Page 82 of Through the Wicked Wood

“Not much,” he says, setting a shorter spool on the ground. “Once she assesses Ruse, she’ll need to wrap this around her middle and we’ll hoist them up.” My eyes trace back toward Alaric. His anxious pacing has halted and his eyes are now fixated on the forest from which we just came. Cocking my head to the side, I make my way toward him. As he lowers himself, the thick patch of fur on the back of his neck raises as his lips curl up revealing his lethally sharp canines. Snapping my head back to Galen, I move on instinct.

“They’re getting closer,” I whisper as I pull an arrow and nock it. Sam follows suit, her slender fingers tracing the body of her arrow as she watches the woods. Jarek unsheathes his axes from his back and joins her side, twirling them effortlessly in his palms.

A snap of a branch causes a chain reaction as my arm raises an arrow pointed to the woods. Alaric’s growl deepens in his chest as I meet his side. Then through the darkness, I hear it again.

A deep pounding of hooves against earth rumbles beneath my feet, and before I can think any further, I launch an arrow blindly, hoping by some miracle I’ll hit whatever moves toward us.

But it isn’t enough.

Swarms of navy and gold encircle us, the king’s crest blares brightly across the chests of the guards. They shouldn’t be here, I think to myself but I don’t have much time to ponder it. I shoot another arrow, this time successfully hitting a guard under his chin, the spray of blood coating his uniform. The clang of metal rattles my senses as Jarek disarms a guard, pulling him from his horse and finishing him off with both axes across the man's throat.

Alaric’s teeth sink deeply as another guard lets out a high shrill scream. The blood gurgles from his throat, coating the wolf’s fur a deep crimson. Caught up in the bloodied image, I’m thrown off as an arrow whizzes past my face and lands in the heart of an oncoming guard inches from where I stand.

Sam.

“You’re welcome!” she yells through the frenzy as she readies another arrow, aiming for another guard headed her way. I nock my arrow, but she’s quicker. As she’s always has been.

“Awfully violent for a delicate little thing,” the guard sneers. Clearly, he has no idea what he’s up against. I take a step forward, launching my arrow and landing in another guard's throat a few paces behind Jarek. As the guard in front of Sam lifts his blade, she spins, dropping to one knee. Her arrow lodges in his chest before he has the time to lower his blade. He falls, the look of shock permanently locked on his face as she stands, hovering over him.

“I’ve been described as many things in this life,” she snarls, yanking her arrow free from the man’s chest as he takes his last breaths, “but delicate has never been one of them.”

Steel clashing against steel draws my attention, Jarek is locked in place with another guard. I shoot another arrow, hitting the guard right in the throat. Blood sprays across Jarek’s face, but it doesn’t stop him from charging the next man.

But there are so many.

Too many.

I can’t pull my arrows quick enough, and even as every arrow hits its target, we’re deeply outnumbered. The horses filter in leagues, and my heart sinks as I watch Samaria frantically pull arrow after arrow. As Jarek swings heavily with his ax, landing each blow but tiring by the minute. Alaric pants heavily, his coat now a muddied red.

Frantic, my eyes scan the crowd for Galen. I ready another arrow and plow through the carnage just in time to see a wash of blonde hair on the ground.

“Galen!” I shout, letting loose my arrow and cursing as it misses the guard that hauls Galen onto the back of his horse. His body lies limply across the front and I can’t see his face. Panic has my feet moving and darting around the guards. “Galen!” I shout again, and this time, I hear him call my name.

But I’m too late.

I’m a gambling man by nature, but I know the odds of a successful outcome are not great. We need to flee. My breathing is ragged as I spin from the guard that has taken Galen and take off in a sprint toward the trench. It’s been minutes since the ambush, minutes that feel like hours and I hope to the Mother she and Ruse are okay in there.

“Elora!” I shout, nocking my final arrow and lining it up with the guard at the entrance of the ditch. Ready to make my last kill when the hilt of a sword collides with the back of my head and suddenly, I’m on the ground. Stars dance behind my eyes as I roll to my back. The crunch of boots lands against my ear as my vision frantically tries to steady itself. I’m hauled to my feet by a guard.

“Contain the others,” the guard snaps. Several men flank me, holding my arms on either side. I can tell by the demand in his voice he’s a high-ranking officer. I kick my legs out and land a blow to his lower abdomen, but the grip of the guards who hold me is too tight to do much else. The officer before me stumbles backward but as he steadies himself and finds his breath, I catch his eyes.

Familiar.

My eyes drag to a mass of bloodied fur behind the officer. Alaric. I want to shout his name, but he is fighting his own battle. Bloodied and raw, he rips apart another guard as three more move in. Five more. Ten more guards flank the wolf until he disappears behind them completely out of my view.

“Can’t fight your own battles, mate?” I draw my attention back to the smug officer before me. Not a single hair out of place, not a drop of blood or dirt on his pristine boots.

Tugging against the grasp of the guards, I fail to free my grip. A smile spreads over the officer’s face, boiling my blood. He leaves his eyes on me as he speaks to the men holding both my arms. “Load him up.” He steps closer, angling his face so it’s inches away from mine. “Lucky for you, you’re to remain untouched. For now.”

How lucky, indeed.

Chapter 40

Elora

The dirt is damp and cold under my palms as I make my way to the bottom. As I glance down toward Ruse, I spot a small clearing of rock to land. Using my body as a counterweight I push off the wall and swing toward the clearing. Toppling over, I catch myself on the opposite wall which stops me from landing face first on the sharp rocks. Carefully, I push myself off the wall of dirt. I will myself to be strong as I assess the damage of Ruse’s fall. Gliding my hand over her back, her lungs struggle for air, but I keep moving until my hand rests under her head. Sticky warmth greets me there and I grimace as I pull back. Deep crimson coats my hand.

Swallowing deeply, I bend so my mouth is close to her ear. “I’ll get you out of here,” I whisper, not sure if I’m convincing the wolf or myself. Before I can shout up to the others, a familiar noise catches me off guard, lodging my voice in my throat. A whiz of an arrow is followed by a clang of steel. The hunters have caught up to us.

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