Greaves did not move. He listened, head tilted, breath slow—focus locked on something beyond my grasp.
Seliora eased up beside him, eyes fixed on the thick black of the forest.
“Wolves?” Her whisper barely stirred the air.
“It’s alone.” He grunted, tension easing from his stance. “A bear, perhaps.”
Ice slid down my spine.
We wasted no time turning back down the mountain’s foot. A Cragg bear did not kill for hunger alone. Stories told of gutted carcasses left to rot, of claws raking through flesh for sport. The goats would continue up the rock face, climbing beyond its reach. We would not.
Seliora took the lead as our horses picked their way along the narrow path. I let my mount follow her rhythm, Nienna close behind me, Greaves at our rear. It was the safest position for her.
But here? Out in the open? Safety felt like a lie.
My thoughts drifted back to Anna, to the slim crossbow on her saddle. I had no doubt that she could reach a high window if she used her goat. But could she take a life?
It was easy to kill in defense. Nienna had done it—more than once. Her instinct for survival overrode all conscience and morality. Yet aiming at a man’s heart, knowing the bolt would pierce flesh and bone, required choice. And that crossed a far more demanding line.
Could she do it?
Seliora pulled to a stop, and my hand dropped to my sword hilt.
Silence thickened. Clouds swallowed the moon. The forest shifted from gray to ink. Nienna’s breath came shallow behind me.
Were we merely spooked? Or did something stalk our path through the undergrowth?
Figures burst from the trees without a sound.
Too fast.
I had no time to shout before the creatures were upon us, pale hands clawing at my horse. Seliora drove her heels in and vanished into the forest. Fingers clamped on my saddle, and I swung, steel flashing, wrenching my mount sideways to shake the Velli loose.
A dragon’s scream tore across the distance, raw and furious.
A hand seized my tunic. The creature ducked under my strike and scrambled up my body, breath sour against my throat. I reversed my grip and drove the blade through the side of his neck.
Hot blood surged over my leg, wet and hot. It filled my boot, sticky between my toes. The assailant sagged, and my horse shied from the dead weight. I shoved the corpse off and spun toward Nienna.
Greaves knelt on the ground, sword buried in a Velli’s chest. With a savage motion he tore it free and hacked at the pale throat. He grabbed a fistful of hair and sawed until bone gave way; then he rose, scanning the dark.
Nienna sat rigid on her prancing horse, skin drained of color. Greaves’ small blade trembled in her grasp.
It would not have saved her—not against the Velli.
Shame burned bitter on my tongue. I brought her here. I gave her a tiny dagger and lied to myself, calling it protection.
“Where’s the Harvester?” Greaves barked, the severed head dangling from his grasp.
“Here.” Seliora stepped from the trees, braid torn loose, black hair spilling around her shoulders. Another head swung from her grip.
I dismounted and pointed at Nienna. “Stay. Be ready to run.”
I didn’t wait to see if she’d listen. There hadn’t been time to warn her—it happened too fast. When Velli struck, thought shattered.
I crouched beside the corpse at my feet and shoved its face aside. The skin felt cold, slick with blood. I hooked my fingers into the collar of its black tunic and dragged it down.
Scars melded with fresh scabs. Twin crescent moons punctured the flesh, bite marks from another Velli.
