Page 113 of A Frozen Pyre
“Ah, fuck,” Tyr said in the split second it took for the creature’s noises to turn into the snap of its maw. A frustrated shout, the crunch of snow underfoot, the break of a fallen branch, a cry from Caleb, and the bloodthirsty barking of a demonic hound flooded him in the time it took to blink.
Harland was on his feet as he sprang into action, ready for battle against the unknown shadow. He rolled out of the way as the dark shape extended its talons for him. He gasped against the glittering horror of eyes and teeth as it gnashed its maw inches from his face. He unsheathed his sword scarcely in time to knock it from its lunge, but he barely nicked the animal. Rather than act wounded, it was merely spurred on. Infuriated by his blade, the creature pounced again.
The shouting of men behind him faded to noise as he squared off with the creature. Tyr was saying something while Caleb ran for his weapon. When the monster sprang the next time, it was not for Harland but for the first mate.
Caleb’s short sword was good for little more than threatening unruly crew members. It didn’t stand a chance against a hellhound. He lofted his weapon with both hands andbrought it down as if he were chopping wood, but his timing was faulty. The creature had its teeth in his shoulders in a second.
Caleb screamed as jagged needles embedded themselves into his flesh, ripping free with the leather of his coat and a pound of fresh red fae meat. The dog had its talons in Caleb’s chest as it forced him onto his back in the snow, but Harland was quick on his feet. In two bounds, he was past the fire and brought his weapon onto the dog.
He was still vaguely aware of Tyr shouting—not at the demon this time but at him.
The demon whimpered in pain and fury as it was forced off his first mate and into the snow. When his blade came up, it was slick with the same black, viscous liquid that had coated it on the Straits. He raised his sword again only to cry out as a strong hand gripped his wrist.
Tyr may have been built, but Harland’s fae power was strength. He forced his arm down and watched the plea in Tyr’s eyes.
“Don’t fight him,” Tyr begged.
Harland gasped between Tyr and the demon. “What are you—”
“It’s Ophir’s dog!”
The memory hit him like a crack of thunder. He remembered stumbling upon Dwyn’s sleeping form outside of a manor in Henares. He’d crept up the stairs to see his beloved princess fighting with a dark-haired man from Sulgrave. Beside her had been the amphibian-skinned monstrosity, part canine, part feline, that dripped with Caleb’s hot blood now. Pain had lanced him as he’d been hit over the head with a blunt object, only to awaken the following day beside his tethered horse. Ophir had been gone, and the Sulgrave fae had been nowhere to be seen.
Ophir’s manifested hound.
Tyr took several careful steps between Harland and the dog. “Sedit, stop,” he said, flattening his hands. Then toHarland, he said, “Put out your fire.”
“It’s the dead of winter,” Harland protested. “My man’s injured.”
“Fire aggravates him. Put it out.”
Harland growled, “Fire shouldn’t—”
“Put it out!”
Harland blinked at Tyr. The man had spoken to him as if he were his lord and master rather than someone who’d infiltrated the castle and brainwashed the princess. Then again, he had saved him…
Caleb groaned from where he’d slowly brought himself to his feet. If his gored shoulder hadn’t been evidence enough, the ashen pallor of his face would have let Harland know that something was seriously wrong.
“You put out the fire; I’ll help Caleb,” Harland said.
“No,” Tyr said cautiously, “I don’t think I should move.”
Harland looked between Tyr and the hound and realized the man was right. He’d thought he’d injured the creature, but it looked perfectly healthy as it flexed its muscles and readied itself to pounce. It drew its talons through the snow as it challenged him.
“Let me get the tonics—”
“The fire, Harland!” Tyr barked.
Harland nodded, half in shock as he gathered an armful of snow to smother the fire. Several piles later, nothing remained of the yellow and orange warmth that had kept them alive only moments before. He didn’t wait to ensure that the hound had been pacified before going to his satchel to dig for the tonics. Given the severity of Caleb’s wound, he grabbed two. One to clot the exterior and one to drink. They didn’t have a lot of time to waste, and he couldn’t risk prolonging Caleb’s healing process.
“What are you doing here?” Tyr demanded.
“The same thing as you, I’d suppose,” Harland replied.
The navigator took the first brown bottle in his good hand and uncorked it with his teeth. He spat the cork into thesnow and downed it in two swallows while Harland drizzled the remaining bottle onto the mate’s shoulder. Caleb sighed as he leaned his head against the tentpole.
“It’s still here, isn’t it, sir?” Caleb asked quietly.
