the ground with enough force to shake the clearing.

Silence.

Nyra stood over the body, her chest heaving, her dagger still buried in the rogue’s throat. The silver light was fading now, retreating back beneath her skin, leaving her trembling and hollow and utterly exhausted.

She turned.

Soren was staring at her. His face was unreadable the hard lines of his jaw, the intensity of his dark eyes but there was something in his expression she had never seen before. Something that looked almost like awe.

"You," he said slowly, "just killed the rogue leader."

"I did."

"With a wolfsbane-coated dagger."

"It seemed appropriate."

He took a step toward her. "You came after me. You broke formation. You ran into the forest alone and nearly got yourself killed."

"I know."

Another step. "You fought beside me. You watched my back. You—" He stopped, as if the words were too big to get out. "You were magnificent."

Nyra’s heart stuttered. "Magnificent?"

"Magnificent." He was close now, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold still lingering in his eyes. "You’ve been holding out on me, little prince."

"Princess," she corrected quietly. "I think we’re past the point of pretending."

"Princess." He tested the word, and his lips curved into something that was almost a smile. "Princess Nyra. Who fights like a demon and carries wolfsbane in her pocket."

"Corvin gave it to me. For protection."

The almost-smile flickered. "Of course he did."

"He’s not—" Nyra started, but she was too tired to finish the sentence. Too tired to explain everything Corvin had told her at the lake. Too tired to think about mate bonds and prophecies and the impossible tangle of feelings that had become her life.

"He’s not what?" Soren asked.

"I don’t know. Nothing. Everything." She swayed on her feet. "Can we talk about this later? I think I’m about to collapse."

Soren caught her before she fell. His arms were warm and solid and smelled of blood and pine and something that was uniquely him.

"I’ve got you," he said.

And for the first time in her life, Nyra believed it.