Kinked

NINETEEN

Aryal sat frozen. She didn’t know what to do when Quentin put his head in her lap. It was such an extraordinary experience, so surprising and fine. The weight of his upper torso against her legs felt exactly right. The sight of him on his knees was not at all what she had imagined in the heat of her anger and desire, and yet it was perfect.

They were perfect.

She ran her hands along his broad, bare shoulders and along as much of his wide, tanned back as she could reach. Underneath her touch, his powerful muscles shifted below his skin, a mystery cloaked in silk. His body was so well made, she basked in the pleasure of stroking him. She scratched her fingers gently against the grain of his short beard and watched as a shudder rippled through him.

“Talking to you doesn’t suck,” she said in surprise.

He lifted his head to look up at her, a grin creasing his face. “No it doesn’t. How about that.” Capturing her wrist, he stood and pulled her to her feet as well. “Come on. There’s a tub the size of a small swimming pool in the other room, and I’ve become obsessed with the thought of getting clean.”

She looked down at herself. She had washed her face and hands with careful handfuls of water from the wineskin, but it had done little more than shift the grime around, and her jeans, along with what remained of her once white T-shirt, were bloodstained and filthy.

With great relief and a lack of ceremony, she stripped. “This outfit needs to be burned.”

He went tense. As his stillness caught her attention, she glanced at him. He was staring at her nude body, traveling from her high, small breasts down the length of her narrow torso to her slim hips and long, lean legs. The private tuft of silken hair between her legs was very black against her pale skin. The reddened scars from the recent wolf attack still marked her, but they were rapidly fading.

While her arms and shoulders were in proportion with the rest of her body, they were cut with muscle. She had a natural aptitude for strength in her upper body, which she enhanced with regular workouts using a variety of weapons, constantly building aptitude and stamina. One of the most dangerous aspects of swordfights, or any fight, for that matter, was that they were so grueling.

While she didn’t believe that she was beautiful, she didn’t have a self-conscious bone in her body, and she liked herself. She had never once wished any of her physical attributes away, and had always believed that all of her flaws were ones that remained unseen. That was why it was a shock for her to encounter an awkward moment, like running into an invisible wall.

Yes, the attraction that coursed between them had been off the charts, but in that moment she couldn’t read his expression.

And she wanted him to like her.

His voice turned guttural as he said, “I’ve never seen you until now.”

She looked down at herself with a frown and brushed at one of her breasts with the fingers of one hand. She said wryly, “If you’re a boob guy, I guess you’re out of luck.”

Sexual tension smoldered in the hot afternoon air. She could feel it pouring off him. “You’re a knockout,” he said. “Your breasts are perfect-sized bites, and your legs could grace a runway. I feel like you’ve punched me all over again.”

He moved toward her, his muscled body tight yet fluid. He was broad across the chest and darker than she, his tanned body a warm brown. He had unbuttoned his jeans and the opening revealed the long, rippled line of his abdomen. The dark blond of his hair was like gold treasure glinting in shadows, and the blue in his eyes looked so much like home, unwanted and unexpected moisture dampened her eyes.

To counteract it, she turned toward mischief and pinched her own nipple, rolling it teasingly between her fingers.

He reached her and knocked her hand away. “Stop that. That’s my nipple.”

A grin broke across her face. “That’s one of the more ridiculous things you’ve ever said.” She plucked at both of her nipples and winked at him.

He grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her back. “What can I say,” he said. “I’m ridiculously possessive.”

“And controlling,” she said. “And dominant.” And playful and sexy, and so damn bad her whole body wanted him. She was empty and aching, and had moistened so that she could feel her own dampness on her inner thighs. She whispered, “I can’t believe I haven’t taken you inside of me yet.”

“Oh, you had me inside of you,” he growled. “You had me in your mouth, and I will never forget it. That moment is going to give me wet dreams for decades.”

With her wrists held behind her back, her torso arched against him. It was the first time they had come together with so much skin against skin, and the sensation was intoxicating. His body was hot and slightly damp with sweat, and his Power sizzled as it wrapped around her.

And he was so dirty.

“I loved you all spread out on that table like a feast,” she said against his lips. “Expect more of that when I get my night. Expect that I’ll take a great deal of time over you, and you won’t necessarily climax when you want. You’ll climax when I want.”

He hissed, “Promise?”

“Promise.” Her mouth shaped the word slowly, to prolong the glide of her lips along his.

“You’re not wet enough,” he whispered.

It took a moment for what he said to sink into her hunger-hazed brain. “I’m pretty wet,” she managed to articulate.

He lifted his head, and there it was again, the addictive combination of passion and laughter flaring in his face. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to know that, sunshine,” he purred. He let go of one of her wrists to trail his fingers down the long, curved line of her spine. “But I was actually referring to the pool-sized tub in the other room. I’ll scrub your back if you scrub mine.”

The thought of sliding against his hard, naked body in the water made her hunger spike, thrumming through her body with agonizing strength. “You offer the best bargains.”

He let her go with evident reluctance, and she walked ahead of him into the luxurious bathroom. Soaps, along with jars of salts and lotions, lined the edges of the tub, and stacks of drying cloths filled a decoratively carved oak cabinet against one wall. An ornate screen hid a pull-string lavatory in one corner, and a full-length polished silver mirror stood in a metal stand in one corner. A marble counter with a washbasin and another, smaller silver mirror was set against another wall, along with a long bench with small bottles of oils and fragrances at one end, no doubt used for massages. The Elven lord had liked his luxuries.

She knelt to examine the levers for the massive tub and discovered that it could be filled with either salt or fresh water. She chose fresh and opened the valve wide so that water gushed in. There was some kind of heating system, probably a sun-heated tank, and the water was hot enough for a comfortable soak.

Movement glided at the edge of her vision. As she turned to look, a nude Quentin strode into the room. He was half-erect, that beautiful penis of his in a thick full arc above his tight, drawn-up sac.

His sleek, catlike grace along with those broad shoulders, muscled chest and long bones were a killer mixture. She remembered all too well what he looked like nude, yet the impact struck her all over again. He gave her a keen, searching glance as she knelt at the side of the tub. Then he walked down the steps. The water had gushed in so fast it was already at his waist. As he came close, his hand snaked out. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the water.

She started laughing even as she fell, rolling so that she hit the water shoulder first. She caught a glimpse of his lean face, creased in a smile, and then the water closed over her head. After the heat and getting so dirty, submerging felt so incredibly good, she didn’t rise up right away. Instead she stretched her whole body and turned languorously, wallowing in the sense of weightlessness.

Hard hands grasped her shoulders and lifted her. Water rushed away from her face and as she blinked to clear her eyes, she discovered Quentin looking down at her, his face tight and flushed with intent. His expression was so raw, so naked, she stared, and her heart began a slow, heavy pounding. He exhilarated and terrified her.

For a moment she considered pulling away and leaving. As she’d said, they had a choice now about what happened to them, about whether or not they moved forward to see what joining together as possible mates might bring to them.

But she had never backed away from anything just because it frightened her, and the totality of who he was drew her like a siren’s song. He had an extraordinary capacity for both violence and tenderness, and a sensuality so keen it sliced deep into her center.

It couldn’t have been balanced of her to tell him that she would live for him, even if she couldn’t see how right now. She noted the thought as it passed through her mind, and she gave a mental shrug. Balanced was not who she was. She threw everything she had at life, and this was no exception.

She stood and put her arms around his neck, and he clenched her tightly against him. As they came together, they fit, skin to skin and soul to soul.

Then he loosened his hold to reach for a jar by the side of the tub. Pouring a fragrant liquid into his palm, he rubbed his hands together and began to work the soap through her hair. When his fingers rubbed at her scalp, the sensation ran all through her body. Still tired, stressed and half-healed, she felt as if he had unzipped her. The muscles of her inner thighs started to shake, and she had to force herself to stay upright.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to take much of this,” she said unsteadily. Somewhere deep inside, something prideful glared at her. She ignored it, concentrating all of her attention on the exquisite sensation of his large hands moving along her skin.

“That’s not true,” he murmured. “You can take as much as I can give. You can take anything I dish out. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you can take this too.”

He coaxed her forward until she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he washed her, his callused hands gentle as he stroked her aching back and shoulders, right at the place where, in her harpy form, her wings joined her body. She went boneless, floating against him as she trusted him to hold her up, and he did.

“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. Somehow she would make sure of it.

“I trust you too.” He kissed her temple. “If you tell me it’s going to be all right, then it will be.”

He wasn’t any more balanced than she was, because no Wyr in their right mind would mate with someone who was in danger of suicidal behavior or getting themselves killed. Yet here he was, without a single hesitation.

She lifted her head and framed his face in her hands as she told him, “You’re crazy.”

He shook his head slightly. “No,” he told her deeply, conviction in his steady gaze. “I’m just turning sane. Or maybe I’m coming fully into myself, and that feels like it has been a long time in coming.”

“Duck down,” she said, growing as hungry to touch him as he was touching her.

He obliged her by submerging in the water, then straightening again. The strong bones of his face stood out with his wet hair lying sleek against his head. She took some of the fragrant soap in her hands and began to wash him. Every line of his hard body felt like a revelation, and the intensity of his reaction was blinding.

His body shuddered, and he sucked in air as if he were running hard, running desperately with all of his might to reach some essential destination. Soapsuds slid down his neck and chest, and her fingers followed them, lingering over the bulge and hollow created by his muscles. There was a little oil in the liquid, and it made his skin even more silken. She felt like she was painting him with an invisible message.

Run here. Find me. Love me.

Stay.

He responded as if he had read every word, pushing her forward and coming with her on a wave. As the water closed over their heads, he hugged her against his body as his hardened lips found hers. They turned, floating together as they kissed and kissed, piercing each other ravenously with their tongues, because while they would fight with all their strength for tomorrow, tomorrow might not be there, and now was all they had.

And it felt like flying. It felt like home.

It felt like everything she might have confessed to herself that she wanted, on dark nights when there was no one else around to hear.

She murmured wordlessly, and the water swallowed the sound as she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to him with all of her strength. Gripping her just as tightly, he rolled to his feet and stood.

Water cascaded off of them as he strode up the steps, carrying her. When she loosened her legs and made as if to stand on her own, he yanked her back up. “Don’t you dare let go of me,” he muttered. Without the water to buffer them, he felt as if he was burning up, and the full, hard length of his cock pressed against the underside of her ass.

Complying, she tightened her legs and embraced the contradiction that lived inside of her. While she would almost never want a man to carry her, a primitive part in her reveled in the fact that he was so strong that he could, effortlessly.

He strode for the massive bed, never once looking away from her face. How strange, that this man would look at her with such need and desire when once all he could do was look at her with hate. He felt and did everything so passionately, she knew that he would make more mistakes down the road. They both would.

But just like his dark blond hair, he was gold treasure in shadows. He was worth every bit of the effort it would take for her to learn how to forgive him, worth every bit and more.

They reached the bed and he fell on top of her, his big, powerful body arcing over her in need. He ran his shaking mouth down her throat to her breasts, first sucking hard at one then the other quickly, as if he was so ravenous he couldn’t wait and had to have them both at once.

The brilliant afternoon sun fell through the windows across her face, blinding her with light. She squinted, gasping, as she felt pierced everywhere, in her eyes, in her body that stabbed her with emptiness, and in her emotions, as every barrier she had constructed against this man fell away.

He lifted his head, a black silhouette against the sun, and paused. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was looking down at her. Then he leaned away as he reached for a pillow, and she could see him again. His expression had turned wicked and tender at once.

“We need to get that sun out of your eyes,” he said, his voice raspy as he started to purr—literally purr—again. She watched as he tore a strip of material off the pillow. As he turned back, the look in his eyes was rotten with velvet mischief. “This will give you some shade.”

Comprehension dawned, and she sat up. He wanted to blindfold her?

Despite all the uncertainties and danger that lay ahead of them, she smiled, suddenly more happy than she could ever remember being. She said very gently, “I will if you will.”

He hesitated, but this time she could sense there wasn’t any struggle in him. He merely made an adjustment in his thinking. “Absolutely.”

She tore a strip from the shredded pillow, and they blindfolded each other. The last knot was barely in place before he hauled her against his chest, imprisoned her head between his hands and kissed her. He had to quest across the skin of her cheek to find her mouth. The exploration was unbelievably erotic.

Greedily, she ran her hands all over his body as he plunged into her with his tongue. Finally she cupped his stiff penis, and they both made a hoarse, anguished sound. His breathing turning harsh and uneven, he put one hand between her legs and curled his fingers into her slick, hypersensitive flesh.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he muttered against her lips.

“Good. Come here.” She lay back on the bed and he came with her, settling his weight onto her. Together, by feel alone, they brought his cock to her entrance. The tip felt wide, and he paused again to rub himself against her moisture and make sure she was ready for him.

But she had lost all patience. She hissed against his mouth, “Do it!”

He responded as if she had laid a whip across his back, arching his body and plunging into her in one long, hard push. As he impaled her, there it was again, the good kind of pain mixed with pleasure, like brandy and chocolate.

Overcome by impulse, she cheated and pushed her blindfold up, squinting against the sunshine.

He leaned on elbows that were braced on either side of her head, broad shoulders hunched and his head thrown back. What she could see of his half-covered face was etched with some kind of sexual crisis. He shook his head, growled something under his breath that she couldn’t understand, and began to move.

Gods, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She raised her hips each time he thrust into her, and his full, hard length gliding into her tight sheath was everything that she needed, everything. She laid one hand gently against his cheek while she raked her nails down his back, scoring his skin and marking him as hers.

His face twisted. He bared his teeth, reached up to snatch his blindfold away. They both froze a moment, staring at each other, as the thief caught the cheater.

A smile broke over his face, keen and brighter than the sunshine, as he rocked inside her. “I’m tacking that onto your debt.”

The mounting pleasure was so great, she could barely manage to pant a few words. “I’m okay with that.”

His smile slipped away, and he came down over her, winding one arm around her neck and the other underneath her hips, holding her in such a tight grip he would leave bruises.

She loved it all, she loved him. She brought her mouth up to his and urged him to go harder, deeper, until he pistoned into her, driving her higher and higher toward an unseen peak.

She stretched everything she had toward it, arms over her head and arching her body up to him.

And there it was, that singular moment where she could almost leave the shackles of gravity behind.

Almost.

She reached the peak, and for that one instant in time she existed weightlessly, no longer straining to rise but flawless, floating.

Then the climax took her over completely. Somebody cried out. She didn’t know if it was her or him. He bowed over her, shuddering all over, and even as the rhythm of her climax faded away, she felt his cock start to pulse.

It was too good, too beautiful. Need gripped her. She cried out, “I’m not done.”

He met her gaze and growled, “I’m not either.”

She rolled him over and came up sitting on him, all while keeping him inside. Still gripping her around the hips, he pulled her down and bit her neck. He held on to her, fucking her as she rode him, and overcome by the urgency, she screamed into the bedcovers as she came again.

As did he, bucking up with his hips and swearing.

She clawed at him, beyond words.

He gave her everything she needed, everything she asked from him, and more than she ever expected to receive. In return, she gave him everything she had, every last chaotic, passionate piece.

Matched. Mated.

Perfect.

They did not quite wreck themselves on each other. That would take a few days of the mating heat. Instead, conscious of the passing time, they simply reached a place where they managed to stop.

Need still roared like a race car through his veins, but when Quentin noticed that the angle of the sun had changed, he said against her lips, “We’ve got to think of tonight.”

Breathing unsteadily, she pulled back, and a sliver of rational thought appeared in her stormy eyes. “Rain check,” she whispered.

“You know it, sunshine.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he passed a hand over her breast one more time. “Just as soon as we possibly can.”

Foregoing blankets in the late afternoon heat, they sprawled together, limbs entangled. Despite the mating urge that nagged at him, he fell into sleep as quickly and completely as a stone dropped into a dark, quiet pond.

Just as quickly and completely, he woke several hours later.

The sun was close to setting, shadows lengthening throughout the Elven lord’s luxurious room.

Aryal lay on her stomach, her black hair falling over her face. Quentin’s head rested in the small of her back. He had wrapped one arm around her thigh in his sleep. Her scent filled him with carnal memories. She smelled like fragrant soap and sex.

When he lifted his head and looked along her length, he saw bruises on her hips where he had gripped her. They would be gone entirely in another hour or two. He clenched with the need to lick her everywhere and begin all over again. To avoid starting something he knew he would not be able to stop, he lifted carefully away from her sleeping form.

Out the nearest window, shafts of light lanced the panoramic view of the deserted city like unimaginably long spears thrown by the gods. Soon the city would lay silhouetted against the fiery colors of sunset. Despite his growing obsession with the woman lying next to him, he had to stop and stare. Nature was sending them off to battle in style.

Aryal had bunched bedcovers under her head as a pillow. She muttered into them, “Time to get up?”

“Yeah.” Then he couldn’t help himself after all, and he bent over to press a kiss to her shoulder, watching covetously as a shiver rippled across her skin. He forced himself to say, “We better move if we’re going to pick out a suitable boat before the light goes.”

She picked herself up off the bed in one smooth movement, and her expression settled into a harpy’s unshakable focus.

They washed quickly. Quentin spared a few minutes to use the Elven lord’s flat razor and shave off his new beard, which had begun to annoy him, while Aryal combed through the massive wardrobe. She found sleeveless silk tunics and trousers that were slightly large on her and tight across the shoulders on Quentin, but the lightweight material would breathe while it provided a little buffer against the armor, so it was perfect for their purposes.

Last came the weapons: long swords belted at the waist, short swords strapped to their thighs, and unstrung longbows strapped to their backs along with quivers full of arrows. Aryal used Quentin’s blindfold to tie back her hair. When she noticed that he watched her, she muttered, “Souvenir.”

He cocked his head, immeasurably charmed by the sight. There she stood, looking as lethal as he’d ever seen her, and …

He asked, “Did you just blush?”

She made a face and strode for the door, saying over her shoulder, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And now you’re running away.” He prowled behind her. Inside, delight filled him with airy lightness.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I didn’t. And I’m not.” She wrestled with the locked door.

“Yes, you did. You blushed and ran away.” He reached around her, pulling her hands away from the door. As he unlocked the door, he nuzzled her neck. She smelled clean and wild. The scent went straight to his cock, of course. “It was fantastic.”

She shook her head, sounding winded as she said, “Because it’s always all about you, isn’t it?”

“Damn right it is.” He bit her gently, slipping an arm around her waist as she leaned back against him and reached over her shoulder to stroke his hair.

She twisted and kissed him, and he clenched her to him, kissing her back hard and hungrily. How this much emotion had fountained out of nothing was something he couldn’t understand, but he would never get enough of her, never.

Adrenaline at what lay ahead had already started to beat a tribal rhythm in his chest. His hunger for her only heightened it. He bent her back over his arm, his kiss turning savage. They were both shaking when they wrenched apart, all lightheartedness and joking lost. She stroked his cheek and looked him deeply in the eye, her angular face serious. He brushed his mouth along her fingers.

Then, having already said everything they needed to say to each other, they left.

He glanced one last time over his shoulder, out the window at the gigantic stone faces of the gods. Hyperion faced the westering sun. The angled light had turned the god’s blank eyes golden.

Quentin had never been much for prayer, but this time, he decided to give it a go. Just see that we find her, he said silently to the god. We’ll take care of everything else.

They left the palace by way of the kitchens and stopped briefly to collect more portable food and wineskins filled with water—and another two bottles of brandy, because you never know, they might just be able to hang on to it this time—and they distributed it all evenly into two sacks, along with the vials of healing potion they had gathered from the barracks.

The light was fading fast by that point, so they jogged down to the shoreline and strode along the piers, looking for a small sailboat suitable for one or two people. They found one quickly and Aryal jumped in to hoist the sails while Quentin unfastened the ropes mooring it to the pier. He shoved it off and leaped in. The last of the day’s light lay fractured in slivers along the top of the rippling dark waves as they drifted beyond the pier into open water.

Aryal’s cloaking settled over the small boat like a shimmering veil. They had to figure out by trial and error how the tide ran, and how to move forward in the right direction using the angle of the wind. Eventually they settled into tacking in a zigzag course. By then the overlarge moon had risen and it shone with so much silvery light, to Quentin’s feline gaze the scene turned almost as bright as day.

They took turns eating, while the other remained vigilant at the tiller. Watching the island as it neared, he ate lightly, just enough fuel for whatever came next but not enough to weigh him down. While he swallowed his last bite of wayfarer bread, a flicker of light appeared.

It shone from the building that lay up the steep hill, nestled among the trees.

“We’ve got her,” he said softly. He could sense that Aryal had gone tense and still. He noticed something else too. Two piers at one end of the beach held several moored boats. “There are too many boats. We shouldn’t waste time trying to disable them all.”

Aryal asked, “What do you suggest?”

He turned to her. “I take point,” he said. “The current is running at an angle to the island. When we get close enough, I’ll swim the rest of the way to the beach. The witch is smart. She’ll have shadow wolves on the beach as sentries. We don’t know how, but somehow they’re linked to her, so I’ll draw her attention. Meanwhile, you sail with the current, land somewhere along the other side of the island and double back so that you come at the witch from behind.”

She studied his face. “You’ll draw her fire on your own?”

He gestured impatiently with one hand. “Yeah, it’s gonna hurt. That just means you’ll have to move fast. I’ll also try to wait a little while before I engage, to narrow down the lag time.”

Did she pause to think about how this might have been her opportunity to get rid of him, as he had once paused to think about her? No sign showed on her tense features. “I don’t like it.”

“Tough,” he said. He turned back to look at the island. “I’m the one who’s more equipped to fight the shadow wolves.”

“But you’ll be facing them both until I get to you. And while Elven armor is magic resistant, it doesn’t block everything. Once its resistance has been compromised, it’s no better than any other leather armor.”

“It’s better than a simple frontal assault,” he told her. “Her wolves could engage us to cover her retreat, and we’ll have expended our energy and given away the element of surprise for nothing. This way—she doesn’t know that you survived the first attack, sunshine. She might wonder, but she won’t know that you’re coming.”

She was silent for several moments. “Shit.”

“It makes sense,” he said gently.

“Okay, already!” she exploded. “But shit!”

He didn’t say anything. If their positions were reversed he would hate it just as much as she did, and there wasn’t any way to make it better. He studied the fast-approaching shoreline and rotated his shoulders, loosening them up for a swim and a fight. Was that a shadow he saw, pacing the beach?

They reached the point where she was going to have to angle away to avoid landing. He settled his supply sack and a wineskin of water firmly around his neck and one shoulder. Then he wrapped one hand around his arrows, holding them in the quiver, as he braced one foot on the edge of their small sailboat and prepared to jump over.

“Quentin,” she said.

She sounded so urgent that he paused to glance at her.

The expression on her face was tight, and her eyes burned with determination. Her mouth worked. Then she said, “I’ll hurry.”

He gave her a bright, hard grin. Then he launched over the side of the boat and hit the water, stopping only for a moment to watch as Aryal and the sailboat turned away. The strong current tugged him in the sailboat’s direction, so he couldn’t pause for long. He ducked his head and cut across the current, swimming in strong, sure strokes. The armor, weapons and supply sack made swimming awkward, and it was difficult to develop a rhythm.

But he didn’t have to go far. After a few minutes, he came up against the furthest boat at the end of the first pier, and he grabbed its anchor chain to tread water. He eased the supply sack, the skin of water, and the longbow and arrows over the rim of the boat as he studied the nearby beach. A path zigzagged up the hill that was so steep it warranted carved steps in places. It led to the top of a bluff. He could just see the edge of the trees at the top.

Down below on the beach, two spots of blackness glided across the sand as shadow wolves paced. They seemed restless. He recovered his breath as he studied them. Now that he knew what to expect, he could sense them quite well. Maybe, as Aryal had said, they weren’t the product of a magic spell, but he wasn’t convinced. Both wolves carried something of the same magical signature. It seemed too singular, as if stamped with a certain personality.

Did the witch have so much Power that she could cast a spell that acted like thirteen independent entities—and then not only maintain it indefinitely, but across large distances? His credulity balked at the idea.

Did the ones on the beach already know that he was here? Could they attack while he was still in the water, and if so, why did they hold back?

He pulled his own Power up and held it ready. Offensive spells were tricky to cast in battle, because they took time to create and fighting happened so fast. That was why the best and most effective spells were the simplest ones. They were easy to remember in a panic, and quick to spit out and do damage.

And one of the most effective spells of all was one that counteracted other dangerous magics.

One of the shadows stopped moving. It appeared to be facing him. It didn’t do anything, but just waited.

He wasn’t going to need the bow and arrows for this fight. He pushed away from the boat and glided toward shore, watching both shadows warily. The one shadow wolf never moved. The other didn’t stop pacing.

He reached a point that was shallow enough that he could touch bottom with one boot, and that was when a mental voice entered his head, speaking with a strong accent.

Help us.

You speak telepathically? What the hell? He stared at the wolf in front of him, not surprised so much that the wolf could speak to him but that it chose to.

The wolf said, Beware. If you come to shore, we are bound by orders to attack you.

Quentin treaded water, thinking hard. It sounded sophisticated, like it really was a thinking individual. What are you?

We are Wyr too, the wolf said. Or we once were. Our alpha mated with Galya. When he was severely injured in battle, she caught his soul and tried to revive him. His body died, but he stayed bound to her. She has become obsessed with finding a way to resurrect him, and us. One by one we have given our lives to prolong hers, in the hopes that she will eventually find a way to bring us back. But she did not tell us that we would be bound to her will, and it has been so long.

She had prolonged her life through the sacrifice of theirs? Shock and revulsion froze him until he started to sink. He kicked up and treaded water again.

Resurrecting the dead was forbidden in every culture he knew, and he had always believed there was a strong reason for that. It bent an essential event in nature, and the results, or so he had heard, were invariably warped and tragic.

He said, Help me make sure I understand you properly. She’s looking for a way to resurrect you?

There is a thing mentioned in the very oldest of tales called the Phoenix Cauldron, the wolf whispered. It was said to have been so Powerful it could bring the dead to life. It was lost long ago when this land was barred from the rest of the world. She searches night and day for it. But I am so tired. Yet she won’t let me go.

She sacrificed Wyr to prolong her life and held their souls against their will. Rage followed closely on the heels of all his other emotions.

Aryal should have landed by now. It was more than past time to make a big noise and end this witch.

He swam closer to land.

As he neared, the wolf whispered, Some will not fight you with all of their strength, but don’t trust Pyotr, the alpha. He is as devoted to her as ever.

Understood. He stood to walk out of the water, and the other shadow whipped around. It stalked him across the sand.

The wolf that had been talking to him crouched and sprang. Quentin flung out his hand silently to throw the spell he had held ready. He put all the force he could into it.

::Dissipate::

The spell was meant to counteract dangerous magics, and it worked better than he could have hoped. It hit the attacking wolf in midair. The black shadow twisted as if it were in agony. Then with a snap and an outcry that rang in Quentin’s head, it vanished.

In the distance, out of sight at the top of the bluff, a woman screamed in shock and fury.

So he had gotten the witch’s attention.

Quentin ducked his chin down with a dark smile and strode onto the beach, and as the second shadow wolf raced toward him, he pulled his Power together and punched the air with another spell.

Like the other wolf, when the spell hit the shadow twisted and snapped into nothingness. He shook his head. Even though they had already been—mostly—dead, he still felt like he had killed them.

Then some sixth sense tickled at him. He looked at the path.

Ten shadows poured over the edge of the bluff. Then the last one appeared, and that shadow was the biggest and most Powerful of them all.

Yeah, those numbers didn’t look so good when Quentin had to throw each dissipation spell one at a time.

A woman appeared at the top of the bluff. Galya. The silver moonlight seemed to hollow out her eye sockets and turn her face to bone.

Come on, Aryal. Move your ass, sunshine.

The shadow pack reached the beach and hurtled toward him.

He gathered up his Power and prepared for battle.