Chapter 8

A n ash-coloured wolf stood between two trees, its long legs heavy with fur, its huge paws integrated into the mossy banking. Somewhere in between blurred vision and thick smoke, Emara could just make out that the wolf had its teeth bared and its feral face was covered in dark blood.

A growl ripped from its throat, and then the wolf crashed into the demon on top of her. Her lungs burned as the smoke-filled air rushed into them. Rolling onto her front, she pushed up, trying to get to her feet. The woods were brighter with the light of the flames, but Emara couldn't put the fire out yet. Water wasn't her strong point, and the wolf was struggling for dominance with the winged beast. Teeth snapped and animalistic sounds broke through the night as Emara found her spear lying on the ground.

Picking up her weapon of choice, she nervously leaned back on her right leg and put every ounce of strength she had behind her throw. The spear travelled through the air at an impressive rate and broke through the skull of the demon.

The beast's skull cracked open and the contents of the head spilled onto the ashen wolf. Before Emara could catch her breath, fur and legs became skin and limbs.

Breighly Baxgroll rolled to the side before the winged beast fell on top of her.

"Fuck me," Breighly said as she stood, panting outrageously. "He was a big one."

Emara blinked a few times, wiping the sweat from her brow. "That he was." She looked over at Breighly, who was naked as she puffed out a breath. "I had no idea you were hunting tonight."

"I could say the same for you." The wolf grinned. "I didn't think empresses were allowed to hunt."

"And I didn't think the princess of the alpha was allowed to join either."

"What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him." Breighly winked and pulled Emara's spear from the skull of the creature that lay dead on the ground. "This"—she tossed the spear and Emara caught it—"belongs to you."

She held in the ruby and the spear reduced in size. "Thank you," she said to the wolf she called a friend. "Thank you for saving me there. It was bold of you to take on that demon."

A sly grin slashed across Breighly's face. "Don't mention it. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I would do it again given the opportunity."

The wolf gave a small bow, and before Emara could say anything else, Breighly had turned and started running in the opposite direction from which she came. These were her woods, after all, and she knew them better than most.

Emara heard footsteps before a few figures broke through the smoke. Members of the Blacksteel Clan had found her.

A whistle came from Marcus Coldwell. "Well, well, well..." His smile glowed against his beautifully dark skin. "It looks like you are no longer an amateur fighter, taking out a beast that size."

"She's been training with the best." Artem swaggered through the clouded area, his tattoos a prominent feature coming from behind the smoke. "It's me. I am the best. Just in case you were thinking it was you, Coldwell."

Marcus let out a boyish laugh. "I got that you meant you, Stryker."

"I had help," Emara puffed out. "But she's gone now."

"She?" Artem asked as if he knew the possibilities of it being anyone but Breighly were slim.

"You missed her." Emara smiled in his direction. And his head snapped around, trying to look for a route she could have disappeared down.

Marcus ignored them. "Are you hurt? We heard screaming."

Emara peeled back her fighting gear on her wrists to reveal two wounds. She hissed as the material pulled skin along with it, and the pain seared up her arm from where the demon had held her.

"Oh, great! The Blacksteels are going to order my death." Artem groaned as he walked over to inspect it. "I bet you didn't feel that until we asked about it."

"No, I didn't," Emara said, now feeling sick with the pain.

"It's always the same," Marcus confirmed. "When the dust of the hunt settles, that's when the pain will kick in. The adrenaline of staying alive will always keep you moving."

It was also like that in her heart. The pain often kicked in when the adrenaline died down from a prime meeting or a training session. And when the dust settled down and she was left alone in the darkness of night, that was when thoughts of who she was, what she was, plagued her.

"Come on, let's get you back to the Tower with all your little wounds so I can prepare to die," Artem huffed and placed his arm around her.

Emara laughed at Artem's dramatics. She did always appreciate them when the mood could take a sombre turn. But she would never tell him just how much she appreciated having him around; she didn't need to live in the misery of him bragging for decades.

Marcus roared through the trees, "I will try and round up the clan." He then turned to them. "It's not the same without Torin's big, loud voice commanding where we should be."

A pain struck through her heart instead of her wrists. Marcus threw her a sympathetic smile and dashed off through the trees to where she assumed the other hunters would be waiting.

"Do you think he will show up at the prime meeting?" Artem asked as he helped Emara along a path away from the burning trees and dead demons.

Emara bit the side of her cheek. "I have no idea anymore, Artem. I am starting to wonder if everything I have done is a lost cause."

He patted her shoulder and held her a little tighter. "Don't give up on him just yet."

Silence filled the space between them as they walked back to where the wagons were stationed. If she had mastered the portal by now, she could have completed their return to the Tower in seconds, but it was something she was still working on.

She halted. "I have something I need you to do for me, Artem."

He sighed. "I am not going to the seamstresses again for your dresses. I would soon rather train Kaydence in combat."

Emara laughed, and a pain in her wrists reminded her of how she needed a healer. "Well, actually, it involves going to a tavern." She looked over at him, and his eyes had lit up under the restricted moonlight. "And I am in no state to go to a tavern like this. Naya would scorn me for not getting healed."

Artem moved in front of her, and his golden eyes lit like sparkling gold. "Tavern, you say? Now we are talking. Spill."