Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 20

20

MERYN

onight I fight sleep, just like every night, but exhaustion wins. AfterT everything that’s happened the past few days—the coronation, Izabel, the Phylax betrayal—my body has reached a breaking point.

I’ve barely closed my eyes before I open them to that blurred and shadowy place, the space where Killian’s magic and mine seem intertwined.

Turning around in dread, I already know he’ll be there. He’s lounging on what looks to be a throne made entirely of shadow. Intricate curls and knots of shadow magic move slowly, lazily, creating a stomach-churning impression of the throne being alive somehow.

Killian’s eyes are bright, and when he smiles at me, he reveals a hint of fang.

Even now, with everything that’s happened, the sight is so wrong. My skin crawls. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to will myself out of this place and back into my bed.

I cannot fucking deal with him right now. Or ever.

“Oh, now, Meryn, don’t be that way.” His voice, so familiar, makes me hot and cold all over. “Come talk to me. I’m sorry about Izabel; I know she was important to you.”

I grit my teeth, refusing still to look at him.

“Was that you?” I snap. “Did you supply the poison?”

Killian sighs. “Haven’t I made myself clear, kitten?” The old nickname pricks me like a knife, and my eyes jump to his, narrowing. “I don’t want to kill you, Meryn. I love you. Come now. We could avoid all this trouble if you’d just let me love you the way you deserve.”

One corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk as his gaze rakes over me. I shudder, hating the flashes of memory that unwillingly skate across my mind: him washing my back, his lips on my ear, my neck.

His hands, touching me, unmaking me.

“And Phylax?” Shadows gather and swirl around my feet like a thick, inky mist as I move closer to where he sits. I stop just a few feet away, staring him down, refusing to be cowed by this lying snake.

“Of course Phylax came to me; they’ve always been the loyal ones,”

Killian says smoothly, rising to stand. “They know better than to abandon their rightful king. Alpha Tormun saw the truth. Phylax are the guardians, the protectors. And right now, they think their duty is to protect the people from you.”

“I—I don’t believe you,” I sputter. The Bonded were thrilled by what I did at the coronation. It makes no sense that an entire pack would turn around and willingly abandon me. Killian must have… done something.

Alistair Brightbane is the most powerful Siphon in history, as far as we know. If anyone could pull off deceiving a Bonded Alpha, it would be him and Killian.

“No?” Killian’s eyes bore into me as he draws closer, voice almost a whisper. “The nobles have seen it for themselves, now. They know you have no control over your powers. They went running back to their fiefdoms in fear, Mer. You know what they’re calling you? The Mad Bitch of Sturmfrost.”

Tears prick at my eyes, shame welling deep inside me. I don’t believe him; and still, there is truth in what he’s saying.

He takes another step toward me. “You are gambling with our entire kingdom on the line. What’s going to happen to everyone now with the front lines so weakened?”

The darkness is dense, crushing. I suck in a breath, feeling like I’m drowning. Killian moves closer still, one elegant hand coming up to cup my cheek, thumb stroking softly against my skin.

“It’s not too late for us.” His voice is seductive, his touch so familiar.

For a moment, I lean into his hand, my body betraying me. “Let me forgive you, kitten. Let me take you back. We can rule together if you’d just submit to me. Together, we’ll figure out a way to get rid of Alistair. I can be the king this country has always deserved.”

He pauses and searches my face before continuing. “Are you really going to surrender our nation to Astreona, all for your ego and arrogance?

Bring us to civil war, just to choose a crown over the man who loves you?”

At the word man, my sense of self-preservation finally surfaces, and I recoil, half-jumping backward and out of his reach. My face burns, still feeling his caress.

“You’re no man,” I growl. “I’d rather die than rule beside a monstrous, bloodsucking parasite possessed by a body-snatching creep. I am the rightful queen by blood. I am the one the crown called to.”

Killian’s face contorts with rage, his mask coming off. The shadows grow violent, whipping around us like a tornado.

He lunges forward, grabbing my wrist, his hand painfully tight around that damn engagement bracelet, pressing it deep into my skin.

“You are mine, Meryn. I won’t forget that, even if you’re pretending to.

How’s your sister doing, by the way?”

At those words, my fury flares, and something breaks. A light shines in my mind, and I sense the edges of this realm, and beyond them, somehow.

Like the whole thing is a thick film that can be peeled up and away if I can just focus.

I turn away from Killian, screwing my eyes shut and putting all my energy into rejecting this shadow realm.

I will myself to wake. Somewhere on the other side of the shadowy wall is Anassa. I can almost hear her voice in my head.

Shadows pull at me, trying to wrap around me tight, keep me in, but I wrest them away. Killian’s voice twists and morphs as if he’s speaking to me through water.

Just—there, on the other side of this sickly darkness, there’s something — I wake with a jolt. My nightclothes are stuck to me with a layer of sweat, and I gasp, kicking the stifling blankets away.

My wrist aches. I stare down at the bracelet, move it up my arm slightly, and look at the angry ring of red that looks almost burned into my skin.

I want it off. Goddess, I want to get rid of it so badly. We were placing all our hopes on Tormun’s capture of Killian and now… When will I ever get rid of it? Will I be bound to him forever through this? Forever letting him corrupt the pack magic and siphon off my own?

The room is dark except for one sputtering oil lamp, but the darkness is totally different from that of the dreamworld. It’s cool and empty instead of that sickly dense pressure.

For a second, it’s still pressing in on me, and I scrub my hands against my eyes, trying to block out the feeling, the sound of Killian’s threats.

I allow myself a single, aching scream of rage, desperation, grief.

Then something scrapes loudly across the floor, and I nearly jump out of bed.

“This time,” comes a low, controlled voice from the dark corner near the door, “tell me the truth about what’s happening to you.”

I blink as Stark emerges from the darkness, his massive frame unfolding from the armchair in the corner of my room. Has he been watching me sleep?

He stares at me steadily, and I know: There’s no way he’s going to leave my rooms unless I give him some answers.

My hands are still trembling from the dreamworld encounter as I stare up at Stark, a nightmare in his own right. He’s only a foot or two from me, one strong arm braced against the bedpost of this goddess-cursed bed, expression unyielding. His dark eyes burn with some emotion I can’t name.

He’s terrifying as always.

And beautiful as always.

Right now, I’m too exhausted and wrung out to get into one of our little bickering matches. Unburdening myself sounds like a relief. “Fine. I was considering telling you anyway.”

Ducking around him, I turn up the lantern by my bedside, an ornate, multifaceted thing.

On the sitting table in my room is a pitcher of water and two delicate glasses; I pour myself a glass and gulp it down in a single swallow before filling my cup once more.

The water soothes my throat, cools me down enough to gather my thoughts.

“I’ve been unable to sleep for… well, for weeks now, I suppose. When I sleep, sometimes it’s normal, dreamless or silly bits and snatches of dream.

But sometimes I find myself in this… place. It’s like a whole realm made of shadow magic, the same one that I have…”

Stark regards me silently.

“…and that Killian has, too, because of this damn bracelet.” I gulp, take another sip of water. “It’s real. It’s not just an ordinary dream. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like my magic has been manipulated to create a place where we can talk and interact, even though he’s leagues away. He said he didn’t make it, but I don’t believe him. There was also… there was a voice

once.”

Stark’s eyes narrow at this. “A voice?”

I set the glass down. “A deep, male voice.”

“Alistair?” Stark asks.

I shake my head. “No, Killian said that Alistair can’t access this space. I heard the voice before Killian started showing up. I…”

I don’t know what to make of it. I’m worried, even still, about the possibility of my mental health slipping. Of delusions setting in. Of my power taking me to the brink, and the possibility of crossing into a place I can’t return from.

My mother heard voices. And maybe it was because of suppressed magic and her unclaimed birthright, but… maybe it was something more.

“Perhaps that part really was a dream,” I eventually say.

I return to the foot of the bed and perch there, both comforted by and wary of Stark’s angry presence.

“This is only the second time that it’s happened,” I continue, looking up at him. “I can’t sleep. I’ve just been living in fear that if I close my eyes, I’ll end up back there. He was awful.”

I’m twisting my engagement bracelet around my wrist violently. The ruby that was once so beautiful to me now looks like an angry bloodstain clotted with darkness against my skin. I make myself stop.

“He was awful,” I repeat softly. “The things he said… he’s never going to let me go. He can get into my head. Literally get into my dreams. He has my powers.”

Stark is looking at me intensely, his mouth drawn tight.

“And I can’t get this fucking bracelet off!” My final word comes out as a wail, and I realize I’m spinning the bracelet again, over and over like it’ll make a difference.

The words from Venna’s contact echo in my mind even now—it might kill me if I tried to remove it.

Stark reaches out, stilling my hand with his. He’s shaking, and I look up

in surprise to search his face. His features are taut with rage, and it comes off him in waves, like his magic and his physical power are gathering to strike.

He takes a breath and releases my hand, sitting down next to me on the bed. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re strong.”

“I don’t,” I agree, and manage a weak smile. “Maybe Killian’s right.

Maybe I’m arrogant. But I know I’m strong. I’m stronger than that coddled asshole who was raised to believe that everything he sets eyes on is his for the taking. And I’m going to fucking show him that.”

Stark nods, and I turn to look at him directly again, our faces so close together in the dark room.

“And I know you don’t need me to tell you that I would kill him in this world and then chase him straight into death and kill him in any others.”

His voice is coiled violence.

“No, I don’t,” I agree, staring into his eyes, letting that violence sink into my skin, relishing it. “Because we both know that I’ll never rest easy until his blood is on my hands.”

His eyes search mine. He nods again, and I’m close enough to see the muscles in his neck shift with the movement, tattoos seeming to dance in the lantern light. “So tell me what you need, Meryn.”

I loosen a tight breath, my mind reeling. His presence puts me on edge, makes it hard to think straight. But there’s one question I have to ask.

“Why do you care, Stark?”

My curiosity has been building. Half the time, I can tell he hates being around me. The other half, well… I’m not sure what to make of it.

He looks down, his dark hair falling in his face. I try not to think about its silky texture between my fingers.

“Seriously,” I continue. “You’ve fulfilled your duty. I’ve claimed my crown. I don’t—I don’t need someone by my side who feels obligated to be here. I know you didn’t choose this for yourself. So just know as far as I’m concerned, you owe me nothing.”

Stark folds his big hands, the tattoos and scars on them intertwining.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He still won’t look at me.

“Is it Anassa and Cratos?” I push. “I know—I know the mate bond can be so confusing. Block it out, though. It’s what I do.”

Finally, he whips his head up. The look in his eyes is burning—it’s an

inferno, and if I get too close to it, it will consume me whole.

I take a nervous breath, and he hears it, his gaze dropping to my lips, lingering there.

“It’s not the mate bond, Meryn,” he finally says, dragging his gaze back to mine. His voice is a low rumble that makes my pulse pound. “And it’s not out of some noble, misplaced sense of duty, either.”

“Then why?” The words come out so quiet.

“All my life, I’ve been surrounded by people who want power for the sake of it. Who want to prove their dominance and force subservience. I didn’t know there was another way. And then I met you.”

I think I’ve stopped breathing entirely.

“I see you, Meryn Sturmfrost. I see who you are and who you could become. It’s about the hope you give me for a better future for our country, and my selfish desire to bring it to fruition. I choose to serve at your side because I want that. So tell me what you need, because it’s very late at night and I’m running short on patience.”

I swallow. My pulse is racing, my skin hot.

“I need…” Another shudder racks me, and suddenly I’m so tired, more tired than I’ve ever been. “I need to sleep. I want to be helpful when we go to Weisenstat and I don’t know how I’m going to manage it if I can’t get any fucking sleep.”

I squeeze my eyes shut again in frustration.

“And Izabel… I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m the one who asked her to stay behind, not go on to the front with the rest of our packmates. I’m the reason she was here. She drank that emberwine, and it was meant for me.”

My stomach churns, grief and exhaustion tying my guts in knots, and my heart starts to race again, out of control.

“Hey,” Stark says urgently, hand coming up to grip my forearm tightly.

My eyes flutter open, and I glance up at him again. “Wherever you’re going right now, don’t,” he says softly. “Take a deep breath, and then get back in bed.”

I’m not sure what else to do, so I follow his instructions. The first breath is almost painful, but by the second or third, my heart is calming, exhaustion pulling me back under. I stand, smooth the bedsheets tangled from my movement while I slept.

The bed has cooled, and the sheets aren’t as constricting when I slip back in. I extinguish the lantern again, then watch as Stark rises, too, removing his boots and moving to the other side of my bed.

“What are you doing?” I’m so tired that my mind can’t make sense of things.

“You said you need to sleep. So sleep.” He gracefully settles himself atop the covers, his broad shoulders making the huge bed look small. “I’ll keep watch. I could sense that something was wrong, earlier. Through the wolves’ mate bond, maybe. Now that I know… if I sense it again, that you’re getting pulled into that dreamworld, I’ll wake you up.”

I stare at the dark of the ceiling. “Okay.”

This is strange. But it’s also somehow… calming. The heat from his body is so close to mine that I could reach out and touch him. But I don’t.

I turn over to my side, facing away from him, but feeling him at my back. Watching my back.

The moment I close my eyes, though, my heart starts racing once more.

My breath gets shallow, and Killian’s face swims up in the darkness, melting into Izabel, her face as she drank from my goblet, contorting as she chokes.

My eyes fly open, but it’s still there, burned into my vision, and I can’t help it—I start to cry.

Stark wraps one of his strong arms around me, pressing gently into my stomach through the covers. I twist my neck to look at him, startled.

“Is this okay?” His deep voice is uncharacteristically uncertain.

“It’s okay.” My body warms from the inside out, starting at the place where he touches me. I face away from him, and his arm settles more firmly around me, his body ever so gently pressing against my back.

His warmth and the solid weight of him are comforting. It soothes my breathing, helping me remember to take a full breath, then another.

I close my eyes again tentatively, focusing on the sensation of his strength around me, and no more visions come.

I’m senseless of the moment that I slip from wakefulness into sleep,

deep and dreamless.

The first I’ve had in weeks.

Stark sleeps with me the next night, too—and again, I have a perfect, dreamless night. When I ask him about it, he says he can sense the shadows descending. He touches me when he feels it, and it pulls us both out of it.

With sleep, I’m finally starting to return to myself.

Still traumatized, still heartbroken.

But finally confident that I can muscle my stubborn ass through it—my specialty.

And then it’s time for us to depart for Weisenstat. In the end, Venna decides to join us. I tried to persuade her to stay back, to be near her family, but she refused. She needs the sense of purpose, to keep herself going.

Nevah stays in Sturmfrost, though. She’s going to act as my liaison in the castle—and also keep an eye on Tomison for all of us. His words and his actions still fester like a wound, but he’s my friend. I need to know he’s all right.

I decide to bring the shards of the Dire Blade with me, for goddess knows what reason.

It’s not like they’ll be much use in battle the way they are. It just felt wrong to leave them behind, and perhaps we’ll meet someone outside Sturmfrost with a better sense of how they could be reforged.

Now the pieces are wrapped in cloth and gathered in a bag lashed tight to Anassa’s back. Just one more broken thing she’s carrying with her.

We ride hard in the direction of the front—Stark, Noemi, Venna, me… and Saela.

My sister shifts in front of me now on Anassa’s sturdy back. The hiccups she had from sobbing have finally stopped, I notice.

“The young pup will be fine,” Anassa says firmly, hearing my thoughts.

“She belongs with us, her family.”

Saela and I had a blowout fight. I tried to persuade her to stay at the castle, where Aldrich and Helene and Grigore could take care of her, keep her safe. The war front is no place for a child—especially one in her condition.

She cried for two days straight, begging me to take her with us.

Eventually, I relented, with Anassa’s encouragement.

Encouragement might be the wrong word.

She made it clear she would bite me if I didn’t follow her command.

“If you say so,” I respond, smarting with irritation. How can you argue with an unyielding direwolf and a mouth full of fangs?

Thankfully, my head is no longer pounding from reinforcing that wall against Killian. I can’t sense him at all anymore; he’s disappeared from the communication bonds alongside Phylax.

The sun drifts low, the sky turning purple and pink. The air is fresh. The trees flanking the road are dense and drizzled with sugary snow. We move through the forest as if we’re part of it, claws sinking into mud, tails whipping, fur rippling.

We’re nearing Linsfall now, according to Stark, where we’ll stop for the

night.

But we’re not near enough.

Saela grows increasingly restless, fidgeting and scratching at her arms.

At one point, she leans down to smell Anassa’s fur as if to ground herself.

Her blood hunger is rising.

“We should stop briefly before reaching the city so that I may hunt for her,” Anassa tells me. It makes sense for Saela to drink before we’re in a crowded area. I want to make things smoother for her.

I pat Anassa’s side in confirmation, and she slows her pace immediately.

I signal to the others over the bonds that we’ll make a quick stop—Saela needs a bathroom break, I tell them, to explain the privacy we need—and guide Anassa into the depths of the woods.

Once we’re far enough from the road, I slip from Anassa’s back in a small clearing.

She waits patiently for me to help Saela and unfasten a couple of the bags she’s carrying. I want her light so she can catch something quickly.

Anassa slips away between the trees, and Saela moves jerkily to lean against a tall fir.

She’s clearly stiff, her body racked by her need for blood.

We stand in the quiet for a long while. Golden light still shimmers through the boughs. Somewhere, a graydove lets out rhythmic hoots. I expected the silent treatment to continue, but Saela’s voice joins the sounds of the forest, crackly like her throat is too dry.

“This is going to be my life from now on,” she murmurs. “Forever hiding what I am.”

I shake my head. “I swear to you, Sae. Aldrich and I are doing everything we can. We’ll find a cure for you.”

Her cheeks redden. “If there’s a cure, Meryn. If.”

“Sae—”

“Just stop, please. You shouldn’t promise things like that. What if you can’t find a cure, Mer? What if I’m a Siphon forever? Have you thought about that at all? Because it’s always on my mind.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I don’t want her to give up hope. She turns her eyes on me, and they shine with tears.

“What are you going to do with me when you fail? Will you put me away somewhere? Banish me? Leave me behind, like you tried to do today?”

I turn away, hurt, afraid. I want to tell her that nothing is more important to me than she is, but— A twig snaps behind Saela. I whirl back around to look for Anassa returning with prey.

But there’s a man there, tall and uniformed, face twisted with hate. And

he has a knife to my sister’s throat.

“Gotcha, usurper,” he snarls at me.