Page 4 of Curse of the Healer
A circle of bones
The blood of a maid
Without seed of her mate
Use the blood of one never wed
Make your wish, call forth the dead
Before I could say anything more, there came a howl, long and high. A wolf hunting at night, even though it was the eve of the first day of Yule, and the wolves should be gone. Yule heralded the rebirth of the sun and the last half of winter as we looked forward to spring. Ironically for me, and the howl of the wolf suggested a darkness which did not exist on such a night.
The dwarf’s fingers twitched, and a stone dropped out of his fist. Straightening, he glanced uneasily at the forest, scratched his neck and inched closer to the ogre.
“Dak,” he whispered, "do you have the knife? We should hurry."
"It's just a wolf." Dak shrugged as he pulled a curved knife from his belt and held the ornament handle out to Teague. "I can rip a wolf apart with my bare hands."
"No, you fool," the dwarf snapped, "it means we were followed, and he might try to save her."
Save her. Save me? I straightened at the thought and tried to create enough moisture in my mouth for a scream, but my voice came out raspy. "Help!" I coughed out, no louder than a whisper. "Help me."
"I told you not to scream," Teague dropped the last stone and snatched the knife from Dak’s oversized hand. "Now you'll be sorry."
I hadn't screamed, but there was no point in explaining. The dwarf was about to slit my throat knife, and I pressed my body against the tree trunk as though it would save me.
It didn’t. Instead, the bushes split in half and a wolf leaped out, hair as black as night and eyes red as blood. It bounded toward the dwarf, teeth bared, and as it did an axe hurled out of the wood and sank into the ogre’s skull. The beast fell, plopping on its back into the underbrush.
If my voice were not powerless and raw, I would have screamed at the sheer horror of it, and yet my heart beat faster as I wondered whether I was being saved or captured by another monster of the wildwood. I twisted in my bounds, and a man walked out of the wood into the moonlight.
He was a large man, taller than myself with a thick torso, great arms and legs bulging with muscles. I gasped in surprise even though it sent a surge of pain through my throat. The hulking man strode closer to me, pulling a knife from his belt. The moonlight shone over his face, displaying it clearly to me, the set jaw, the clean-shaven beard, and those eyes, dark green, just like the wildwood, that gazed at me with a smoldering ferocity. Despite my predicament, my body went warm, and I opened my mouth in astonishment.
"Wilhelm?" I rasped.
Chapter 6
Wilhelm the Woodcutter's green eyes drifted away from mine just long enough to survey the fallen ogre and dwarf.
"On guard," he called to the wolf, his deep voice low and melodious.
A shiver went up my spine, not of fear, but of relief and gratitude. I'd never suspected Wilhelm would come to my rescue in the middle of the night, nor did I know he had a pet wolf. My eyes studied his face, and a blush tinged my cheeks. I'd been sweet on the woodcutter for a while, but I assumed he had his own life. After Mabon, after I'd fallen from grace in the eyes of the village, I assumed he continued to help me only because he felt sorry for me. But now?
“Talia. Did they hurt you?" he asked, a growl in his tone as he bent to cut the rope from around my feet.
"No," I whispered, my eyes going to his rich blond hair and wide shoulders.
Standing, he side-stepped the pile of vomit—I blushed again, this time with embarrassment and shame—and he cut the rope from around the tree. I sagged with relief at the freedom and tried to step away from the tree, but my feet were numb and I staggered. Before I could fall, Wilhelm's warm hand clamped around my forearm.
"Here, let me help you," he said, putting one arm around my waist to steady me. My head bumped up against his shoulder and I leaned into his unintentional embrace while he cut the rope from around my wrists. The untended proximity was distracting, for he smelled like spruce and fir, a clean scent that surrounded him unlike whatever pungent odors—fears, sweat and wine—which were emanating from my body.
I hissed as he freed my hands, distracting me from my unbidden thoughts. The coarse rope had cut into my skin. Numbness and fright ebbed away, leaving only exhaustion, pain and a sharp relief that Wilhelm had found me.
"Lean on me," Wilhelm instructed, one arm still circling my waist while the other tucked away his knife. "You might find it hard to walk for a while."
"How did you find me?" I asked, more than content to lean into his strength.
A twig snapped, and the black wolf trotted toward the sound, then sat on its haunches, turning its red eyes on Wilhelm for instructions.
"I am sorry it took so long. It was Rex here," he jerked his chin toward the wolf, "who alerted me that something was wrong."
