Page 23 of Through the Wicked Wood

“Touche’, Sorin,” he laughs. “I’ll stay out of your business, if you stay out of mine.”

“Be careful, Ulric,” I say, letting out a low whistle. “Not many who lay with dragons live to see the next day.”

He laughs again, throwing his hands up. “I imagine you want your bow,” he says, changing the subject.

“Indeed. Is it safe to assume it’s nearly fixed? We’ll be staying until after the full moon, so I’d like to have it before then.” I purposely leave out our destination, though I have no doubt he already knows. He eyes me for a moment before his features soften.

Standing again, he braces himself on the counter as his legs threaten to wobble beneath him. I’m on my way to his side in an instant, but before I reach him, he holds out a hand. “I’m fine, Sorin. Just a little stiff is all.” I know the snap in his voice isn’t intentional, so I stop in place and nod. Gritting my teeth, I watch him struggle to regain balance. He’s as stubborn as Agnes. Maybe they’re meant for each other, after all.

It pains me to see them both this way, and the idea of them bearing the burdens of Loxley alone for even longer makes my stomach churn with guilt. “And your bow is near ready,” Ulric huffs, “give me another day to finish her up and she’s all yours.”

“Thank you, Ulric.” I take the last few steps toward him and grasp his outreached hand. He dips his head quickly before heading back to the shop.

* * *

Warmth shrouds me as I make my way through town, whistling and stopping every few minutes to chat with the villagers. I’ve missed being home. Missed this. The simple mornings, the Summer markets, Loxley in general. I decide to swing by Marian’s to pick up some huckleberry jam for Agnes’ fresh bread. I make a mental note as I head back to the house to bring Elora into town today. She should see Loxley for what it is, not what she’s been told it is. My heart lightens and pace quickens as I begin to steer myself toward the main house.

Nearing the end of the main street, something in my gut turns and the memory of what Ulric said about Agnes’ vision whispers into my mind. The sky shifts, the harsh light of the sun swiftly replaced with gray. The breeze changes direction and a few leaves tumble from the maple trees on either side of the street. Something inside me tells me to run.

So, I run.

Sprinting down the rest of the street, I make it to the house with my heart slamming in my chest. Pushing through the front door, I head straight for Sam’s room. The bed is made and the nightgown folded neatly at the end of it. Undisturbed and empty. I round the corner and sprint down the hall to the kitchen. Another empty room save for the sliced bread on the counter and a couple of half empty cups of tea. I drop the jam on the counter before heading to Agnes’ room.

“Agnes!” I shout but am left unanswered. Panic courses in my chest making my feet move quicker than my brain can think. I let them lead the way out the back door. Let them guide me into the woods behind the house. To her.

A howl pierces through the trees, solidifying what it is I fear. Picking up my pace, I run as fast as I can, my breathing heavy as my boots slam into the forest floor.

The wolves have followed us here.

Chapter 12

Elora

The wolf keeps his distance as he throws his head back and lets out a long howl. Likely signaling to another wolf that he’s cornered his prey.

Prey.

Keeping my eyes locked on the animal, I clench my daggers, not daring to move from my spot against the tree. Pushing my back against the trunk, the bark scrapes against my spine. Dampness fills the air as several gray clouds block the sun, promising rain.

The wolf stands several feet away, pacing back and forth between the trees. His heavy breathing is frantic and erratic as he glances between me and the ground. Almost as if he’s waiting for something. Even from a distance his massive frame takes up most of the space between us. His claws dig deep lines in the ground, flinging loose bits of dirt with every step. Something snaps in the woods behind the wolf, and he whips his head instinctually toward the sound.

Now.

Hopping up on both feet, I ready my daggers into a fighting position. Keeping my steps light, I move silently across the forest floor. With the beast distracted, I decide I need a better vantage point. Across from me lies a large fallen log that I could easily hop on top of. Without a second’s hesitation I dart across the clearing toward the log.

As fast as I think I am, the wolf is faster.

The ground vibrates as his paws thunder closer. Spinning at the last moment, I turn to face the beast. His approach is stunningly quick, but to my surprise, the moment I turn to face him, he comes to an abrupt halt. With only about a foot between us now, my breath catches in my chest. Though, quickly I realize it isn’t fear that paralyzes me. No. Definitely not fear. But something different. Familiarity?

A voice deep inside me tells me to straighten myself. A voice I don’t recognize. Not those of the demons whom I carry with me every day, but something older.

You’re safe.

My hands tremble as I straighten myself, the clutch on my daggers loosening. The wolf sniffs the air around us, but makes no move forward.

“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” I whisper. Am I really speaking to a wolf? I’m not sure if my mind is playing tricks, or I’ve truly gone mad, but the wolf dips his head in my direction. My eyes widen as I watch this massive animal soften and bow before me. After straightening himself, he takes a final stride in my direction. Anticipation beats against my rib cage but still, I’m not afraid.

Cautiously, I place one of my daggers back at my hip and use my free hand to reach for the wolf. Instead of shying away from my touch as he did by the river, he closes the distance between my hand and him.

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