Page 17 of The Holly King's Sacrifice

Aspen screams, and the creature snaps its attention to her, lunging forward. I put myself in the way, tilting my head down to shove the monster backwards with my antlers. The points pierce into its flesh—less than I would have hoped, though—and it roars in anguish.

This creature is suffering, as do all of the monsters created by the aliens that call themselves “Angels.” I will put an end to its misery.

Aspen does what she can to retreat, moving toward Laka, who has taken up a defensive position in the corner. Mycjoraknows what to do in these situations, standing firm with its three red eyes trained on the creature and its curled horns lowered in warning. Aspen clinks to Laka’s shaggy white fur, her eyes wide as I face down the bear.

I chance a look back at her. “Get on Laka and get out of here!” I shout.

But my distraction gives the beast a chance to strike.

Pain sears through my shoulder, jagged claws tearing deep into my skin. I bellow, willing myself not to falter at the attack. I swing my antlers out again and meet my enemy’s hide, flinging it across the cavern and making an icicle fall from the cave entrance. I try to aim my crossbow at it, but I realize its claws have sent the weapon skittering across the floor, just out of reach.

“Ulfric, look out!” Aspen screams.

My adrenaline surges at the sound of her voice, a possessive rage falling over me and filling me with an urge to violence. I race after the beast as it recovers, plowing forward with the strength only a Skoll in love could possess, and I lock my antlers against its shoulders to pin it against the wall.

It roars again, its claws slashing into my shoulders. I barely feel a thing, so blinded by my need to protect Aspen. Just moments ago, she was willing to surrender to me, and now I know that she is too precious to be harmed. Not only that, but she is defenseless; even when I asked if she had hunted, I could tell that she did not like to kill.

But I will kill for her—gladly, and repeatedly. I will slay her enemies until there are none left who would see her harmed.

And if I die doing my duty, so be it.

The monster bellows, ichor rather than blood leaking from its wounds. It’s big and strong, though, and it shoves me backward. When I stagger, it follows, and before I can stop it, its jaws clamp down on my shoulder.

I can’t contain the scream of agony that wrenches itself from my throat, sharp teeth piercing my flesh. I fall to my knees only for it to jerk me to the side, biting deeper. My vision starts to black out, shadowy spots blocking my view of the firelit ice caves.

But then—taking me entirely by surprise—the beast releases me.

I reach for my shoulder with a ragged groan, realizing that the creature’s venom has already entered my bloodstream. I’m destined to die here, that is certain, but something has stopped the creature’s vicious attack. It rears its head, letting out a yowl of pain, then I watch as its flung backward by a blinding light.

Aspen has found my crossbow.

She shoots at it once more, and those three hits are enough to kill it, given how wounded it already is from my attack. I watch the creature for a moment to make sure that it no longer breathes, its eyes dead and its mouth gaping.

Then I collapse.

Aspen is there in an instant, reaching for me before my head hits the floor. Somehow, she manages to haul me over to the furs, but my shoulder is already starting to burn like it’s being frozen.

“There could be more of them,” I wrench out. “Leave me and go get help. Laka will take you back to the encampment.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she says. “Where are your bandages?”

“Aspen—”

“I saidno,” she insists. “Now where are they?”

I gesture helplessly at my pack with my good arm, and she moves that way to rifle through it. Laka grumbles and moves toward the entrance to the cave, sniffing slightly, but I don’t sense any more agitation from the creature—and that, at least, is a relief.

Aspen’s hands are on me, then, winding a bandage tightly around my shoulder. I grit my teeth and clench my fists, the pain burning through my veins from the site of the wound.

“I need to get you on Laka before you pass out,” she says. “Can you stand?”

Of course I can stand; I’m a warrior, trained by Kanin’s finest warlords centuries ago. But when I move to get up, I can barely even lift my head from the furs.

“Fine,” she says. “Then I’ll move you myself.”

Her arm slides under my shoulders, then she’s lifting me slightly. I manage to get my good arm under me, then to push myself to my feet. Aspen strains with the effort, but together, we manage to pull me astride Laka, my hands gripping thecjora’ssoft fur as it grumbles beneath me.

“I don’t know the way,” Aspen breathes in my ear. “I’m scared.”

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