Page 131 of Revealing Fate

The male, Skott, went limp, lifeless. Then, as realization dawned, he keened.

Kal’s expression held no mercy. “Who sent you?”

Skott choked on new grief. Kal loosened his grip just enough to allow him a whisper of air.

“Who?” he repeated.

“Con-clave.”

Kal shook him. “Horse shit.”

“S-swear,” he wheezed, self-preservation outweighing the acute agony of learning his brother’s fate. “Lu-cien. Paid us.”

Kal’s black lip curled, dangerous teeth on display. “You might just be that stupid,” he growled. “But Robb should have known better than to accept blood money from a slug like Lucien Cross.”

“I’m sorry, Kal⁠—”

“It’s too late for sorry.” Kal set Skott’s feet once more upon the sodden earth and dragged him toward Felíne. She scrambled back, boots slipping, and slumped against the tree. “But you can beg her forgiveness.”

Skott had lost his menace. He crumpled, mud splattering his hide and trousers, bloody and blubbering at her feet. His pitiful voice pitched up another octave as he pleaded for his life, earlier ferocity collapsing in on itself.

He was no longer a threat. But instead of assuaging her fear, as was surely Kal’s intent, Skott’s obvious hysteria bled into her. The barely controlled anxiety tightening Felíne’s chest increased in pressure with each sloppy imploration. He reached a quaking claw toward her, strips of bloody flesh dripping inches from her feet. She turned her head away.

She couldn’t face this. She needed to escape. She needed…she…

Felíne’s thoughts tangled. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, the beat erratic and too fast. Her lungs screamed for air, but it was gone.

Then, suddenly, so was Skott. His pleas ceased. She heard a thud as something heavy hit the ground, then only the whoosh of rain and wind. When Felíne reopened her eyes, Kal was crouched before her, blocking her view. Not a trembling hand, but a steady one. Not a set of wild, panicked eyes, but two luminous gold irises set into a handsome, beastly face creased with concern.

Felíne did not look for Skott’s body. She held onto that gilded gaze like it was a lifeboat, the only thing keeping her head above turbulent seas.

She tried to take a breath. Only partly succeeded.

Kal swooped her into his arms, claws gentle, inky fur wet but warm. Then he was running. Fleeing the scene of her nightmare on swift, padded feet.

“G-rim,” she rasped, remembering the wolf’s yelp of pain. Was he okay? She hadn’t been able to check on him. What if⁠—

“A flesh wound. He can wait,” Kal rumbled, his chest vibrating under her cheek. “You can’t.”

Thunder cracked once more overhead, the storm reaching a crescendo. Felíne closed her eyes against the shadows rushing past them and buried her face in Kal’s silky fur. He knew where he was going. His second form likely afforded him perfect vision, even in complete darkness.

Felíne lost track of the passing seconds as she focused all her attention on keeping her seizing lungs inflated. Then Kal burst through the front door of his cabin.

“I’m going to set you down,” he said, then placed her gently onto the couch.

Felíne struggled to hold onto consciousness. Her body was exhausted from fighting her panic. She tried to work through the mental exercises Mender Alcuin had taught her, but she couldn’t focus. Her chest was too tight, her airway too narrow. Her muscles began to lock, despite her best efforts to relax.

Kal stepped quickly into the front foyer and shook himself, dispelling droplets of water. Then he stalked to the hearth. Moments later, a fire roared in its mouth, blessed heat suffusing the room.

He shoved the low table out of the way with a careless push and sank to his massive haunches before her. “What do I do? What do you need?”

Tears leaked out of the corners of Felíne’s eyes. Gods, this was the worst attack she’d had in years. She unlocked her chattering jaw. “S-s-sugar.”

Kal disappeared. She heard cabinets being thrown open, water being poured, and dishes clanking in the kitchen. Then he was back, holding a glass to her lips.

Felíne swallowed with some difficulty, but the sugary liquid coated her tongue and seeped into her bloodstream like a panacea. She tried to unclench her fists, but her muscles were still rigid. She shivered again.

Kal set the glass aside and gripped the hem of her tunic in his claws. He dipped his head to her eye level. “You’re safe. You can trust me,” he said. She jerked her chin in a nod of acquiescence. Kal slid one wicked claw up the seam of her shirt, shredding the sopping material around her painful, tightened limbs. Her boots and pants were next, though he managed to preserve the leather and laces.