Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Yrsa’s face when she’d spotted Undara on his arm had been unreadable, Dagny’s eloquent: Uh, men. Prying looks had followed him all evening. He’d barely tasted the food.
I am wed. The thought had looped like a curse. Wed to an enemy, not by his choosing—but wed. For the first time, another thought had cut through: What if Emilia doesn’t mean harm to us?
He kept picturing her when he’d left. A tight smile on a too-pale face, those amber eyes unblinking.
Not jealous. Defeated. Yet he hadn’t once seen that look in all her harsh training.
He lurched to his feet, toppling Undara onto the bed. “Apologies.” He searched for his clothing.
“You are in a state, aren’t you?” She smoothed her flaxen hair from her face. “She’s a vampire, Arctos.”
“Yes.” Pants? There.
“A bloodthief by birth.”
“Yes.” Tunic.
“She might mean your people harm.”
“Yes.” Boots!
“She might…not.”
He met her gaze and gave one short nod. If Emilia was innocent, then she deserved what she’d been promised: a place in the clan. His actions tonight had undermined that prospect. He buckled his sword belt and echoed Undara’s words. “She might not.”
“Then go to her,” Undara said simply, “and figure that out.”
From a distance, his name carried again: “Arctos!”
Emilia.
He bolted out into the night. Deserted—everyone still feasting. Once he neared his home, he yelled, “Lia!”
No answer. No fucking guard? Inside, her cloak and sword were gone. Outside, a red-faced sentry fumbled with his breeches while a woman adjusted her clothes.
“Where is Emilia?”
Thick swallow. “I don’t know, sir. She must’ve slipped out.”
No time for fury. “Say nothing. Find Torben alone. Send him to the river.” Arctos ran.
Gusts funneled through the ravines, each corridor with its own voice, a symphony of howls. He charged into the wind, head low, blade ready.
Suspicions flared and dimmed with each stride. Was she meeting an accomplice? Fleeing a poisoned feast? He shoved them aside and hunted for what he needed.
Scent.
There—faint, then stronger, threaded with cold. He followed it to the river’s edge and found tracks. Her pack and a loaf tossed aside. Beside them: prints the size of platters. Bear. A nearby shelf of ice, edges shattered.
He sprinted to an overlook. Moonlight illuminated the current—and her, small and flailing far downstream.
He leapt over boulders, sprinting faster than the current. He knew every bend, every snag. If he beat the river to the bottleneck, he could pull her; if he failed, she’d go over the falls and onto stone teeth.
She’d likely drown first.
Adrenaline pumped. Questions swirled.
Why escape to the ice? Why not fight?
Later. Move. Berserkerage beckoned, but he throttled it. His inner bear might instantly rise, but when it did, a total, consuming rage blotted out his sense. He needed the extra speed, but he needed to think. “Lia!” he roared when she surfaced.
She jerked her head back, saw him closing in. Their gazes locked for an instant.
Help me, hers said.
Coming for you, his answered.
She bobbed and vanished. His heart convulsed. He let his Berserkerage bleed into his muscles, not enough to blind him, just enough to burn.
He dove.
Knives of cold stabbed him. The current punched him end over end, white churn dimming his vision.
There. A pale shape, caught in the snarl just before the drop.
He kicked. Fingers grazed hair, slipped, then caught. He fisted the sodden length and hauled her in.
The river seized them both, dragging them toward the lip. He could let her go and survive.
No.
He fed his rage, and power flooded his limbs as he kicked, clawing inches. A boot skimmed rock. He lunged, slammed his free hand into the ice shelf. Again. Again—until a jagged channel opened. He dragged them through and hauled her onto stone.
No breath. Fighting to tamp down his rage, he sealed his mouth over hers and pushed his exhalations into quiet lungs. Another breath. Another.
Her heart lay silent under his palm.
Have I lost her? He rose to start compressions, but her body convulsed. Relief sailed through him when her heart stuttered back to life.
She rolled to her side and heaved water, coughing, shaking.
Only then did he sink back, the last of the Berserker heat draining into fury. They were feet from the falls!
She swiped her sleeve over her blue lips and gingerly sat up. “Th-that was close. Y-you saved me. Thank—”
“Who were you meeting?” he grated.
She blinked at him. “Meeting?” Her confusion looked real. “I-I was leaving Ravinelun.”
The bread backed her story. “When did you learn the ravines?”
“Half an hour ago?”
“How?”
“Necessity.”
“You gave no thought to the dangers of leaving?”
She sputtered, “You n-never told me bears would attack!”
“They’re usually farther out.” He stabbed his fingers through his icy hair. “You could’ve been killed, just months before you’re fully immortal.”
“I-I want you to have your old life! And I want a life too.” Her voice shook. “This isn’t fair to either of us.”
But it had been royally decreed. If Yrsa learned she’d fled…