Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 3

3

MERYN

million things happen at once.A Instinctively, I fist my hands in Anassa’s fur, hauling myself up onto her back. My friends close ranks. Izabel and Tomison and the rest of the Strategos automatically join together into a defensive formation around the platform.

Venna peels off and circles around in a tight arc. Her wolf, Skaia, gathers on her haunches to spring up onto the platform beside me.

“Alpha Stark!” Venna yells, gesticulating wildly toward something

behind me.

Stark and I both pivot.

An older Kryptos woman and her wolf have materialized behind us. Her snarling gray wolf lunges forward, and I quickly draw the Dire Blade, steeling myself for a blow.

But instead of engaging me in battle, the wolf and rider barrel in low and hard. The direwolf’s head slams against Anassa’s front legs, toppling us over.

I spring free from Anassa’s back as we go down so that I don’t find myself crushed beneath my wolf. The platform slams against me with a breath-snatching crunch, and the world spins, my hand letting go of the sword. I shield my face with my arms as I tumble once, twice.

And then there’s nothing underneath me at all. I fall through air, off the platform, and slam face-first into the dirt. With a groan, I push myself over and onto my back.

My head is light, spinning. I reach for those dark shadows that respond

to my anger, but they’re nothing but a whisper. That fall weakened me.

The sky dims, and I blink, fighting unconsciousness. Then the sea of black materializes into snarling dark fur and violence incarnate: Cratos and Stark.

Cratos lands directly ahead of me, the two of them guarding my front.

Anassa is still up on the platform in a defensive crouch, one paw placed possessively on the Dire Blade’s hilt.

I’ve lost the Sturmfrost crown in my fall, I realize dazedly, hand at my temple— “There!” Anassa’s mental snarl cuts off the thought.

The Kryptos woman and her wolf materialize in front of Stark and several paces off to the right. She uses her Kryptos power to obscure them from sight as they move.

Her control is astounding—I don’t understand how she stays so completely hidden in such a bright place. What is happening? Is it just because she’s older?

Or has something happened to make the magic… stronger?

Reaching for my sword, I drop into a fighting stance.

Once again, though, the Kryptos pair do something unexpected. Instead of coming for me, they swing wide. The woman draws a short lance and

spears something glinting in the dirt.

Then they dash away.

My crown, I realize, stomach dropping. Fuck. There’s a whispering darkness in my veins, but once again, it’s only a whisper.

Stark and I lock eyes, and I nod, answering the question in his glance.

“Get it back.”

“My queen,” he says. He and Cratos spring forward so quickly I barely see them move.

Anassa leaps down from the platform, and I remount, linking with the rest of the Strategos to assess the situation. I’m still weakened from the fall and shy away from the strain of trying to reach for those outside my pack again.

“Jonah had several teams planted around the perimeter,” Nevah says.

“See there, there, and there.” She gestures with her dagger while also sharing pictures mentally. “They’re guarding the entrances and exits.”

The pack’s understanding of the field coalesces, ideas and updates

flowing in from a dozen different minds.

“That group’s coming straight for us,” Izabel mind-shouts, and we all spot the cluster of wolves headed toward Jonah: mostly former Rawbonds who trailed around after him during training. Disturbingly, a few older Bonded are in the group, too.

“And from the left!” Nevah adds, leading a group around that side of the platform. All of us use the wooden structure at our backs as an extra defense.

“Form up!” I call, snapping back into battle mode. Our group is a little larger than Jonah’s, but not by much.

What the fuck? How is this a nearly even battle?

Many of the Bonded in the arena are still hanging back, I realize.

Possibly waiting to see the outcome of this fight before picking sides.

My mouth twists.

There’s a familiar tension in the air, the sick hum of energy that happens just before bloodshed. From where I sit on Anassa’s back, I watch as the castle servants clock it, too. Their eyes dart between the two separate factions of Bonded. They know what’s going to happen here.

They quickly scurry back into the castle, away from the messiness that’s brewing. Jonah’s forces let them pass through the exits without an issue.

Good. No one else needs to bear witness to this insanity.

The Strategos riders and other loyal Bonded close ranks around me. My gaze seeks out Stark and Cratos. They’ve almost caught the Kryptos woman, but she’s still a length ahead of them and making hard for an exit guarded by Jonah’s people.

Stark’s heading straight into the waiting line of the enemy.

“Don’t worry about them,” Anassa snaps at me. “They’ve been doing this since you were a pup. Sword up!”

The first group of attackers hits us, several armed with long spears they must’ve brought with them, anticipating this would happen. Assholes. We break ranks slightly to avoid the vicious weapons spearing our wolves.

Anassa darts in and snaps her teeth down on one of the spears, sending splinters flying as she shakes her snout. The rider wisely lets go but pulls

out his sword.

I don’t think so.

I swing the Dire Blade toward him. Metal hits metal, and I grit my teeth

as I press forward, forcing him back inch by inch.

Then Anassa clamps her jaws viciously and comes away with a chunk of fur between her teeth. There’s a hole where his wolf’s left ear was.

Blood showers us and the ground, the open wound pulsing. Vicious satisfaction lashes through Anassa.

The rider’s control of his sword wavers as his direwolf’s pain slams into him. I slash in under his guard, scoring a long wound along his side.

He yells in agony and falls back, but another wolf and rider take his place just as quickly.

Izabel appears beside me, and we bear down on the enemy pair together.

Our swords flash bright as we maneuver in, trying to land a blow.

The rider is a Daemos I recognize from the Trials, younger than me. His hands come up to throw a blast of Daemos power our way. Izabel and her wolf, Asteio, swerve to the side, escaping the brunt of it.

It hits me and Anassa full on, like a stone wall, harder than should be possible.

But weirdly, it also seems to rebound, as if the power had an equal reflection onto the wielder. It knocks the Daemos boy off his wolf, leaving him sprawling on the ground.

“What was that?” I ask my wolf, muscles screaming as I fight to stay on her back. I’ve never seen power falter in that way.

But we don’t have time to discuss it.

Another Daemos rider has circled around fast. He nearly sideswipes Izabel with his dagger. Then he jumps—onto Izabel’s wolf behind her.

I look for an opening. Anassa swings us around until we’re right next to Izabel and Asteio—and the Daemos attacker. I lean forward, but he’s too close for me to bring my sword in without injuring Iz. He’s wrapped an arm around her throat, and she can’t get purchase with her sword at that distance.

She coolly whips a dagger from a thigh sheath, even while gasping for breath, and buries it in his leg.

He screams and tips to the side. His weight carries them both to the ground.

I leap down next to them and slash wildly at the man. His neck erupts in a fountain of blood, and the fight goes out of his wolf. They crumple as the life drains from them both. Anassa growls in pleasure at my action, but I

can’t feel the same, watching this beautiful creature give up. It’s a sheer waste.

Asteio leans in with a snarl and rips out the Daemos wolf’s throat, her silver-white muzzle drenched in red.

I pant and circle around to anticipate the next attack, but Nevah and Tomison and the rest of the Strategos Bonded have drawn the bulk of the melee away from us.

“Thanks,” Izabel wheezes, rubbing her bruised throat before remounting.

“You’d have had him in pieces in another minute or two,” I reply with a tight smile, trying to cover how much that freaked me out, watching Iz in such a vulnerable position.

Briefly shielded from the fighting, I get a quick glimpse of the battles happening around the arena. My stomach churns. This is all so wrong. This was our moment for unity, and here we are, tearing one another apart.

My gaze drops to the Dire Blade in my hand.

King Cyril used it to control us. Control our wolves. I saw him do it, saw him create violence with a simple gesture.

I wonder… “Yes,” Anassa urges from next to me.

“Cover me another minute,” I order Izabel, not waiting to hear her response.

In a queasy blending of past and present, I lift the Dire Blade above my head, just as I saw the dead king do at each of our Trials. I didn’t want it to come to this; wasn’t I just thinking how much our people deserve free will and the ability to make their own choices?

But we can’t turn on one another.

Taking a deep breath, I use both hands to plunge it into the dirt below.

“STOP THIS. LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS.” My mental shout echoes and reverberates along the bond, power rebounding and redoubling until my ears are pounding.

The arena seems to still, sound receding. I can sense the weight of a hundred wolves’ minds as the ancient magic begins to take hold.

It’s working. Thank the goddess. The wolves will stop their riders, will heed the call.

We’ll get through this—together, as Bonded.

And then the bracelet on my wrist heats, starting to burn. The bloodred

ruby twists with dark shadows.

Suddenly, I know. I just know.

Whatever magic was used to compel the direwolves through this sword before—whatever magic links us all together—it’s all been corrupted.

Tainted. Infiltrated. I can sense it, like a sickness lurking on the edges of my mind. My stomach lurches.

My powers are not my own; he’s cut off part of it. And he’s done it with his insidious blood magic.

The Siphon who once ruled still has his vicious fangs deep into this

kingdom.

It’s not going to be enough.

The moment I think it, the heat from the bracelet surges from my wrist,

through my fingers… And into the sword itself.

Streaks of red race down the Dire Blade.

With a high, ringing note, the blade shatters into a thousand glittering

silver pieces.

No.

I look at the fragments in shock.

That sword… that ancient, incredible thing that helped link the humans and the direwolves, that allowed for control… It’s just gone.

“Move, Meryn,” Anassa urges, and as if time has slowed, images around

me come together and coalesce.

Daemos warriors are closing in.

Shards of the Dire Blade are all around me, dull and useless in the dirt.

Asteio rears up to slash razor-sharp claws across the face of a Bonded warrior approaching on foot. His face is a bloody pulp as he falls backward.

My fingers are still wrapped tightly around the Dire Blade’s hilt, but the weapon is unusable, ending now in a ragged stump of iron just inches from the cross guard.

A painful roar rips from my throat. This is all his fault.

I jump onto Anassa’s back, mind clearing as I sheathe the hilt that remains. The memory of the rush of power the crown gave me is sharp.

If we’re going to have a chance of winning this, I need that crown.

“Let’s go,” I say to Anassa, and she doesn’t need to ask—she just races toward Stark and Cratos and that Kryptos bitch.

The Daemos Alpha and his wolf are across the arena, standing at the center of a circle of wolves. Holding them all off alone.

His movements are so fast they’re hard to follow. He parries and thrusts, somehow making five Bonded attackers and their wolves fight for their lives.

Their fight blocks the Kryptos woman from getting to the exit. I spy her shimmering form as she continues to blend into the shadows, holding tight to her prize: my crown. The symbol of my rightful authority.

Anger churns inside me, and I once again reach for the shadow magic that ran so effortlessly through my veins earlier. But the magic is slippery and elusive, evading my grasp.

I give a yell of frustration. We’re almost to Stark when Anassa suddenly pulls out of her run, stopping short.

“What—” I start, and then I see Jonah and a band of his followers cutting off my path.

“Goddess damn you, Jonah,” I mutter, and draw two of my throwing knives, taking careful aim.

The one meant for Jonah’s throat hits a wall of his Daemos magic. The dagger tumbles uselessly to the ground as Anassa and I dig in against the magic’s brutal push.

I try to deflect it, to push the power aside, and nothing happens.

I click my tongue in irritation. What is happening here? Stark tried to use his Daemos powers against Killian the other night, and Killian was able to deflect them; he said it was because the Daemos powers were rent from my own.

So how is Jonah able to attack me with them? And why is his power so strong? Is it because I’m not wearing my crown and my own magic feels… diminished?

My anger builds, and still, I get nothing from the shadows. They would be pretty useful right about now.

I toss my second dagger, and it hits home, burying itself with a sickening squelch in the rib cage of the woman to Jonah’s left. She falls from her wolf and is trampled by the rider behind her, her screams sharp and agonized.

Brutal pride surges into me from Anassa, but I ignore it—this is all such a waste.

Jonah slows, glancing back at his fallen comrade, and then advances toward me again, eyes flashing.

“I can’t wait to finally break your scrawny neck,” he spits.

I laugh, drawing another dagger. “Come and try it.” I ignore the way my muscles shake; exhaustion is setting in. Jonah is flanked by three more Bonded, and they fan out, closing in on my position.

“We need to finish this,” I think to Anassa grimly, and she howls in answer.

“Hold fast, Meryn,” comes Izabel’s voice with a note of desperation. I get a mental flash of her position—still fighting off another group. Even if I’m lucky, it will still be several minutes until she can back me up.

The man to Jonah’s right rushes in, his wolf snapping at Anassa’s flank as he slashes out with his sword. I just barely block him, Anassa’s sure- footed spin breaking us away and saving my tired arms from giving out.

Then she lunges to the side, and I lean in close to keep my seat. The rush of an arrow passes directly behind me, so close its shaft brushes against my hair.

Anassa cuts left and circles, giving me a second to recover before we reengage. I dig deep, trying again to summon my new shadow magic, but this time nothing comes, not even a trickle.

A massive clap! pulls all our attention toward Stark’s fight.

Except… he’s not there. Or I can’t see him. A thrum of panic rushes through me.

A cloud of dust explodes outward from where he last stood. Grit shatters across the arena, showering down on us, making my eyes water.

Ears ringing, I squint to try to see through the cloud. Please be there, please, please… Then it clears, and I gasp. Stark has somehow used his Daemos power to destroy the entire archway of the door, bringing it down on top of his remaining opponents. They’re barely visible under the rubble.

I knew he was powerful, but this… ?

Fighting all across the arena has momentarily paused, everyone gawking at the sight.

Stark’s light brown skin is pale from the strain of wielding so much

power, and yet he’s already moving again, chasing down the Kryptos woman. She is fully visible now, losing control over her magic in her terror.

It takes only two breaths, and then he’s cut her down, her broken body hitting the ground with a wet thud. Stark hurtles off Cratos after her and grabs the wolf crown still in her grip.

“Meryn!” he calls, and I raise my dagger so he can find me. “Catch!”

He sends the crown spinning into the air, the opal at its center glinting toward me as it arcs my way.

Anassa and I leap, her haunches stretching and stretching. For a moment, a disorienting sense of déjà vu passes through me, taking me back to the Voice Trial and our first leap of faith together.

How far we’ve come.

I reach out my free hand and pluck the crown from the air, settling it onto my head without thinking.

Magic courses through me in a flash, bringing darkness with it. My vision flickers.

The world loses all its color, bloodstains turned black.

And all around me, shadows wake.

The arena dims as if a storm were passing overhead. Every shadow in the vast space starts to stretch and distort, reaching for me. They move toward me in strange ways, crawling inside me, wrapping themselves up and around my arms like vines.

“Be careful,” Anassa urges. “This power—you don’t know how to control it. You don’t know where it starts. Or where it ends.”

The depth of my darkness is limitless. I can sense that.

Or it could be, if I had the courage to embrace it. But right now… Right now, I know exactly where it ends. There’s a precise spot where my magic is choked out and throttled by Killian’s influence. Still, what I have access to is more than I ever could have imagined.

Holding a shadow-covered hand out, I stare briefly at it in fascination.

There’s a pulse in my chest, like the magic is urging me to utilize it, to grasp it and free it.

“Watch out!” someone shrieks. I glance back up just in time to see three of Jonah’s comrades charging directly for me.

“Use your power, Meryn!” Stark bellows.

Anger roils through me, and for the first time since my crown was taken,

the shadows respond.

I throw my hands up instinctively, protectively.

Stop, I think.

Stop, I command.

Force explodes from my palms—a huge, moving wave of shadow. The wave crests over the two riders in front of me and then swerves out in big looping arcs, reaching more of Jonah’s allies all around the arena. It reminds me of the Daemos blasts at first, air made solid, but on a larger scale and darkly visible.

I relish it, the darkness inside me now rising violently to the surface.

Stop them, I command the shadows again. They move at my instruction but of their own volition—of me but somehow outside of me, too.

The shadows wrap themselves around the wolves and their riders. Their bodies start to contort and lift into the air.

Screams echo around the arena, and I snap out of my satisfied stupor.

No. This isn’t me. I need to stop this— There’s a suffocating pressure in my chest as the shadows pull tighter and tighter around them all. Around their necks. The shadows slither into their open mouths, stifling screams for mercy.

Stop, stop, STOP!

Then a loud echoing snap.

The riders and their wolves drop dead onto the arena floor. Not just the three charging for me, but a lot of their allies, too.

A dozen, at least. Dead.

The shadows retreat, and the reality of it washes over me, turning my stomach. I’m going to be sick.

My hands start shaking against Anassa’s fur at the horror—the horror of what I’ve done.

The arena stills. All combat ceases as everyone stares in shock at the mangled remains of the wolves and their riders. I watch the corpses as if waiting for them to get up again. Their twisted limbs make them look small and vulnerable in the vastness of the arena’s floor.

Darkness still slithers around my arms, cool against my skin, a visceral reminder of what I’m capable of.

I killed all these Bonded. With a flick of my wrist.

They may not have been ready to accept me as their queen, but they

were my own people.

“See what she is!” Jonah’s voice violates the silence.

I flinch. Of everyone I killed, why did he have to survive? Anassa rumbles beneath me.

He hurls a finger toward me, his breaths ragged. “This is what Killian warned us about—an uncontrollable evil who will destroy us all!”

Jonah whips his wolf around, heading for an arena exit. His remaining followers flee with him.

A few people on my side start to pursue, but the thought of more violence makes me woozy. Over the bonds, I direct an order to let them go.

This is not how I wanted to persuade people to join my side, to put their

faith in me as their leader.

Not through violence and fear.

The shadows start to recede, slinking back to where they belong. Cold shock is taking over my body, cooling the fury that drew them out.

Through our bond, Anassa projects soothing energy. A soft humming settles over my frayed nerves slowly, smoothly. Everyone is watching me; I can’t let them see me crumble.

Stark and Cratos step up next to me. Cratos nudges Anassa briefly with his nose before standing tall and menacing.

“Phylax, help move the wolves’ bodies,” Stark orders. My eyes linger on the corpses of the people I’ve killed.

I recognize the young woman closest to me. She usually wore her strawberry-blond hair in a spiraling braid.

“Meryn,” Anassa urges. “Follow Stark’s lead. They wait for your

command.”

“Right.” I swallow hard.

“I swear that Jonah and his followers will answer for their treason,” I say, my voice containing a strength I do not feel.

A man lies close to her with shockingly blue eyes that now stare forward

unseeing.

“What else?” My mind is blank.

“They were about to receive their first orders as Bonded,” Anassa prompts me.

I cough, mouth dry as chalk. “In the meantime, we still have our duty to the rest of the country. You will receive your orders regarding deployment

to the front lines tomorrow, after… after I have consulted with military leadership.”

I watch numbly as the Bonded bow, then I turn on Anassa’s back to leave the arena. They listened to me, sure, and they bowed, but their fear

emanates over the pack bonds.

A fear of me.

Of the devastating power that jumped from my veins.

Anassa and I slip out of the arena, so many eyes on me. I keep my head high, but the moment I know people can’t see me, my vision goes blurry. I let the tears come. I’m not even sure where she’s taking us, and I don’t care —I just need to be away.

Away from all those people whom I’ve let down and terrified.

Away from the ones whose lives I took.

“You should not be alone,” Anassa warns me. “Not when there are people who want your crown, and certainly not in your current condition.”

I startle when I realize she’s led me to Stark’s office. Slipping off her back, I let myself in. This is as good enough a place to fall apart as any.

Only once we’re inside, the door shut behind us, do I let myself fully break apart.

I collapse to my knees roughly, my palms smacking against the cold floor. The crown slips from my head and clatters against the stone. The full weight of what just happened, what I did, crashes over me.

I killed a dozen people without even touching them. With a strange power I don’t understand.

Am I becoming the very thing Killian accused me of being? Dangerous, unstable, and not to be trusted?

I can’t stop crying. It goes on and on. And the longer it lasts, the worse it gets.

Every ragged, painful inhale I manage to suck in leaves my lungs in sobs that sound like screams. I’m dimly aware that I’m losing more air than I’m taking in. I’ll suffocate from this.

Anassa tries to help. Her insistent care nudges at the edge of my mind.

She’s trying to soothe me again. When her nose presses closer, I’m briefly tempted to cling to her and let her quiet humming lull me.

But then the horror strikes me all over again. I’m filthy for even wanting comfort. I don’t deserve it.

Saela’s transformation. Killian’s betrayal. The lives I just took. All these things are my failures. It’s pain I could have prevented if I was only better.

The spiral sucks me under and into the dark, and I push Anassa away.

Hard.

She growls, her concern escalating. I try to ignore it. I don’t want it.

The spiraling builds in me, and my fist strikes out, knuckles cracking against the stone floor. Physical pain immediately overtakes my senses,

blotting out the panic.

Relieving me.

I punch again, deliberately, harder this time. My skin splits.

Again, and I leave a bloody smear on the floor.

The pain clears pathways in my brain, freeing me from the thoughts pushing in from the outside. It grounds me, bringing me back to myself, my body, this moment—and into a sort of sharpness.

It feels awful, but less awful than the agonized twisting of my own mind.

I strike the ground again and again and again until all that’s left is me and the pain.

It consumes me so entirely that I don’t even hear the door when it slams open.