“Brine’s calf is injured. I need you to help me with him if you can bear it.”
Swiftly smiled his horsey smile. “We have to. Help me up.”
With many curses and grunts, Tempest managed to get both men on their feet with Brine between them. They began their journey once again. It was a miserable struggle. Tempest panted as they left the dark pine trees that lined the base of the mountains to painfully climb through a deep, narrow valley, its walls the precipitous sides of two neighboring mountains covered in early winter snow.
And you thought you’d be cold.
She huffed out an exhausted laugh. Her body was dripping with sweat, more so from the heat Brine was putting out than from the climb, although her thighs and calves burned. She had no clue how the wolf was keeping up.
Their footsteps upon the stony ground echoed all around, slapping and reverberating off the sides of the mountains until the noise drowned everything out around them. The sound pushed heavily on her ears. From the corner of her eye, Brine winced, his ears lying flat against his skull. She was tempted to ask how much farther when the wolf stumbled and leaned more weight on her. Tempest grunted and dug deep down for more strength, not daring to speak and add to the overwhelming racket around them.
The sun had fully set, and the moon had risen in the sky, lighting their way. Thank Dotae for the small miracles. If the moon hadn’t been out in all its glory, there was no way she could have made this hike in full darkness.
Brine caught the tip of his boot and stumbled once again. Tempest braced her legs and wrapped her arm tighter around his back. He hissed and jerked away from her touch. Liquid ran down her fingers from his back. She’d grabbed his wound.
“Sorry,” she whispered as softly as she could.
The wind whistled above, a haunting melody that caused every deep shadow to look like a monster. She inhaled slowly and tried to calm herself. Even in Brine’s state, he wouldn’t want a creature bearing down on them. And where were they going? There was nothing in the Dread Mountains but danger and death. Once again, her question sat on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. Neither shifter would tell her. Might as well save her breath.
They pressed onward, and their pace slackened. Swiftly careened back and forth, and Tempest could hardly stand, yet they continued on.
Count each step. One foot in front of the other. You can do this. You have to do this, or you will all die.
Somewhere around the count of one-hundred-and-fifty, she registered the sound of footsteps. Footsteps that weren’t theirs. Couldn’t they catch a break? Brine’s head lifted, and his ears stood at full attention. One twitched—a tell-tale sign that somebody else was around. If he’d noticed them at the same time as she had, then the wolf was in worse shape than she’d thought.
Shifters? She brushed the thought aside. They were too loud for shifters.
“I need to set you down,” she whispered to Brine. “I can’t fight and balance you.”
His grip around her waist tightened. “No. Keep going.”
Her lips thinned. At this pace, their pursuers would catch up to them in no time. But, still, they soldiered on through the valley at a snail’s pace. She kept throwing glances over her shoulder. Still no one in sight yet. That was promising at least, but it didn’t last.
Several minutes later, the sounds of their pursuers’ footsteps had become more and more apparent. Tempest glanced behind them and spotted shadows gaining on them. Enough was enough. It was time to stand and fight.
“No more,” she huffed. They couldn’t outrun them.
She manhandled Brine to the side of the ravine, then pulled her bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow. Hunting in the dark. Ridiculous. The first shadow drew closer at an alarming speed, and her lip curled.
They were shifters. Damn it.
Tempest inhaled and released her arrow with a soft exhale. It went wide and slammed into stone. Hell. Quickly, she whipped another arrow from her quiver when shifters appeared all around them.
An ambush.
Shale rained down from behind her, and she spun just as a lion leapt from an impossibly thin shelf of rock above Tempest’s head. She released the arrow and it pierced the beast in the shoulder. Her mouth bobbed as he shifted mid-drop and landed in a crouch, golden hair ruffled in the breeze.
Hands tried to grab her, but she whipped her bow around, keeping them back. Weight slammed into her from the side, and she found herself staring into the pale eyes of the lion shifter. He slapped a medicinal-smelling cloth over her mouth.
“That hurt,” he snapped. “You could have killed me.”
Tempest wiggled and fought harder, involuntarily taking in a breath. Her muscles twitched, and then her eyelids fluttered closed, sending her plummeting into darkness.
Tempest opened her eyes slowly, her head aching.
She hurt too much to be dead, so that was something. Slowly, she glanced around the room. It was a luxurious room, just as expensively furnished as the cave she had woken in last time.
The Jester.
She’d know his gaudy taste anywhere. Why had he felt the need to knock her out? He could have just thrown a bag over her head and called it good. Staging an ambush and the drugging? That had the Jester written all over it.
Tempest rubbed her eyes and willed herself to be more alert. Whatever they’d drugged her with hadn’t completely left her system. Her basic bodily functions were moving too slowly. She could have woken up somewhere worse. At least it wasn’t a prison.
Some cages are gilded.
The fact that he had now moved her twice while she was unconscious made her ill at ease. A person was at their most vulnerable while they slept. She stretched her muscles. Everything seemed to be okay. Other than being exhausted and bruised, she was whole, which was a bloody miracle in and of itself. She slowly sat up and inspected the room a little more closely.
The bed was large—as large as King Destin’s. A soft bedspread lay over her legs, embroidered with woodland creatures. She ran her fingers along the decoration, pausing when her fingertips brushed over a fox. Tempest averted her gaze from the golden eyes of the kitsune stitched upon it. She’d been much too interested in foxes of late. It was unhealthy.
Tempest eyed the empty fireplace. She’d assumed they were underground somewhere beneath the mountains. How did they ventilate the fire? Wouldn’t the smoke escaping give up the location of this place? Thoughts for another day. A shiver worked through her. How she wished there was an actual fire burning in the hearth. She was freezing.
Beside the hearth, however, was a familiar mountain of a man sleeping on a rocking chair, bringing back memories of the shifter village and the cottage she’d spent weeks recovering in.
Briggs.
Scooting to the edge of the mattress, she swung her legs off the bed in order to hug her friend. She’d missed the healer. Tempest stiffened as she realized how scantily she was dressed. Her cheeks burned, and she used the covers to hide her figure. Who had undressed her? She scoured the room for something suitable to wear, but all that was available was a long, silken nightgown lying on the end of the bed. When she reached out to rub the fabric between her fingers, it was like water.
A stupid grin crossed her face, and Tempest stamped down her joy.
Beautiful, but impractical. The garment wouldn’t keep her warm at all.