Page 56 of Held

Hedidremember a voice. That cold, rocky voice that had snuck in during Marigold’s spell. Under the blood frenzy, the voice was a whisper no longer. This had been a low hiss that swelled into a scream, telling him to fight, telling him tokill.

He forced the memory away, focusing instead on the memory of Briar’s terrified face.

“Briar,” he rasped.

He looked around. A savaged mortal body made his slow heartbeat stutter, but upon closer inspection, it was not Briar. It was one of the bounty hunters who had foolishly engaged them.

He looked up.

The town side of the ravine was naked and rocky. The forbidden side of the ravine—the side none of them were allowed to cross—was covered in vines, leading up to a thicket of flowers.

But the vines ended abruptly above Wick’s head. They had been torn out, the rock underneath them savaged with claw marks. Wick must have tried to climb out, then slid back down to the bottom of the ravine.

Wick blinked blearily.Why did I not just fly?

He attempted to stretch his wings. A bolt of agony ran through him, making him roar.

He groped behind him. Another jagged bolt of pain confirmed what his fingers told him: his left wing was gone.

A tremulous voice came from the top of the ravine. “Wick?”

Wick craned his head.

Briar’s tearful face poked out from the top of the ravine. She saw him and made a soft, wounded noise.

“Gods, you look…” She swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Wick replied instantly. “Areyouokay? Did I hurt you?”

Briar laughed wetly. “I’m great!Youdidn’t hurtme.”

The intention behind her words was obvious. Her voice was heavy with guilt, tears dripping down her chin. She was wearing the fur coat she had been wearing before the ritual, her borrowed clothes underneath it. She had her pack strapped to her back, her fingers white around the straps.

Wick flexed his wings, or more accurately, one wing and one torn stub. It sent another stab of agony through him. His flightless existence stretched before him, strange and daunting. But it was worth it if it made Briar safe.

Briar sniffed. “You can climb up. The stone is brittle, don’t dig your claws in too far.”

Wick looked up at the claw marks he had gouged into the cliff. He had been too feral to realize he should have changed his climbing technique. He had never been grateful to be completely feral. If he had any intelligence left, he would have climbed the ravine properly, and Briar would be dead.

“Wait,” Briar called as he hooked his claws carefully into the rock. “The amulet is down there with you!”

Wick stopped and looked around. The amulet was lying near the dead bounty hunter, its chain broken and the metal cracked.

“No,” Wick whispered.

He picked up the amulet and rubbed it hopefully. It flickered, white light spasming into his palm before dying a swift death.

Wick picked up his loincloth next, which was tangled on a rock nearby. “Perhaps I should stay down here.”

“To the void withthat,” Briar said harshly. “Get up here right now or I’ll climb down!”

“Donot,” Wick growled. There was nowhere to run in this ravine. At least she would have a chance on the forbidden side of the ravine.

He jerked the arrow out of his shoulder and licked the wound carefully. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the last arrow wound on his other shoulder.

He tied his loincloth around his waist, careful against the painful burns. “Has the village bothered you?”

“They haven’t been back.” Briar wiped her cheeks and stared across the ravine, presumably at the stone altar. “I thought I saw Renault earlier. But I can’t be sure.”

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