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“You’re bleeding out.”
“Very observant.” Pain sharpened his voice. His gaze wandered away to the forest. “I might die before you kill me. God, I’m disappointed in myself. What a commonplace death.”
I have to save him.
My fingers tightened so hard around Chun Yi that the sharkskin imprinted my skin. To save him, I would have to touch him.
Necromancers were abominations. He could revive the dead and puppet them as his minions. His magic violated death itself.
“May I sit?” Wendel swayed on his feet. “I don’t think I can…”
He fell to his knees swiftly, like a glacier cracking. A moment later, he collapsed on his side. His fingers splayed, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of snow as if to claw himself upright. A war dog’s stiff corpse lay nearby. Its blood melted the snow where Wendel had fallen. His gentleman’s clothing was altogether ruined now.
I sheathed my sword, my muscles shaking with fatigue. “Wendel.”
He reached out again, groping blindly, and his hand closed on the war dog’s paw. When he shuddered, the dog kicked its legs.
Fear jolted into my veins. I drew Chun Yi and stepped into a defensive stance. The dog climbed to its feet and growled at me despite its ruined, gaping throat. Its fangs glinted in the daylight. No breath clouded the winter air.
I braced myself as the dog charged. Paws pounding the snow, the dog veered for my left arm, jaws wide. I dodged right. The dog remembered its training and spun, nimble for such a huge mastiff—for such adeadmastiff.
I retreated, blocking the dog with my sword. The dog leapt high, aiming for my throat, and I brought Chun Yi up to meet him. With gritted teeth, I sliced through the reanimated corpse’s neck and beheaded it cleanly.
The animal crashed to the snow. Dead again.
I wiped the blood from my blade and pretended my hands weren’t trembling.
Wendel huddled sideways on the ground, his teeth chattering, clearly weaker for having used his necromancy. A widening bloom of blood stained the snow. There was something remarkably like fear in his eyes, but he smiled.
“Well,” he said, “it was worth a try.”
His eyes flickered shut before he collapsed. I edged closer to him and nudged him with the flat of my blade.
Nothing.
A shiver rippled down my spine and pooled low in my belly. Fear mingled with a dark desire to find out what he felt like.
I crouched beside him and searched for a pulse in his neck. His faint heartbeat raced under my fingertips. His skin was warm and soft enough, like any other person’s. Not like a necromancer’s. He was still handsome, even unconscious, and even covered in filth and blood. I shuddered and wiped my hand on the snow.
The burning cold almost erased the feeling of having touched an abomination.
2
Ididn’t want him to die.
Snowflakes drifted from the sky. They melted slowly on his cold skin.
Quickly, I slung my pack onto the ground and took out my healing supplies. He was bleeding too much from his arm. A blade must have nicked an artery, which would be fatal if I didn’t help him. I knotted a tourniquet to slow the blood loss, then cut off the sleeve of his ruined shirt. He had been stabbed just above his elbow.
Wendel jolted awake.
He grabbed my wrist hard enough to hurt. His necromancy skittered like icy fire over my skin. I gasped at the shock of magic. His eyes betrayed his own surprise, as if he couldn’t believe he was touching me.
When he spoke, his voice sounded more gravel than honey. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
His words hit like a punch in the gut and took my breath away.
“Because I need you.” I gritted out the words.
