Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 93948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“How does one call the Wild Hunt?”
I stop short and look down to where Nox’s eyes flutter open. Just like that, all I’m thinking about is them. I go to my knees next to the bed. “What the fuck were you thinking, overstretching yourself like that?”
“I wasn’t…” They lift a hand to their brow and wince. “Going under again soon. Don’t panic.” Their words gain a woozy affect and their eyes slide shut.
It takes everything I have not to shake them awake just to reassure myself that they’re okay. From the tension radiating off Bastian, he’s harboring similar feelings. It’s only when Nox’s breathing evens out again that I rock back on my heels and sigh. “They’re so damned dramatic.”
“To the bitter end.” Bastian moves to sit back on the edge of the bed. “What did they mean? About calling the Wild Hunt?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea.” The words make something toll in my chest, and I rub the back of my hand over my sternum. “We’ll ask them when they wake up, I guess.”
Bastian nods slowly. He pats the bed next to him. “Might as well sit down.”
I almost tell him to get out. My pride has the words pressing against the inside of my teeth, but I forcibly swallow them back down. The truth is that I don’t want to be alone, counting Nox’s steady breaths for the rest of the night. I don’t know how to heal the fissure of hurt between me and Bastian, but he’s been my closest companion, my lover, for years. It’s so simple to climb onto the bed next to him and let my shoulder rest against his.
How many times have we sat like this? I don’t know. I couldn’t begin to count. The familiarity helps as much as anything, bringing relaxation with every inhale. I don’t mean to close my eyes, but I stir sometime later to the sound of Bastian snoring lightly, my head propped on his shoulder. I’m as much a fool as anyone, because instead of moving away, I allow my eyes to close and sleep to take me once again.
Bastian
The night passes quickly enough. Despite my exhaustion and newly full stomach, I don’t sleep for long. How can I, when I’m watching Nox and Siobhan, certain that if I close my eyes, they’ll stop breathing?
It’s foolish. Magical burnout is dangerous, but it’s on a spectrum ranging from taking a forced nap to death, and it’s clear Nox is nowhere near death—even if they’re actively endangering their power supply. I can actually watch the color return to their face and chest. They’ll be fine.
Siobhan is another story, but nothing as simple as a good night’s sleep will help what ails her. I don’t know how to tell her that she doesn’t have to do it alone—or at least how to tell her in a way that she’ll actually hear. We were part of a rebellion up to this point. Now we’re in a war.
Nox’s question from earlier rings through my head. How does one call the Wild Hunt? I know the term, of course. It’s not necessarily part of our history here in Threshold, but as part of my duties to the rebellion, I have encountered people from more realms than I can begin to count. In our time together, those people talked—especially when they encountered familiar terms in an unfamiliar world.
The problem with myth is that it’s ancient history to the point of fiction. We can look for clues in the stories passed down in various realms, but they’ve evolved over the generations to be almost unrecognizable. There’s not going to be a handy solution in those stories…but it can’t hurt to gather as much information as I can before these two wake.
Or maybe that’s just an excuse to move, to leave the room where I feel so damned helpless. To divorce myself from the agonizing moment between exhale and inhale of the slumbering pair.
I slip out of the room and head down to the kitchen to grab another quick snack—and watch the crew come through. It’s right around time for a normal shift change. I don’t know how Nox runs their ship, but shifts are common on every ship I’ve been on. It’s a reasonable assumption that they do the same here.
Sure enough, roughly fifteen minutes after I take a seat in the middle of the room, people start filing in, wiping sleep from their eyes and muttering greetings. I didn’t get the best look at folks last night for obvious reasons, but a quick count tells me that Nox isn’t running a full crew. There are some familiar faces from the rescue, but the only one I know for sure is the vampire. I grab my food and move to sit at the table she shares with two plump women—one with fiery red hair and pale skin full of freckles, and the other with slightly less pale skin, short blond hair, and a network of tattoos on her chest.