Page 35 of The Howling
I open my eyes to find the noise is me, and I stop instantly. Reavely has his arms around me, not holding me tight but instead surrounding me with his warmth and presence.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasp out, pulling away from him.
I don’t run. I don’t want to bring out the predator in him, but I walk into the castle to put distance between us, between what I want and what I can’t have.
The Faerie spoil every single thing they touch, and they have spoilt whatever this might have been.
I don’t think I can let anyone in again.
REAVELY
Her scent was perfection, absolute perfection. I might not have mated, but I have smelt enough matings in my time to recognise arousal.
I want my little deer more than anything. But then she closed her eyes and screamed.
She screamed his name, and the note of terror which it held, I know she did not want anything he was offering. When I caught him in the dungeons, he wanted what she didn’t want to give. It causes anger to rise within me like the hot liquid rocks from hell. It makes me want to stop him all over again. To rip his filthy soul from his form and throw it into the fire.
I don’t have anger, I have pure, unadulterated rage which I cannot see past.
He hurt her.
When she opens her eyes and I see her again, I know what I want to do. I want to burn the Faerie to the ground.
But when Wynter leaves my protection, my own soul, as twisted and wrong as it is, is desperate to follow. It needs her like I need air.
“Don’t.” The damned Hedley Kow is at my elbow. “Don’t chase her. She will come back to you.”
“How do you know?” I round on the creature with a growl. “You don’t know anything.”
I’ve had enough of the castle, of those who think they know everything, of the Reaper who wants what I want, and of the Faerie who damage everything they touch beyond repair.
I don’t even realise I’ve shifted or I’m running until the flashing scenery tells me I’m on the move. If I take another village tonight, perhaps the Reaper will leave me be.
But something pulls at me. An invisible hook in my chest which stops me dead on the outskirts of the small settlement.
There should be destruction, screaming, fear.
I don’t want any of that today. Or ever. I don’t want to take more souls, to be the harbinger of the Reaper.
To be his servant.
I want to protect my mate, fill my castle with light and life once again. I want to be part of a pack.
And Wynter, my little deer, is my pack, my living pack.
A flame flickers across my face as I lift my shifted head to the heavens and release a howl.
“Begone, Barghest,” a voice shouts at me. “Leave us be.”
I growl at the torches and pitchforks.
“The Reaper will come for your souls regardless of what you do to me,” I rasp.
I can tell they don’t care when the flaming arrow impacts my side and the scent of burning fur reaches me. But my desire for destruction has abated.
I can assuage my ire by being with my mate, proving to the old gods I can do something good with what fate has given me.
And I can keep Wynter’s soul from the Reaper and her body for myself.
