Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3)

by Lisa Blackwood

  A quick inventory of his own wounds showed he was in no shape to finish off the remaining acolytes. Silverblade also realized he was stuck mid-shift—half-human and half-lupwyn. But by Light’s mercy, he was alive and not yet enslaved.

  And he could still run, if only on two legs instead of four.

  Barely conscious of the direction he fled, he started away from the acolytes and the carnage they had caused and headed towards the healer.

  Chapter Seven

  As Beatrice expected, her death magic had obliterated all that it touched. The nearest acolytes had crumbled, their skin disintegrating and flaking away to nothing. Blood had misted away as cartilage and bone crumbled to powder. Even the fibers of their robes had returned to the earth to nourish new life.

  As hideous as her dark power was to behold, it had left nothing for the acolytes’ master to latch upon and control.

  For his part, the lupwyn took advantage of the distraction and escaped into the forest. The link between them was weakening, but she could still feel his aches and pains of both physical and mental variety.

  She could no longer speak to him mind-to-mind—her death magic having damaged the link between them—but she followed his progress. One part of her mind said it was too slow, that the remaining acolytes would still catch him. Another part of her consciousness belonging solely to her Larnkin whispered that if the acolytes continued to pursue this lupwyn, she’d reduce their bodies back to base elements.

  Beatrice would have been concerned by her Larnkin’s bloodthirsty essence, but the cost of using the death magic was creeping up on her body. The cold, the stabbing pain in every muscle and joint, the nausea and the drumbeat taking up residence in her head would soon render her useless.

  She forced herself back to her feet and made a relatively straight line to the gelding. Once there she removed his tack and pulled out a heavy blanket from one of the saddlebags and then bundling it around her shoulders, she laid down and curled onto her side.

  Her vision grew dark as she slipped into unconsciousness.

  *****

  Cold, damp grass was a poor pillow, Beatrice decided as she sat up. Looking around, she quickly spotted the gelding still grazing in the small area his lead allowed him to reach.

  The unnatural cold, nausea, and bone-deep pain were not gone, but diminished enough that she could function. Unfortunately, they were now kept company by the more mundane aches and pains caused by sleeping on the bare ground for a few candlemarks. A glance at the sky showed the sun had continued its track west, and it was now mid-afternoon. Beatrice stood and hurriedly refolded the blanket and shoved it back in the saddlebag.

  While she sought out the lupwyn with her healer’s senses, she tacked up the gelding. By the time the horse was ready, she had a location on the lupwyn.

  To her surprise, he was only a candlemark’s walk to the south of her position. He’d made surprisingly good time considering the condition he’d been in when he’d started out. Now he seemed to be unconscious. Likely a result of pushing himself too hard escaping the acolytes.

  She tipped the gelding’s nose in the direction of the lupwyn. It didn’t matter what condition he was in. As long as he had a heartbeat, she could fix him.

  Chapter Eight

  Beatrice followed where her magic led. At long last, she finally reached a small glade. This particular one wasn’t easy to find, well away from any paths or game trails. But there was a small stream nearby and near its bank, the rather large body of the lupwyn lay sprawled just above the water line.

  Reaching his side, she continued to scan for danger, but saw nothing and her healer’s magic which allowed her to ‘feel’ other living beings near, told her there were no living creatures nearby more dangerous than a deer, a warren of rabbits, and a few chattering squirrels.

  Even if there had been other dangers close by, she would still have helped him since he was wounded and in desperate need of aid.

  From this angle, it looked like a wolf had collapsed after taking a drink from the stream, though she knew he was a lupwyn.

  She’d never seen one up close, but she’d spotted this one in the distance a few times, or more likely he had allowed her to see him. She knew he was a male because her magic shared such details with her, and she always thought he was the same one—likely a scout on patrol. He never attacked or came closer, and she never felt threatened by him, so they’d always just allowed each other to ghost through their territories.

  As Beatrice got closer to the fallen male, she saw he didn’t share a resemblance with the one she’d seen a few times at a distance. This one looked far more human.

  He didn’t move at her approach. Her Larnkin confirmed he was still unconscious. From what she could tell, he had collapsed at the edge of a small stream, driven there by dehydration, but after he’d quenched his thirst, he had lost the battle against exhaustion and blood loss.

  Well, Beatrice reflected, at least having water close at hand would make cleaning him up an easier task.

  Casting a look around the small clearing, she mentally mapped out the highest and driest area where she would need to construct temporary shelter and light a fire.

  If she had a choice, she’d forgo the fire, but she would need one to sterilize her equipment and keep the lupwyn warm. Body heat and blankets alone wouldn’t do much.

  She approached the lupwyn and allowed her healing magic to flow over him. It studied and catalogued the myriad of his wounds. Those that were internal or deep tissue, her magic already began to heal. The cuts, abrasions, and deep, penetrating wounds would need to be cleaned before her power healed the male.

  However, all the lesser wounds would have to wait until she pulled the crossbow bolt out of his shoulder. She mentally winced. It looked like it had been driven deeper by a fall, and the metal tip might already have punched through the front of his shoulder, which would make it easier to remove, but messier than if she’d been able to do it herself. Regardless, she would deal with that first.

  Returning to her gelding, she removed his tack and went about building a fire. While she did that, her healer’s magic strengthened the lupwyn and kept him alive as she prepared what supplies she had with her.

  Ideally, she wished she had a full complement of her herbs and tools, but she only had her small travel bag. That would just have to do until she and the lupwyn caught up with Old Mother and the wagon.

  *****

  Less than half a candlemark later, the fire was built, water was heating, and her medical tools were sanitizing next to the fire.

  “Well,” she said to the prone lupwyn, “let’s see if I can get you patched up and on your way before the acolytes track us down.”

  While she hadn’t sensed any acolytes near after the remaining members had gone back to River’s Divide, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t return with greater numbers and even deadlier magic at their command.

  She just hoped she and the lupwyn were long gone by the time the acolytes found this camp.

  Giving the lupwyn one more look over, she used her magic to sense the wounds her eyes could not discern under his fur. The healing magic had been doing its work and her patient was growing stronger. Better remove the bolt before the poor bastard woke up. She could study him and satisfy her curiosity later, after the worst of his wounds were cleaned and bandaged.

  After bathing the entire area with a warm, cleansing solution to kill foreign invaders and slow blood loss, she pressed her left hand upon his shoulder, splaying her fingers around the crossbow bolt’s shaft. With her right, she removed bits of fabric from around the entry point.

  Next she palmed her sharpest blade, gripped the bolt’s shaft, and sliced it off close to his flesh.

  Shifting his considerable deadweight wasn’t easy, but she managed to prop him on his side. As she had expected, the crossbow bolt’s head was already poking through his flesh. Once she got a good grip on the iron tip, she whispered an apology and pulled it free of his flesh with steady pre
ssure.

  The lupwyn jerked awake, his deep sound of pain shattering the silence. It was more of a growl than shout, and the menacing tones made her heart lurch. But she continued to work, swiftly packing a bit of clean cloth against the wound to slow the blood flow while her other hand reached for the cleansing solution.

  He blinked, confusion clear in his dazed expression and unfocused eyes. She opened her mouth to whisper soothing words but he reacted faster, lunging at her. His fingers with their sharp claws closed around her wrist, digging into the flesh in a punishing grip. He might look half-human, but he was beastly strong. The bones of her wrist ground together. His lips parted in a snarl, showing great white fangs.

  Yet he did not draw blood when he could have broken her skin easily, which she hoped meant he wasn’t going to snap her wrist or tear out her throat.

  Beatrice held perfectly still and met his gaze. His eyes focused on her face, but his fangs were still showing between his lips, which wasn’t the most reassuring sight.

  “Easy.” It was a miracle her voice remained calm. “I’m only trying to help. The arrow in your shoulder had to come out. I need to finish, clean your wounds, and patch you up before you bleed out or the acolytes find us. Let me finish. Let me help you.”

  “Not an acolyte?” His voice was deep and almost gravelly, but she could understand his words. He had the wherewithal to speak her language, which she took as a positive sign.

  “No. They are my bitterest rivals. I won’t let them have you, you are my patient now.”

  He grunted and studied her, dragging her closer until they were nose to nose.

  “Beatrice? The human healer.” His eyes closed and his lips parted as he began to pant with pain. “I won’t be responsible for your death. Go.”

  He pushed at her, perhaps trying to drive her off, but he was too weak, his burst of adrenaline-fueled strength likely fading. She patted him gently on his uninjured shoulder with her free hand.

  “I won’t go. Nor are you responsible for any part of my path. If death finds me, then that is fate, not something you brought about.”

  He hissed out something in his own language. The words were foreign, but the annoyance was clear. When she still didn’t extract herself from his weakening grip, he cleared his throat and spit out the words in her language. “Leave me. If you stay here, we’ll both feed the acolytes’ mad hunger.”

  His fingers loosened and slid free of her wrist. When she glanced down, it was to see what her healing magic had already told her. He’d passed out again.

  It was probably for the best.

  Beatrice reached for the cleaning rag and the bowl of heated, herb-laced water. What he said might be logical and she probably should run, but she’d told him the truth as well.

  He was her patient now and in the vast order of things, it made him hers until she’d healed him enough that he could rejoin his own people.

  She’d just have to convince the stubborn male of that fact once he woke up.

  Chapter Nine

  It was several candlemarks later by the time she finished cleaning and stitching his wounds. All that time, she’d been sharing power with him and he was definitely stronger. So too was she by the strange quirk of her healing magic.

  When she’d finished bathing the worst of the blood and dirt from him, she’d dragged his heavy body across the grass on the blanket and situated him next to the fire. While the stew she’d made from her supplies cooked, she lashed together some stout branches and rigged them together as a temporary shelter for them. Tightly woven evergreen boughs created the covering and would divert most of the rain that was threatening.

  She hoped it was a good strong storm to help wash away the lupwyn’s tracks. Besides, a powerful storm might swell the streams and rivers enough to slow the acolytes.

  Anything that slowed the acolytes was a blessing. Even getting soaked to the skin by a torrential spring rains was a blessing she’d welcome.

  One more quick glance around confirmed that she’d done everything she could for the moment. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she sat back and just studied the lupwyn while she sipped at her hot drink.

  Earlier, while she’d healed him, she dealt with his individual injuries and studied him with her mage sight—looking within him more than looking at him. For the first time, she studied the lupwyn as a whole and what a strange package he was.

  He’d said he was unable to take on lupwyn form, so this present blend of human features and lupwyn-like characteristics must be some accident that left him halfway between his human disguise and true form.

  After she’d cleaned some of the blood from his face, she’d been quick to recognize the ‘human’ trapper. Up until now, she hadn’t had time to think on that or what it meant. Had he been studying them so he could perfect his human form? Or was it for a darker reason? Had he been studying them because he suspected their natural magic as being similar to what the acolytes’ possessed?

  A great many questions whirled around in her mind, and the fastest way to answer them would be to simply ask him. So she would, once he woke. For now, she’d simply study him until she had satisfied her curiosity.

  Her Larnkin was also clearly interested in this lupwyn’s wellbeing.

  Beatrice reached out and her magic flared as she gently brushed her fingers over a bruise near his temple. After that slight touch, the bruise faded.

  For all he was…different, her healing power said his body was viable. He could survive in this form if he had to.

  And he wasn’t hideous to look upon, only different. He still possessed a thick pelt of fur, long pointed ears, and a thick ruff-like covering on the back of his head and neck, but the appendage of greatest note was his great bushy tail. If asked, she’d have to guiltily admit that she petted it out of sheer curiosity. It had been as soft and as thick as it appeared.

  Except for the tail and the ears, the rest of his body was surprisingly human. His shoulders and chest were a little broader and thicker through than a human of the same build, as were his muscular hips and thighs. Even his calves were about three times the circumference of one of hers, although she was tiny even by human standards.

  This creature was a solid wall of muscle, sturdy bones, and sharp fangs and claws. When she’d flipped him over to wash the front she’d found him built much like a human male, right down to nipples, a bellybutton, and genitalia that looked like what would be found on the human male of corresponding build.

  The pelt that covered part of his back and shoulders only continued around his sides a little ways, leaving most of his front hairless. Two strips of fur did wrap around from behind and curved over his hips.

  Likely had he continued with this shift, the fur from his back would have just spread around in front and eventually covered him completely in a thick pelt.

  Idly she stroked her fingers through the ruff of fur where it started from a peak on his forehead and swept back along the curve of his skull, before cascading down his back rather like a human with a really thick head of hair. It was softer than she’d expected.

  She grinned, thinking she wouldn’t have minded having his beautiful hair. And come to think of it, there had been a winter or two when she would not have minded the added warmth of a fur pelt herself.

  Somehow she doubted it would be quite so wondrous in the heat of summer though. But now, with the nights still cool and winter not so long ago, she could envy the lupwyn his pelt.

  What would he think of his new form? Her healing magic had gone a long way to helping heal his physical wounds, but as for his mental and spiritual ones, not even her formidable Larnkin had been able to touch them.

  His was still greatly damaged by the acolytes’ feeding. She suspected it would take entire moon cycles for it to fully recover, if it ever did.

  Although it was too early to say for sure, and she knew almost nothing about Larnkins even though she’d been host to one since birth, she secretly hoped this lupwyn would stick around long enough t
o share some information with her.

  It was likely too much to expect for him to volunteer to be her personal guide. She cast a speculative glance back at the sleeping lupwyn. Maybe once he was well enough he could get word to his people and ask about the fate of the Stonemantle sisters.

  She only hoped if he was able to get word to his people and they did know of the sisters’ fate, that they were alive and well.

  From the little she’d learned from the sisters, she knew Elementals like the horse-like santhyrians and the lupwyns coexisted in some mutually beneficial arrangement that dated back centuries. She hoped that made this one more likely to accept her.

  Beatrice found it fascinating that several different species all managed to live together in harmony, somehow linked together by their Larnkins.

  She snorted in humor. Humans couldn’t even tolerate each other.

  Still, a foolishly hopeful part of her heart rather wished this lupwyn would look at her, and the Larnkin she hosted, and consider her a part of the magical community. Not once in her life had she belonged anywhere.

  Only Old Mother and her brother Roan were anything like her, and even then she sensed her power was something that would someday alienate her from them as well.

  Beatrice knew well that she might never belong, but she’d settle for a place to build a home safe from the threat of acolytes and the danger of constantly being hunted.

  She eyed the lupwyn with mild calculation. Maybe she could convince him to allow her and her family to travel with him for a time.

  Chapter Ten

  Silverblade came awake slowly, hoping all the horrors in his mind were nothing more than a terrible nightmare. Yet he knew everything that had just happened was all too real.

  His mother.

  The acolytes had taken his mother from him. Grief and rage spun across his soul until they solidified into one tightly woven need for revenge. If he was alive—which the dull ache of his body suggested he was—then revenge was still possible. He would find the acolytes and he would make them pay for what they had done.