Page 424 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 31

The nightmare came again, as it always did. Every time, the dream was the same, and yet every time it was different, because in his heart he knew it was no dream – it was his reality, one he couldn't wake up from. Boris raced through the woods, his former squire chasing him with all the unnatural energy of a berserker in battle. Over and over, Igor would shout at him to just hand over the crown jewels, so that he could go home, but Boris knew there was more to it than that. If Igor got close enough to him, he'd attack, and there was no predicting those frenzied blows.

So far, Boris had been lucky, for his fur was thick and Igor's knife blade was short, so the boy hadn't wounded him anywhere that mattered yet. But he knew the boy wanted his head along with the jewels, for he'd said so often enough, and the stubborn squire would never stop. Couldn't stop.

And now there was Rossa, his Rose Red witch. If Igor found her, he'd try to use her against him. Use her as bait, to draw him out…

Because Boris would do anything to keep her from being hurt by the nightmares he'd run from, while vengeance for Vica and Lida's death slipped away from him, a little more each day, until he feared he didn't know the way back, would never find his treacherous brother, and his family's death would go unavenged.

He could not save Vica or Lida, but he could keep Igor away from Rossa, who deserved the protected castle life she was born to, with gorgeous gowns, glowing jewels, and blazing fires to keep her warm at night in soft beds befitting such a high lady.

Not life in a cave, or on the run, not knowing when Igor or Sviatopolk's soldiers might catch up to him, and kill him as well. Because he knew Igor could not survive out here on his own, so he must have help. At best, he was a clumsy scout, who reported back to better, more capable men, in such numbers that they could overwhelm a man on his own, like Boris was. He'd been hunting enough times to know claws were no match for well-forged steel held by well-trained hands.

So Boris didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't dare even return to the cave where he'd stashed the crown jewels, lest they catch him, or her…

The rush of a river ahead made him slow, then speed up again, bunching up his muscles so he might make the jump…

For a brief moment, Boris flew, before landing heavily on the snowy bank. He clawed his way up and over, running before he knew where he was, or where he was going.

Behind him, he heard Igor splash into the river, swearing at the chill in the icy waters, but Boris didn't dare stop. Not yet. Maybe not ever…

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