Chapter 21

The closer I creep to the mountains, the colder it gets. Like one of the Gods drained all the warmth from the world. The biting wind tills up flurried curls or snow, the half-moon throwing patches of light disrupted by racing clouds.

I can’t see the Alps through the lantern’s flaming aura, even as the trees thin along The Stretch—the band of barren land at the mountains’ feet. But I feel their nearness like a waiting giant; can hear it in the way the icy snow cracks beneath my boots.

“Shh.”

My heart rate spikes.

Head whipping sideways, I squint into the darkness, making out the slight silhouette stooped behind a large pile of snow just beyond the reach of my lantern light.

I draw deep, almost groaning when I catch a hint of Zali’s buttery scent on an eddy of frosty air.

Relief floods my chest.

Thank fuck.

Darting closer, I crouch beside her, dousing her in my protective light. “What are you doing all the way out here?” I whisper-hiss.

She squints up at me, grabs my lantern, and opens it, stuffing it full of snow and snipping out the light.

Panic fires up my throat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Heart galloping, I scour our chilled surroundings, certain every pocket of shadow is about to flit forward and smother us in suckling doom. “There could be Irilak!”

“I haven’t seen any. Even if there were, they certainly wouldn’t be interested in us,” Zali purrs against my ear, the lilt prickling my skin—at least until she shoves the snow-stuffed lantern at my chest so hard I grunt. “They’d be too heartily fed.”

Zero percent reassuring.

“Look.”

I rip my gaze from her and follow the direction her finger is pointing. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust to the dim, the scenery coming to life.

The Stretch is just beyond, wide and vast and dusted in a fresh layer of powder. Far off in the distance, it meets the foot of the Alps’ sharp rocks—a barricade of stony claws gouged in the snow.

Slate gray fur pops against the sea of white, slinking down a snowy chute that spits out on The Stretch …

Vruks.

I count two ... three ... five—

My heart leaps into my throat. “Fuck.”

“Exactly,” Zali mumbles, watching them descend, her expression harboring a savage sort of severity. “I’m sure you noticed all the gore covering the north-facing stakes on your way in?”

“I did …” A tense pause, then, “You were right.”

“Unfortunately.” The word is whispered, stained with sadness.

I level her with a look that coasts across her elegant features lit by a shard of sterling moonlight. “Did you have to come all this way on your own to confirm it?” I don’t bother to hide the bite from my voice.

Her actions were thoughtless. Reckless.

So unlike Zali.

Otherwise still as stone, her sharp eyes cut to me. A flurry swarms her face, collecting in her lashes. “I needed to see for myself. Validate our need for the ships. I have a hunch it’s the reason Orlaith accepted Cainon’s cupla.”

The hairs on the back of my neck lift. “I need you to clarify …”

She pulls that plump bottom lip between her teeth.

My eyes narrow. “Zali?”

“She was listening that day in Rhordyn’s office.” The words blast out of her as a blow of icy wind strikes, tossing back our hoods. “From behind one of the curtains.”

My blood thins.

Of course she was.

“Shit,” I mutter, filling in the gaps myself. “Shit.”

I should have pieced it together. Laith mentioned she was securing the ships the day she left me broken and bare on a beach that’s never felt so cold.

A whip of wind stirs Zali’s hair, teasing the frosty ends past my face. “I’m sorry, Baze … I should’ve said something—”

“Why didn’t you?” I growl, and she breaks my stare, like ripping a scab from a wound.

“She had enough reasons to hate me.”

The words are detached, uttered in an empty, foreign tone I don’t recognize. Not from her.

“Why do you care so much?”

Pushing flat against the rise of packed snow, her hand drifts to the bronze sword resting against it. “I like her.” She taps a finger against the topaz-encrusted pommel, brow pinched. “She reminds me of someone.”

I study her as she studies the Vruks, this scroll burning a hole in my pocket. “Coming out here on your own, risking your life—it’s not the antidote to your guilty conscience.”

“I needed proof,” she murmurs flatly, flicking me a sideways stare that shines in the moonlight. “I’m now certain this is the loose spigot to explain our overflow of fluffy mutts. But”—her upper lip peels back—”I’ve also learned why so many Fryst-born Vruks are making it past our defenses.”

“Which is?”

“The packs are much larger than they’ve ever been, with well-developed hierarchy systems. They’re growing tactful,” she sneers. “Watch.”

By the light of the moon, the pack slowly pools at the mountain’s base until they’re all safely down. One of the mid-sized Vruks nuzzles the snow and begins the volatile trek over what appears to be a smooth, unthreatening stretch of land.

The beast tests the ground with a fraction of its weight before committing to each prowling step—making for a slow, tentative journey. All the while, the others crouch and watch rather than burst across The Stretch the way the traps intend.

The approaching beast is halfway to us when the ground gives way beneath it, swallowing it in a large, snowy gulp. A shrill, bloodcurdling yelp echoes across the plains as it’s skewered on the hidden cavalry of spikes below.

Silence.

I swallow thickly, then watch in wonder as a smaller Vruk confidently prowls the same path the previous took, its steps growing more cautious once it rounds the spent trap and continues on across new, untested territory.

“They’re—”

“Growing smarter,” she whispers as the lone Vruk heels, tips its stubby muzzle to the sky, and releases a howl that shatters the crisp silence. “Unfortunately.”

The rest of the pack follows the track and spills across The Stretch in a single file gallop, kicking up a spray of snow from their thundering paws. I watch them draw closer, closer … sticking to their trodden trail, not setting a single paw out of line despite their fierce pace.

“They’re getting quite close, Zali.”

A brief pause, then, “The traps usually thin out the pack a little more …”

Aghast, I cut her a look.

She shrugs, standing, her withdrawing sword hissing its wake-up call as she pulls it free. “Your presence is timely, I’ll admit. How drunk are you?”

“Sober,” I mutter, the ground beginning to jolt beneath us. “Regretfully.”

“Well, sorry to pry you from your padded nest,” she says with a smirk, winking before she leaps out from behind the mound, making my heart lurch. Swift and sure, she whips her sword in a practiced arc that hacks through the thick, meaty neck of the first Vruk to bound across her path. Its front legs buckle, body collapsing against the ground in a jerking pile of matted fluff. Blood spills as it gurgles its dying breath, pumping in steaming spurts that ink the snow and the flutter of Zali’s cloak.

My feet are already moving when another lunges at her, talons punched free from its reaching paws—

I leap, midair, ripping my sword free from its sheath and slam it through the beast’s ribs, feeling muscle, bone, and organs give way to the pierce of it. We crunch against the ground in a burst of snow and blood and fur, making my teeth rattle. I’m still straddling it when we come to a stop—warm blood swelling up to meet my hands clenched around the hilt of my sword.

I whip my head around, peering into the dark at two more snarling beasts charging toward us. “And you’re usually out here on your own?” I growl, pulling my sword free with a wet grind.

“Yes,” Zali pants, striding forward until we’re hip to hip. “Nobody else is willing. The mutts have somehow realized.”

We leap as one, colliding with the onslaught of feral, brute force, dodging whistling swipes of deadly talons like a collaborative symphony.

I slash my blade through a dense neck, crumbling the mighty Vruk to my left. Feeling the air shift behind me, I spin—slicing my sword around, blowing out a hiss as the honed edge kisses Zali’s throat. Her’s, too, is poised against my carotid, so sharp that if I leaned a little to the right, I’d slice myself. Bleed out in seconds.

Our eyes lock.

Despite the deep breaths heaving in and out of our lungs, there’s a moment of utter stillness between us—both splattered in the blood of our kills. I take in the black glaze of her eyes. The rise and fall of her breasts.

A striking vision of fierce, feral beauty that’s hard to look away from.

We pull our blades back, swiping them on our coats in the same brusk manner. She turns first, trudging away. “Quick, before the Irilak set in.”

I almost leap out of my skin, dashing after her to the tune of her chiming giggle, my heart hacking at my ribs even after I realize she’s joking.

“Not funny,” I mutter, biting down on a full-body shiver that rattles me to the core. Shakes up memories I don’t want to think about.

Her laughter tapers off.

Once we’re sitting beside each other, backs to the packed snow mound and breathing hard, I dig through my cloak for the emergency flask I’d tucked away.

Feels fitting, seeing as we barely escaped with our limbs intact.

I unstopper the cork and take a swig, then offer Zali the flask. She accepts it, drawing deep and releasing a sharp hiss before she whips her arm back and lobs it into the darkness.

My heart leaps into my throat as I watch it disappear. “What th—That was vanilla brandy!Cost me a fucking pocket diamond to a traveling merchant!”

“Then you got ripped off. Only someone truly desperate would trade a pocket diamond for a flask of brandy. Meaning it’s better off out there.”

I snarl, leaning against the snow again. “You’re just like your promised.”

“But far more attractive,” she purrs, rolling her sleeves, pulling her long tangle of wavy hair to the side, and parting it three ways.

“And with an ego twice the size,” I mutter, watching her weave her locks into a messy braid. “I see you’re not wearing your cupla.”

She glances at her bare wrist, then back into the night. “We’re lying to the people, not ourselves. Besides, I have little regard for the tradition.”

I grunt, trying to pretend her words don’t affect me like they do, arms perched on my bent knees.

“So,” Zali murmurs. “How is Orlaith?”

“Gone.”

Her head whips around, hands stilling. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Got on a ship to Bahari weeks ago.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the tiny, flattened scroll.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?”

I spread my hands, look around at the corpses, down at the gore covering my clothes, then back at her with a raised brow.

She rolls her eyes and pinches the scroll from my grip, unraveling it. “I had it under control.”

“Didn’t look like it,” I state, tempted to hunt down my flask in the hope there’s something left. “You should have sent a sprite to inform us of your location before you entered The Stretch. You’re not indestructible.”

“More than most,” she says, reaching past. “Hand me that lantern.”

I grab it, pulling it back. “This one?”

She snarls, reaching past me—our bodies brushing.

Scents tangling.

I hear her breath hitch, wish I had a little more light so I could see if her cheeks are flushed.

Pulling the lantern further away, I keep it just out of reach …

She loses her balance, falling against me with an oomph, and I absorb every soft curve of her body.

It doesn’t matter that we’re both fully clothed and covered in gore—the smell of her, the mere proximity of her, the thrill of danger … it has me stretching out, baring my throat the slightest amount.

“You’re an ass,” she snips, snatching the lantern.

“Not all the time.” The words spill out raspier than I’d intended.

She glances up and stills, eyes glazing as they skim across my throat.

The bared length of fragile flesh.

The invitation.

A plea—pathetic and desperate and so fucking shameful.

She snarls, shoving off, like a slap back to reality.

I clear my throat, straighten my clothes, and hope it’s too dark for her to see the bulge in my pants.

In a dash of snow and stolen breath she’s straddling me, weight pressed on my aching length, blade kissing my throat, teeth bared and eyes flashing.

My breath snags at the feral look in her eyes.

She leans so close I can feel her warm breath against my ear before she whispers, “Don’t ever play that game with me again. Do you understand?”

I swallow, rolling the ball in my throat, forcing my skin to nick against her blade. A dribble of warmth spills down my neck, and the air around us flushes with the scent of my blood.

She snarls, whipping back, her features so sharp every cell in my body is poised for that tangible zap of pleasure it’s starving for.

“You know better,” she growls, then shoves to a stand, gathering her supplies and stalking off into the night. I bask in my shame for a few deep breaths before I follow like the hopeless mutt I am. Because I do know better …

I do.

But I also don’t.