Page 426 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 33

He heard her voice on the wind, and he thought he'd imagined it at first. But when he heard her call his name, he listened in earnest.

"So cold, Snow. So cold in the cave…"

He didn't think – he just reacted, breaking into a run, then a gallop, as four paws were faster than two.

He didn't stop until he reached the clearing.

Only then did he realise he'd been tricked, because it wasn't Rossa he saw, but Igor, holding the sack of treasures.

The last rays of the sun glinted on the squire's dagger as he raised it, a mad grin on his face. "Now, all I need is your head and I'll be free!"

The boy berserker charged at him, slashing wildly.

For the first time in Boris's life, he let rage wash over him, until he felt almost as reckless as a berserker, too. How dare this boy try to trick him with Rossa's voice, that she was in danger. And stealing the crown jewels from him?

No. Boris was done running. This ended here and now.

He rose up to his full height. His first swipe sent the dagger spinning into the pond, to vanish beneath the icy waters. His second ripped out the boy's throat.

Gasping and choking, clutching at the bloody remains of his neck, the boy went down.

Boris dipped his paw in the pool to wash off the blood, before snatching up the sack of treasures to take it back to his cave.

Only then did he hear her voice again: "So cold, Snow…"

She was here.

Lying on her side in the cave, her clothes soaking wet, curled up and shivering in front of his empty fire pit.

She blinked and managed a weary smile. "Snow…"

He wished he could ask her what had happened. How she'd ended up all wet, without a cloak, out here in the forest.

Once again, she seemed to read his mind. "So…silly. A boy…pulled into the river…"

Igor had done this to her. Boris would have his head for this.

He pointed at the few sticks left in the woodpile, then outside, in an effort to tell her he was getting wood for the fire to help her get warm.

Rossa nodded.

Boris had never gathered wood so fast in his life. He pulverised two dead trees, then brought them, piece by piece, into the cave. He laid a fire in the fire pit, then looked for his flint. Had the boy stolen that, too?

Wishing he could curse aloud, Boris didn't know what to do. He had to get her warm, and without a fire…

Hesitantly, he lifted her in his arms, cradling her to his chest as he tried to wrap as much of his fur around her as possible.

"Why did you let the fire go out, Snow?" she asked sleepily.

She was too cold. If she slept…she might never wake.

Boris took her hand and stretched it toward the fire. He'd seen her throw balls of magic – could she do the same thing with fire?

"Silly bear," she said, then bit her lip. Fire spurted from her fingers, snaking around the branches in the firepit until they burst into flame.

Boris added more wood, willing it to burn.

"Cold. So cold and…draughty." She did something with her hands, and a small sphere appeared, growing larger. It passed through him with barely a tingle, and still it grew until it pushed against the cave walls. "Shield. Warm and…safe," she said. She nuzzled against his chest.

Boris didn't dare move. He just held her, and watched the flames, as her breathing grew even and the cold cave started to grow comfortably warm.

He'd give almost anything to be a man again. To hold Rossa in his arms, just the two of them…

When he was certain she was asleep, he leaned back, and tried to get some sleep of his own.

Because to sleep was to dream, and in his dreams he could kiss her as he held her, caress her with hands instead of claws, and she looked at him as a woman does a man, instead of a beast who deserved this fate, because he'd let his family die.

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