Page 43 of The Howling
“Perhaps they like you,” he suggests. “I like you.”
“Enough to marry me?”
Reavely stops, the soft lighting flowing over his furred shoulders, a breeze rifling through his spiky hair, pushing it to become even more ear-like than before.
“I don’t know what Bessie told you,” he says.
I hold up a hand. “She didn’t tell me anything. This place is full enough of secrets and lies. I don’t need any more.”
“I am cursed, Wynter,” Reavely says, looking straight ahead as we continue. “My whole pack is cursed. It’s the reason they are not here anymore. Unless I serve the Reaper, and hand himmy one true mate, I will walk the Yeavering forever as his slave, and my pack will remain forever cursed.”
“And what happens if you don’t serve the Reaper?” I say, attempting to keep my heart out of my throat.
“Then I curse everything I touch.”
A muscle jumps in his strong jaw, the lines of his face harder than ever.
“So, you’re giving me up to the Reaper?”
Reavely stops. He takes hold of my hand and drops to one knee. “Never,” He growls. “I always thought when it came to it, it would be easy, to hand over my mate and return my pack to their position, but it is not.” His brow furrows. “I miss them, Wynter. I miss them all so very much, but I’d rather be thrown into the pits of hell than give you up to the Reaper.”
“I…” My mind rushes at a hundred miles an hour. “I don’t want that for you. Either way.” I look at my hands as I twist them. “I know some of what you feel. My dad died in the plague which affected all the humans, and my mum married again. But there was no curse, just my own stupid fault in trusting someone I shouldn’t have.”
Reavely studies my face, slowly, carefully.
“My curse is great, but I was told it could be broken by marriage, which is why the Hedley Kow opened her big mouth. I wish to marry you, Wynter, but not because of the curse. You are my fated one. I know it deep down inside. I knew it the moment I saw you.”
“You mean, if I marry you, the curse is broken, and you get your pack back?” I say. “Why would I not want to do that? I’d do anything to have my dad back.”
Reavely cups the side of my head, his thumb stroking over my cheek, a cheek which I suddenly realise is wet with tears.
His face is so close now, I find myself pressing my lips to his because I can’t seem to stop myself. I attempt to pull back fromhim when I realise what I’m doing, but his hand is at the back of my neck, and the kiss is returned.
Oh boy, is it returned! Reavely’s lips are soft, warm, inviting. He draws me in as if I am the only girl in the entire world. This is not what I was expecting when we set out today, but it is everything, everything I’ve ever wanted.
Reavely kisses me like he is never going to let me go, never going to let me up for air, and as his tongue sweeps my mouth, I don’t want it to end.
But end it does. He leaves me panting, hot, needy.
“I don’t deserve to be saved, Wynter, and I can’t ask you to do that for me.”
WYNTER
Iopen my mouth to say I don’t believe him, but my words are robbed from my mouth as something very hard hits us both, and I go flying. I’m in the air for about as long as I’m able to thinkthis is going to hurt, and then I hit the ground.
It hurts.
Not only does it jar my healing bones, but it slams my unbroken ones in such a way I’ll be shocked if it doesn’t cause damage. My head impacts the ground, and I’m seeing bright lights, as well as hearing horrible, terrible snarls. Black shapes battle as I attempt to pull myself upright, all parts of me screaming with pain but with a need to work out what is going on.
I’m on all fours when something pulls at my leg. I try to kick it free but it has hold. I scream out Reavely’s name as it pulls hard again and I’m dragged through the undergrowth, the growls getting quieter until there is only my screams and the sound of rushing wind, my face being battered by leaves and twigs.
Until I stop. Dead. For two or three seconds, all I can do is attempt to catch my breath, at least until I hear the squelchingsounds. They do not sound good. My stomach does a slow swirl, the precursor to nausea.
“Reavely?” I call out his name, my voice hoarse with all the screaming, my lungs struggling to take in air and my limbs weak with the thrashing.
There is a brief snarl, and a huge wolf head pokes through the bushes at me, muzzle covered in something dark and liquid.
“What’s going on?” I struggle out.
