Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) (8 page)

Silverblade had
dozed for a time after Beatrice had shared more power with him, but now he was
awake again, dressed in his newly cleaned—but still stained—buckskin breeches
and Beatrice’s cloak. His breeches and boots were the only items of his to have
survived both the acolytes and Beatrice’s healing.

Sipping at
another cup of the seemingly endless supply of herbal tea Beatrice made him
drink, he sat and watched with interest as she packed away her few supplies and
then went to pick up a large evergreen branch she’d cut from a tree earlier.

When he’d offered
to pack her supplies, she’d leveled him with such a look, he simply sat back
down and watched. And if he was being honest, he’d always found her easy to
watch. She moved with grace. Even mundane tasks were somehow transformed into a
kind of graceful dance when she did them.

She was in tune
with the rhythms of the earth. Aware of them, she flowed with them instead of
against them. Her passage through the forest and meadow didn’t once disturb the
tall grass. Silent, graceful, a beautiful predator for all that she was a
healer.

Living with the
land—it was a skill few humans mastered.

While he’d been
daydreaming, she had proceeded to wipe away almost all signs there had been a
camp here.

The hard ground
aided her in her endeavor. Had the ground been soft, she’d never have been able
to hide the gelding’s tracks.

After a few
sweeps of the evergreen bough broom, the leaf litter scattered into random
patterns and hid the location of the cooking fire at first glance.

Of course, if one
looked with more than one’s eyes, there were other telltale signs, like the
scorched earth and wet ash scent of the old fire. But most humans didn’t have
well-developed senses and probably wouldn’t be able to find this camp by sight
alone, not unless they were actively hunting for one.

Which the
acolytes likely would be once they regrouped. Whatever the mark on his chest
was, it certainly had captured the acolyte leader’s attention.

There was an even
more disturbing thought: acolytes might not hunt by sight, or any natural sense
at all.

The Elementals
just didn’t know enough about them and clearly capturing one and keeping it
alive to study would pose a problem. And an acolyte didn’t need physical touch
to feed, one just had to be in close proximity to a magic-wielder.

Still, there had
to be a way to capture one for study. Perhaps if the Elementals took turns,
then no one Larnkin would need to sacrifice too much power to learn what they
needed.

The idea had
merit. He would mention it to an elder once he reached his people and reported
what he learned.

When Silverblade
glanced back at the healer, he found her trying to coax the gelding closer to
him. It was clear the gelding was almost as placid as his own mare had been.
Equally clear was that the horse thought Beatrice asked too much this time.

When Beatrice
persuaded the gelding to approach Silverblade’s position, the horse would allow
himself to be led for a step or two and then he’d halt, plant his feet, and
refuse to move so much as a muscle in the stubborn way all draft horses had.

Silverblade had
experienced it firsthand a time or two himself with his own mare. His battered
heart would have throbbed with yet more pain at the mare’s cruel death, but he
was numb now to new pain, his own mother’s loss feeling like a piece of his
soul had made the journey with her. The acolytes had much to atone for, and he
planned to be the one to collect it from them. Mentally he added his mare at
the bottom of the list. Before he passed from this life, he would make sure
even his mare would be avenged. There were hundreds, if not thousands of
acolytes after all. He’d see every last one dead.

“Oh, come on! You
great, obstinate horse,” Beatrice muttered as she attempted to coax the gelding
a couple steps closer.

With mild
amusement, he watched Beatrice and the gelding from where he sat on the ground.
The horse would lift a hoof, flare his nostrils, presumably catch Silverblade’s
underlying lupwyn scent and then snort loudly and stomp his hoof back to the
ground.

Beatrice echoed
the gelding’s snort with her own huff of impatience. “The wolf isn’t half as
scary as what will soon be following our trail.”

Silverblade
wasn’t thrilled to be likened to a wolf, but he let it pass. Humans had likely
called his kind far worse, and Beatrice had not uttered it maliciously. He’d
enlighten her later and ask if she liked to be called little ape.

She was a tiny
little thing compared to the mountain of a horse. Even though she looked
ridiculous trying to coax the horse to come and sniff his hand, he held his silence
and waited. There wasn’t really a faster way to obtain the horse’s willingness.
Silverblade continued to sit cross-legged on the ground, doing his best to look
uninterested and as non-predatory as possible.

Eventually, the
gelding shuffled over and sniffed Silverblade’s hair.

“Good boy!”

The gelding
twitched at Beatrice’s loud exclamation. Silverblade could relate—his own ears
were still twitching from those two sharp words.

He slowly
uncurled from his sitting position, but didn’t look directly at the horse. The
horse still pinned his ears and snorted in short, nervous blows when
Silverblade slowly reached out and patted the powerfully muscled neck.

*****

It took another
candlemark’s worth of coaxing, but at last the gelding suffered Silverblade to
toss a leg over his back. After some nervous sidestepping, he obeyed his new
rider’s commands and stood so Beatrice could hand up her pack.

By mutual
agreement, they had decided it would be easier to ride bareback, the saddle
being too small for one of Silverblade’s size. Nor was the saddle designed for
a second rider to sit behind the cantle.

Once he had their
bag of supplies resting over his thighs, he leaned down and held a hand out for
Beatrice. Again, her lack of hesitation warmed him. The black claws that tipped
each of his fingers—while not as large or as deadly as they’d be if he was full
lupwyn—were still probably more than intimidating enough for a human used to
blunt nails.

“It would
probably be easier if I rode behind,” she said as she eyed the back of the
horse.

Silverblade
brushed back the concealing fabric of the cloak to reveal his tail. “I would
prefer not to have things touching my tail. We’re a bit sensitive about that.”

Beatrice glanced
at the tail with a startled look, her expression saying she’d forgotten about
that appendage until that moment. Then she grinned. “Hmmm, I think I can
probably resist the urge to pet it. However…temptations. Perhaps it’s better I
ride in the front.”

Her dower
expression lasted but a moment and then she broke out in honest, deep belly
laughs. It took a moment, but then he understood the reason for her humor.

They’d both been
through a great deal—both physically and emotionally—in the last day. And
likely further hardships awaited them in the future. Yet here he was, whining
about something touching his tail.

Her laughter had
brought a smile to his lips for the first time that day. “I’m sorry. I was
simply thinking about both our comforts during the day’s ride ahead. I did not
mean to imply…”

She cut him off.
“Do not worry. Simply help me up and we will be on our way.”

He nodded, but
caught the merry look in her eyes and he had a sneaking suspicion she may
already have taken liberties with his tail. His grin grew wider. He had a
feeling once they became mentor and novice, he was going to have trouble
maintaining a proper distance between them.

He noticed she
weighed almost nothing as he hoisted her up onto the horse’s back. After she
tossed a leg over the gelding’s neck, she settled in place and he adjusted the
cloak to cover them both from the few sprinkles of rain that were already
starting to fall from the sky.

Mentally, he made
note to make sure she ate more once they were among his pack where food was
plentiful.

At his urging,
the gelding started off down the trail at a trot. They’d been riding no more
than half a candlemark when the sky opened up and rain fell upon them in
earnest.

He’d been in
enough rainstorms to know getting wet wouldn’t harm him in the least, but
adjusting the cloak around them both gave him the excuse to huddle closer to
her and share in her warm healing magic.

Even when she
wasn’t actively healing him, he still benefited from her closeness. No lupwyn,
pack animals that they were, liked being alone. He’d grown tolerant of it over
time, but he didn’t like it. Besides, Beatrice smelled nice for a human—her
magic had a sweet, woodsy, almost herbal essence to it.

It still wasn’t a
replacement for his pack bonds—not yet, but whatever was between them was
growing stronger and he felt her thoughts drifting at the edges of his
consciousness. If he’d been stronger, he was certain they would have come
clearly to him.

A new and
profound thought entered his own mind and would not leave. Just what were their
Larnkins to each other? Was he even now riding with his arm wrapped around his
future bondmate’s waist? The thought stilled the breath in his lungs and all
thoughts ground to a halt even as his heart lurched with excitement. While
bondmates were rare among lupwyns, he was half-phoenix, and there were greater
occurrences of bondmates between the fire Elementals.

He very much
wished his Larnkin was capable of communicating at that moment, but it would
likely be days or even moon cycles before his Larnkin recovered from the damage
the acolytes had inflicted upon him.

“So…” Her voice
flowed over him and drew him from his thoughts. “I know you’re old. I can feel
that much. But how old, exactly?”

She was making
idle talk, he realized. When he drew in a deep breath, he knew why. Her scent
now held a spicy essence to it—fear. It overlaid her normal warm, herbal scent.
Did she fear him? Or was it the thought of the acolytes some unknown distance
behind?

He couldn’t do
anything about the acolytes, but he could help ease any fears she might have of
him.

“Old?” He grunted.
“You make it sound like I’m halfway to the grave.”

“Well, how long
do lupwyns live?”

“I’m five hundred
and forty-nine years old.”

She drew in a
sharp breath, but didn’t interrupt.

“As a lupwyn
counts seasons, I’m not even middle-aged. Although, unlike dragons and phoenix,
lupwyns are merely long-lived, not immortal. It can vary a great deal depending
on the strength of one’s Larnkin. A particularly strong Larnkin can and often
will extend its host’s life beyond the normal span.”

“So you could
live to see a thousand years?”

“Yes, easily,
even if I was a full-blooded lupwyn.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” Silverblade
gave a little shrug of his shoulders “I take after my mother to such a degree
I’m able to shapeshift to other forms. My mother is…” He fell silent, his
throat suddenly tight enough to choke off his words. It took three deep breaths
before he’d mastered his emotions enough to spit out the words. “My mother was
a full-blooded phoenix.”

“Silverblade, I
am sorry for your loss.” She stroked his arm where he’d wrapped it around her
waist.

As am I
, he thought in the recesses of his mind.

But even there he
wasn’t entirely alone, and her sympathy flowed into him at the touch. If it was
possible, his heartache worsened, but he found comfort in Beatrice’s warm caring
as well. For all that she wasn’t pack, she acted very similar to how a fellow
pack member would in the same instance.

He leaned forward
and pressed his nose into her hair. Eyes closing, he just breathed in her
scent, thinking of nothing, merely existing for a few beats of his heart, and
Beatrice allowed him those few precious moments.

At last, he felt
her draw in a breath and he knew she had something else to say.

“I can do nothing
for your pain, but I do promise to help you eradicate her murderers. You have
my word.”

He nodded to
acknowledge her.

Again he knew he
should see to her safety before he embarked upon his revenge. She was too young
to be bloodied in the battle that was sure to claim the land in the days or
moon cycles to come.

*****

They’d continued
in silence long into the afternoon. Throughout the day, Beatrice had been
expanding her magic out into the world around them—hunting for signs of
acolytes. He in turn had used his own dulled senses to track more mundane
dangers that shared the forest with them.

He sensed a bear,
a small pack of wolves, and once, one of the large forest cats had padded
alongside parallel to the trail. However, once the other predators caught a
whiff of his underlying lupwyn sent, they soon ghosted back into the
surrounding trees, wanting nothing to do with a human-looking creature with the
scent of a lupwyn.