Page 203 of Evil Hearts

The whistling moves closer, joined by the swish and rustle of fabric caught in branches and snagging on thorns. I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. Of course, it would be her, back to torment me and risk the woods despite my frequent warnings. And now she iswhistling, practically begging to be gored by an Erymanthian boar or torn apart by a lindworm. Rolling onto my side, I ease to the edge of my sleeping platform, scanning the fog for her hideous cloak.

It cuts through the gloom, the crimson weave absorbing what little light there is until she glows like a lantern.

Something unsettling furls in my belly at the thought of red lights and her, though I cannot decipher why. I grip the platform’s edge and scoot closer as if I could gain a better view as she skips through the woods. Her song bounces off the trees, the fog making it sound as though three of her whistle in harmony from different points. My ears prick and swivel, trying to catch all the sound at once, and I fight against the urge to look overmy shoulder. Could I not see her cloak disappearing into the fog before me, I would swear she approached from behind.

The whistling fades, swallowed by the wood, and I roll onto my back. The sliver of sky visible through the trees has lightened to a pale blue. Another night passed without the creatures of the wood waking me with their cries. My eyelids grow heavy, the need for deep sleep growing stronger with each passing moment, and then I hear it—a slither across the forest floor.

In an instant, I am crouched at the edge of my platform, claws piercing the tree branch to keep steady. The fog beneath me whorls and churns, and I catch just a glimpse of leathery tail and jagged spikes.

A glimpse is all I need.

Lindworms are silent killers, happy to stalk their prey from a distance until they tire or become distracted, waiting until their meal settles beside a river or in the middle of a glade for a meal. That is when they strike, closing the distance between themselves and their prey in the time it takes most humans to reach for a blade. While their hearing is weak, their eyesight is unparalleled, even in the fog, but like all predators, they suffer from front-facing sight. If you manage to remain downwind of a lindworm and sneak up on them from the side, you hold a chance of surviving.

If.

I curse silently, rocking forward on the balls of my feet. My muscles strain to maintain my balance, but I must wait until the lindworm passes entirely before I descend and follow. Luckily, I am not concerned with staying downwind. The lindworm knows I am here, as do all the creatures in the wood. I protect them as much as I protect the humans, but this girl has broken the covenant.

I should leave the lindworm to its hunt. I should let the girl get pounced upon, stand aside, and let her learn her lesson before I interfere, yet something drives me from my platform.

I drop lightly to the forest floor, ears pricked forward to catch the quiet shush of the lindworm’s serpentine body coiling over leaves and grass. Keeping a fair distance between us, I join the hunt, loping from tree to tree and, when the fog grows too dense, dropping onto all fours to better scent their trail.

Hers I catch immediately. Powdered sugar and orange blossoms, a slight tang of sweat from her hike, the perfume caught in the wool fibers of her cloak. The lindworm is more subtle, with a clean, mineral scent that almost disappears in the fog.

Their trail weaves through the trees, avoiding the main path, and for that, I could strangle the girl myself.

Every villager knows not to leave the path. Witch-blessed standing stones line either side, and the creatures in the wood detest crossing their barrier. Carters, merchants, and traveling bands have worn the path smooth, and the trees avoid dropping leaves and branches to block the way. It is the safest means of traversing the wood during the day, so long as one is careful at the few places where the stones sit far enough apart to allow those like me to cross.

But instead of heading toward safety, the girl dances through the trees, skirting glades and meadows, where the farfadets and brownies sleep, and jumping over streams where the melusines lurk. It takes far longer than I care to admit for me to recognize that her movements are intentional. As if driven by an internal compass, she turns away from the path whenever it threatens to bisect her ambling route. A left and left again, over a fallen tree and under low-slung branches.

The lindworm slinks closer, hunkering on squat legs, ready to pounce. Its snakelike belly hushes over the undergrowth, and Irisk closing the distance between us. Every muscle in my body is tensed and poised to launch at the lindworm when it decides to attack.

She leads us to another glade, and this time, she skips into the clearing. Sunlight pours down on her cloak, making her a brilliant scarlet beacon for any creature in a ten-foot radius. She spins and sweeps her hood back, and I suck in a breath as the sunlight catches in her auburn hair. The girl is a flame. Not just her cloak but her hair and rosy cheeks, the red of her full mouth as she spreads her lips into a broad smile.

Scanning the treeline, her eyes snag on something in my direction, and that smile widens. “Within,” she calls, “or without, dear monster?”

I startle as I realize her question is for me, and my surprise almost gets the girl killed.

The lindworm bunches, the spikes along its back lifting as it launches into the glade. Its toothy maw is wide open, jaws ready to snap and tear. The girl freezes in the center, her smile hardening into a baring of teeth. Her hands fly to the buttons clasping her cloak, and it is her lack of movement that clues me into a terrible truth: while she knew I stalked her through the woods—why else would she have wandered beneath my sleeping platformwhistlingat dawn?—she was unaware that another monster had joined the pursuit.

That is enough to thrust me into action. I sprint forward, catching the lindworm’s tail and yanking with all my might. The creature hisses, jaws snapping on empty air inches shy of the girl. Hand over hand, I pull the thrashing lindworm closer until I can wrap my arms around the base of its belly. With a grunt, I twist and drop into a roll.

We crash to the ground. Pain explodes in my shoulder, but I do not relent. My arms band tighter, and I roll again, releasing only long enough to flip onto the beast and pin its rear legs withmy knees. I reach for its forearms, and a blinding series of stabs travel the length of my leg.

A wild cry rips from my throat, and I know without looking that spikes as long as daggers sink into my thigh and calf. I let the adrenaline of the pain fuel me and throw my body against the lindworm. My claws pierce the thinner hide at its armpits, sinking deep. The creature seizes beneath me, writhing and throwing itself in an attempt to dislodge me. Its tail coils tighter, and a rush of warmth sheets down my leg as something vital is pierced.

Jaws snap near my head. I press my ears back and give over to my fury. There is a reason I guard the edge of the wood. A reason I am the one to keep the monsters in and the humans out. I draw back my lips, revealing the cruel fangs I keep carefully hidden when the villagers come near. Froth coats my tongue and slickens my teeth; I angle my head, jaw dropping to ensure my bite is final.

A tree branch swings out of nowhere, colliding with the lindworm’s skull. The solidthunkvibrates through me, and with less than a hiss, the creature goes slack in my arms.

I whip my head up from its throat, dazed at the sight above me.

The girl stands there, gripping the fallen limb in one hand. A rosy burst colors her cheeks, her eyes bright with fear or perhaps excitement. Her cloak is swept back, revealing strong arms and the form-fitting bodice. This time, it is not the curve of her waist that grabs my attention but the swell of her breasts, heaving against tight laces as she pants. A loose curl has fallen free from her braid, dusting a delicate collarbone, and I find that my fury has immediately become something else.

Something darker.

I ease off the lindworm, stopping only to check that it is fully unconscious, and onto a knee, dropping my gaze away to compose myself and assess my injuries. My trousers are ruined—I will have to steal another pair—and blood mats the dense fur on my leg, weeping freely from half a dozen puncture wounds. Carefully, I test my ankle and my knee. I do not catch that the girl has moved closer until she reaches out a hand, waving her fingers for me to grab hold.

I stare at her offering. At the small pink square of her palm and delicate fingers. And I laugh. “So you can move quietly.”

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