Page 57 of Held

Wick braced himself against the cliff. “Did he smell of lipseed?”

Briar stared at him. “What? I—I suppose he would, he uses it in his hair. But I wasn’t close enough to get a sniff.”

Wick nodded. He had temporarily forgotten that mortal noses were so weak.

He began to climb, the amulet tucked into his palm. Every small movement made his burned skin scream. He gritted his fangs and forced himself to reach for the next rock, digging his claws in as hard as he dared.

But not too hard. He had control. In this moment, anyhow, he was himself again.

Briar watched him climb, her eyes still wet. She clutched the side of the ravine, crushing several of the flowers they had been sent to collect.

“You have found the flowers,” Wick said, attempting to make her smile.

Briar did. It was small and tremulous, but she smiled enough that, for a moment, Wick barely noticed his injuries. Then he lifted his arm to haul himself up further, and every agony came wailing back with an intensity that made him lock up against the wall.

“Wick?” Briar shifted like she was going to reach for him.

“I am fine,” Wick called. “Stay there.”

Briar sat back, frowning. Her face and hands were covered in tiny marks that made Wick imagine her making this very same climb, her fragile human skin giving way so easily to the unforgiving rocks.

He neared the top of the ravine. Briar started pulling at his arm to help him the rest of the way, a move so useless and sweet that Wick huffed a pained laugh and let her continue.

He heaved himself over the top of the ravine and braced himself against the ground, panting.

“Shit,” Briar whispered. She tugged the remaining shards of net off his horns, throwing them away. “Wick.Gods.”

Wick held out the amulet. “Take it.”

Briar took it. It gleamed stronger than before, but Briar barely looked at it before stuffing it into her fur coat.

“Hey, look at me.” She cupped his face carefully, avoiding the burns. “It’s not actually that bad! I think your eye is already better; it was all the way shut yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” Wick repeated. He looked up at the dark sky. He had assumed it had only been a few hours. But a day?

He looked down at Briar and inhaled. There was pain in her scent, mixing with the worry.

“Your curse is taking hold,” he said. “You are hurting.”

“I’mhurting?” Briar barked a laugh so loud and harsh that it truly did sound like a bark, a snarling animal noise deep in her throat.

She smacked him in the arm. “You areimpossible, you know that? Huh, gentleman monster? You’re just?—”

She gnashed her teeth and turned, blinking hard. When she looked back at him, her eyes were very nearly dry.

“Come on,” she said. “I found a cave.”

Tucked safely out of sight was a tall, thin cave. Wick barely had to duck when Briar led him into it. He did not even have to pull his wings in, although that was most likely because he only had one now. It scraped the stone as he shuffled inside.

It should have hurt. But he was in so much pain he barely felt it—deep burns and the blunt loss of his wing, which ached deeper than a wound. He would never fly again. He had not known how much he enjoyed flying before it was gone.

Briar came to a stop in front of a strange, tangled lump. Unfamiliar items of clothing lay in a misshapen pile: coats andshirts and other items of clothing that Wick did not know the name of, soft and billowy.

“Here,” Briar said. “This is yours.”

It took Wick a moment to realize what he was looking at.

“You made me a nest,” he realized.

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