Finally, they reached a clearing in the woods. The Dragon divided the Wolves into groups of three and instructed them on how they would spend the next several gods-awful hours. Against the muted the landscape, Killian’s hair shone like an autumn sun. Despite that he was used to eternal summer in the Realm of Fire, he showed no signs of discomfort here in the frozen woods, and within a matter of minutes, he’d set up the groups. It was no surprise that Nocturne was separated from Twyla and was instead paired up with Ailish and Tinsley—her very least favorite people in the whole of Elderyn.
It also wasn’t surprising that Zenaide, after being granted permission by Killian to choose what the various groups needed to work on most, instructed Nocturne’s trio to practice shifting. This wouldn’t have been a problem—that is, if Nocturne had already claimed a Skin.
Zenaide smirked at her horrified expression and moved onto the next group.
The wind continued to howl, and the snow continued to blow, but despite how little she could see, Nocturne had never felt more exposed.
When Killian gave the okay to begin, Nocturne faced Ailish and Tinsley with reluctance.
The girls exchanged predatory smiles, exposing wolfish canines that flashed like daggers, and sauntered toward her.
~
Three hours later, Nocturne had a split lip, a black eye, a sprained ankle, and more bruises than she could count. Every time she was asked to shift and failed—which was, of course, every single time—Ailish and Tinsley struck her. An elbow to the gut, a foot thrust out to trip her, an uppercut to the chin. But knowing the Wolf and the Dragon were watching her take a beating was somehow worse than the pain.
Killian observed the packs with an expression that reminded her of stone; his face could rival a statue. Kit, on the other hand, was a different story; like Killian, the general was known across the realms and far beyond for his callousness, and according to rumor the list of men and women whose hearts he’d stopped could stretch all the way across the vast northern realm.
But Nocturne swore he flinched every time she was struck.
Perhaps the snow was playing tricks on her eyes.
By the time Killian declared they were to head back to the House of Ice, the snow flurries had turned into a whiteout. Nobody could see a thing as they began making their way back in a single line, guided only by the person in front of them. Nocturne could no longer see the trees around her, nor the ground at her feet. Without the senses of a wolf or the ability to stay warm in these conditions, she grew tired quickly, and began to fall behind.
They had to be quite a distance from the clearing by the time she noticed her necklace was missing. Panicking, she felt around beneath her cloak…
It was gone. At some point, while she was getting pummeled by Ailish and Tinsley, her necklace had come off.
She stumbled to a stop and shouted for Twyla. But the wind swallowed her voice, and mere seconds later her friend disappeared into the whiteout, a ghost melting into mist. If she hurried, she could catch up to the packs, but she would never see her precious necklace again.
Before she’d died, her mother had worn that necklace every day. It was a wedding present from Nocturne’s father, and when the Wolf Pack had sacked her village, Nocturne had escaped with only this piece of jewelry as a reminder of those she loved and had lost so brutally.
That necklace was all she had left. Shehadto find it.
Pulling her fur-lined hood up tighter around her face, she wrapped her arms around herself and headed back to the clearing.
~
She might as well have been blind.
By the time Nocturne stumbled into the clearing, an hour had to have passed. Finding the necklace was like looking for a needle in a haystack—worse, even.
After what seemed like an eternity had ticked by, and her fingers and toes were about to fall off, she found it. If it weren’t for the striking blue shade of the stone, she would never have seen the necklace lying in the snow several feet from where she was currently sobbing on the ground. As soon as she had the necklace safely in her grasp, she bowed her head in thanks and forced herself to her feet.
This would’ve been the perfect opportunity to escape, if only she could see. For the first time in her life, as she gazed into the blizzard, she wished she had claimed a Skin. If she had an alternate form, she could make her escape once the storm died down, could protect herself from any predators who might be watching her from deep within the whiteout. But alone out here, she was no better than a rabbit caught in a snare. She was shivering so hard her teeth clacked together loud enough to hear over the screaming wind.
There was only one thing to do: Try to make it back to the House of Ice.
No sooner had she started walking that something solid tripped her. She tumbled head-first into the snow—among pools of fresh blood, clumps of hair, and ice-crusted scraps of flesh.
With a startled cry, she leapt back to her feet. And as she took in the gruesome scene before her, she began to back away.
Half-buried in blood-stained snow was a mutilated stag. Bits of shattered antler and bone surrounded the animal, though not one part of him appeared to have been eaten. As if whatever had attacked the poor thing hadn’t killed for survival, but for pleasure.
Pressing a gloved fist to her mouth to keep from being sick, she stepped closer…
The stag’s entrails were still steaming; it hadn’t been dead for long. A yellow fang was embedded deep in the beast’s neck. Far too big for a wolf or even a bear.
She crouched beside the stag and removed the fang from its flesh, ignoring the cooling blood that bubbled up and soaked into her glove. The stag’s wide eye seemed watchful, even in death.
