Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 58

58

MERYN

he atmosphere at the campsite is heavy, expectant. Even the weather hasT taken a turn to echo our feelings. The air is damp and still, clinging to strands of hair, making leather straps rub uncomfortably against skin and fur. Too humid to be comfortable, but too cold to shed any layers: that uncomfortable in-between.

Anassa and I have been conferring with Stark and Cratos about the plan since sunrise. We’re confident, but I still want to do one more thing before I set things in motion.

Taking a seat near the fading coals of our campfire, I close my eyes and clear my head, looking for that place in my mind where my power of foresight lives.

My mind is blank for a long moment before images start to come.

Images of me astride Anassa, heading into Killian’s camp. Me delivering Stark to him, as promised. Me facing down Killian, Goddess Tears blazing, shadows swirling… and then the images stop.

My eyes flutter open, and I grunt in frustration and shut them again. I seek out the foresight. Anassa, with me on her back. Walking into Killian’s camp, Stark trussed up behind me. Killian stepping out, both of us drawing on my power, facing off… and then back.

“What is happening?” I ask Anassa. “Why isn’t it showing me what’s next? Or any alternate paths?”

She sniffs, “Maybe there are no alternate paths—and yet still, the outcome is uncertain.”

“Great.” I sigh. “That is absolutely zero help.”

I hear my direwolf’s amusement in her response. “Would anything you could have seen change your mind about attempting this?”

“No, probably not,” I admit ruefully.

“There you go. That’s why there is only one path laid before you.”

Anassa rises and yawns, stretching massive forelegs and then back legs.

“We go to meet our enemy.”

Time to move.

I wave Noemi over from where she’s already awake and nearly ready, checking packs and securing everything on wolfback for travel.

“We may be riding straight into trouble, but we aren’t going to do it without a plan,” I say wryly, and I see assent in everyone’s faces: Noemi’s mouth quirks in the shadow of a grin. Stark regards me steadily—waiting for my word to act.

“What are you thinking?” Noemi says, dropping into a seat by the remains of the fire. I shift and rub my lower back, then resettle, tucking my legs under me. Stark remains standing, alert and ready.

“I was able to make a connection with Killian last night, via our magic.”

I huff, sounding eerily like Anassa as I do—her eyes glimmer in amusement as she watches us.

“We need to get close enough to him to take him down. He believes that I’m still coming to him eagerly, that I want to be with him and let him have the Tears. But I had to make it convincing.”

I nod toward Stark and Cratos, wincing internally at what I’m about to say. “I’ve told him that I’ll bring him Stark, all tied up for the taking.”

Cratos and Anassa both give a low growl at this but then settle. Noemi frowns, using a long stick to spread out the remains of the campfire, moving the last of the night’s embers around until they’ve burned themselves out.

“We can use shadows to bind both Stark and Cratos and dramatically drag them in behind me.” I laugh a little. “Little does Killian know, Stark himself is the one who helps me wield the shadows with precision. He can undo his own bonds as soon as the time is right.”

Anassa has moved closer to Cratos, and the two of them nuzzle, their private conversation buzzing in my head, beyond my reach through the bond. I know it pains Anassa to support this plan, even though it’s all a ploy —to see her mate, such a wild creature, humiliated like that, trussed up like prey.

I feel the same way about doing this to Stark.

Pressing my lips together for a moment, I refocus on our plan and carry on.

The idea is simple: I’ll hide Noemi from view using my rift magic, and she’ll go in ahead of us to find Tormun.

We’ll “deliver” Stark to Tormun, as promised.

Then once I’ve made it close enough to Killian to strike, Stark and Noemi can give up the ruse and ambush Tormun, making sure that he and the Phylax Bonded with him don’t interfere.

Stark jumps in. “Tormun may be under Killian’s influence, whether via the Tear ring or even a thrall bracelet like the one that Meryn wears. But nevertheless, we’ll do whatever is necessary to neutralize the threat.”

All three of our wolves growl in vicious, slavering agreement, and the hair rises on my arms. Sometimes I forget that our wolves were just as betrayed by their comrades as we were.

I rise to stand, worrying at the hilt of one of my knives. “I hope… that is, we’re relatively confident that with Tormun removed, the rest of Phylax can be made to see reason. We’re trying to avoid a bloodbath. The Bonded forces are depleted enough as it is.”

“And Killian? Alistair?” Noemi manages to imply a world of violence with just those simple words.

I hold out a hand to her, hoisting her up off the ground, and keep my hand clasped around her arm as I promise: “I will do my very best to make sure you have a chance to address him before we end him. You deserve that much.”

After that, there isn’t much to say. My stomach clenches with nerves as I cinch up the leather straps binding my packs to Anassa, but as soon as I mount, it settles.

Whatever happens, we’re in this together. Until the end.

The ride passes in a blur. We’re too focused on our goal, on what’s coming next, to pay attention to much else.

Egith’s provided specific details about the location of Killian’s camp, as he made no attempt to hide their approach. Our wolves are as filled with anticipation at the clash ahead as we are. I ask Anassa through the bond if we should slow down, make sure we’re conserving energy.

“The pup doesn’t teach the Alpha to run,” she snips back at me. I laugh and let it lie.

I glance to my left and right; for a moment, everything but admiration for my companions leaves my head. Both of them death on wolfback in

their own way.

But Stark especially… On Cratos, he almost doesn’t look human. It’s as if the two of them are heroes of legend. Or some dark god of vengeance, aimed straight at their prey.

I muse on my own confident seat on Anassa. It’s been less than a year since she and I first met. Now, I’m more comfortable on her back than anywhere else.

My mind is centered in a way that it hasn’t been in a very long time. I know this feeling: It’s the one I used to get before a fight against an opponent I’d faced in the ring before.

Someone whose moves I knew already. Someone I knew I could beat.

“This is right,” Anassa murmurs in my mind, sensing my mood. “This has gone on too long. One way or another, it’s time for this to end… before the Bonded are destroyed. Before all of Nocturna is.”

I pull us up a good distance before we reach the fiefdom of Blumenfall, and we all make a quick meal of cold provisions before Noemi departs to scout ahead for Killian’s camp.

Stark and I are discussing the best way to truss him and Cratos up and make it look realistic without causing any injury when she returns with news.

“It wasn’t hard to find,” Noemi says, voice disgusted. “They haven’t been subtle about anything, that’s for sure. It seems that Tormun has grown quite comfortable as Killian’s lead general. His tent is enormous, in bright Phylax colors.”

“Compensating much?” I quip, and Noemi laughs. “You’re confident you can get to him unnoticed?”

She nods. “Under the cover of your magic? It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Stark and I exchange glances.

“Well, then. I think we’re ready.”

A crackling energy fills the small clearing where we’re gathered as we each soak in the moment. Stark and I mount up, and Cratos and Anassa flick their tails and paw at the ground.

Then, with brutal efficiency, Noemi turns Ephyse toward the camp and says, “Let’s end this.”

It takes almost no time at all on wolfback to reach the war camp.

We pause to ensure that Noemi’s veil of shadow is complete. I take the wolf crown out of my pack and place it on my head for additional power because I’ll need to use several types of magic at once.

I focus on the channel of power that shields Noemi and Ephyse from view, memorizing the feel of it so that I can maintain it at a distance.

When we’re certain she’s as near invisible as possible, Noemi curves off to the side of the camp’s perimeter, having identified a vulnerable point in the defenses where she plans to sneak in. With my Kryptos magic shrouding her, she and Ephyse are nothing but a slip of a shadow, a play of the light.

I smile with satisfaction. I’ve gotten much better at that.

“You ready?” I look to Stark.

His stubbled jaw is clenched tight, eyes ablaze. “Never more so.”

We let our minds meet, then. It takes only the blink of an eye, and then he’s with me and I’m with him. Our hearts beat together, our lungs breathe together.

I bite my lower lip, and I know he can feel its softness as if it’s his own teeth biting down. Just the thought makes my heart skip a beat.

We lock eyes as we call up our shadows together, Stark guiding the power into dark ropes of magic that loop around him and Cratos again and again, until they’re bound tightly.

We ease both their bodies to the forest floor, using the magic to cocoon them and lift them slightly off the ground. We’re hoping to avoid slamming them into every rock and root between here and our enemy’s camp.

Just as with Noemi, I spend time sitting with the magic, eyes closed.

Lingering with the threads of it, the weave of the shadows as they settle in place. When I’m certain I have the feel of it, Stark and I separate minds once more, easing apart.

Before we get moving, I can’t resist sliding down Anassa’s side and

kneeling beside Stark’s body, taking his face in my hands for one more kiss.

There’s shadow between our mouths, a showy gag made of magic that Stark and I so carefully put in place to be obvious but not restrictive. It buzzes and pulses against both our lips. I swipe my tongue along Stark’s lower lip, and he uses a tendril of his own magic to bring my head closer to his, crushing our mouths together.

I groan at the sensation of the press of our shared power and his hot mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, managing to look nonchalant even in this vulnerable position. “I think you like me all bound up like this.”

I snort. “Don’t die, and we can give it a try later.”

We make a dramatic sight, me riding cavalierly straight into the camp of my enemy on my shining silver-white wolf. Thick, wild tendrils of shadow pulse behind me, anchored to the magical restraints around Stark and Cratos. The deep black of the shadows creates a disorienting texture against the ink-black fur of Cratos’s coat.

I half expect a challenge from the human soldiers posted on watch, but they just gasp and back away when they see us coming, leaving plenty of space for me to march in with my vicious cargo.

Killian must have told them to expect me.

The paths between the tents are wide and well trod, already traversed by wolves and their riders. As we move farther into the mess of tents, we start to spot the Bonded and their direwolves; they’re camped in groups of two and three, tents spaced out enough that their wolves can sleep in the open air beside them.

Anassa’s ears go back, teeth half bared in a snarl, as she passes the wolves of Phylax pack, wolves she’s known for decades who’ve now spent more than a month supporting a Siphon pretender.

I study the Phylax Bonded and notice that many don’t meet my eyes.

Shame over what they’ve done? Fear of the Mad Bitch of Sturmfrost, who can rip them apart with a mere gesture?

Or is it Killian’s influence over them that keeps them from meeting my

gaze?

I turn my face ahead.

Across my body is a satchel I’ve strapped tight to me, its prominent position an obvious signal that I’ve brought the Tears with me. My crown is

on my head, and the two Tear necklaces are securely around my neck, tucked beneath my tunic and coat.

Lucien’s crown and the Tears from the tower and the statue in Linsfall are wedged into the pack, and the buzz of energy from their combined power sets my teeth on edge. I’m waiting until they’re needed to pull them out, but my hand doesn’t stray far from the pack’s drawstrings.

My bag with the shards of the Dire Blade is with me, too, mostly because I wasn’t sure what else to do with it. Maybe I can get out the useless hilt and clobber Killian over the head with it, I muse darkly.

“Noemi,” I reach out mentally, mind stretching down the familiar pathway. “Are you in place?”

There’s a strange blankness in my mind where she should be, and I swallow, focus on keeping my face an impassive mask. “Stark, Noemi isn’t responding.”

His body tenses in the shadowy restraints. “What do you mean, she isn’t responding? Is she injured?”

“Let me try again.” I steady my breathing and reach out again, forcefully this time. “NOEMI.”

For another minute of painful waiting, there’s nothing, just that blankness. And then… “Meryn, I’m here,” comes her familiar voice in my head, and I let out a small sigh of relief. “Everything is going according to plan,” she confirms, and I thank her and relay the message to Stark.

Up ahead, a Phylax man on a wolf scrambles to the side to make room for me and Anassa to pass. I make eye contact with him and pull up short, tired of drawing this out.

“Where is he?” My voice is emotionless, deadly.

The Phylax raises a shaky finger, pointing it toward the rear of the war camp, and continues to back away, staring down now at my cargo.

The infamously brutal Stark Therion, trussed up with his wolf like a piece of meat.

Anassa leans over to snap at his direwolf, and the two of them nearly jump out of their skins to get farther away from us.

We don’t have to walk far. After Anassa takes only a few more steps, a pool of shadow starts gathering on the path ahead.

Into it steps Killian, cloaked in my shadow, my power.

His dark golden hair shines bright, perfectly coiffed, as if we’re in the middle of a ball, not a war camp. His face looks healthy, rested. That unnatural beauty every Siphon possesses, mixed with the shadowy power gathering around him, gives him an otherworldly look.

But still, something about his face is off. I narrow my eyes, looking closer. Little twitches, like he’s focusing hard on something or tensing

muscles in his jaw.

I wonder… When I see him in the shadow realm, Alistair isn’t there.

In the waking world, are they locked in a constant struggle? I file that away as something I can use.

Killian smiles brightly, as if we see each other every day, and raises a hand in greeting. “Beloved, you’ve made it.”

I swallow bile as I manage a small smile back at him. “Killian.”

I’ve seen him in that dreamworld more times than I’d like, but it’s different seeing him in person. It hasn’t been all that long since our last meeting, when I tried to kill him and he disappeared by stealing my power.

And yet everything has changed.

“I see you brought our Phylax Alpha the treat he was promised.”

Killian’s voice is lazy, silky smooth. He approaches us with easy confidence, walking past me to look down at Stark and Cratos behind me,

bound and gagged on the ground.

I resist the urge to spit in his face.

Twisting in my seat, I keep my voice cool as I twitch my fingers, levitating Stark and Cratos another foot off the ground. “Where should I take this?”

Killian leans over and lightly brushes Stark’s cheek with a fingertip, smirking. Disgust and anger roil in my gut. If he tries to hurt Stark… Killian stands before I launch myself at him, and I sit back, taking a deep breath.

He waves toward a huge tent, gaudy and ridiculous among the utilitarian look of the rest of the war camp. Just as Noemi said. “You can drop it off over there. But come right back, kitten. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

He pauses, pursing his lips. “And I’ll need proof that you’ve brought the rest of the Tears with you, as promised.”

“Or?” I say, expression blank as my heart hammers in my chest in

anticipation of violence.

Killian tilts his head and drawls, “Or we sack the city immediately and kill every last Bonded turned traitor to my throne.”