Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Straegan flicked his gaze toward the Witchwood and back. With a bone-deep howl, he bolted.
Thane vaulted off the rampart after him. Mid-fall, he let his beast rise fully, felt his own body morphing with the change. Frame burgeoning, clothes tearing.
Luminous scent threads hung in the air as visible to him as moonbeams. Straegan followed Ditch’s trail without wavering.
He was fast—unnaturally so. Was killing her so consuming he could outrun even Thane?
Never.
Frenzy sharpened Thane’s muscles, and he gained ground, devouring miles.
The brothers hit the granite flats that stretched between the two territories. Thane sped across the dew-wetted stone, the scent of iron filling his senses. The blazing moon spawned both shadows and reflections over the plateau, making this night even more surreal.
Steam rose from his breath as he dug deeper, finally in striking distance. His body coiled to spring…
Thane lunged.
He tackled Straegan, sending them skidding, stone shards flying. They rolled, snarling, claws gouging granite as they regained their feet. They circled each other, fangs snapping in the primal heat of aggression.
Eliminate the threat. End the danger. Tonight. He feigned left, dove right, and clamped his jaws around Straegan’s throat.
A sliver of restraint held:—Brother.—
Straegan snatched his head back, sacrificing his own throat. Blood blinded Thane. Straegan slammed him down, cracking his skull against the stone. The slab fractured. Thane’s skull fractured.
The moon spun above him.
Straegan staggered up, blood sluicing down his chest, and sprinted on as if his neck wasn’t torn open.
What madness drove him this hard? Thane heaved himself up, slipping through blood and brain fluid, and barreled after him.
Must catch him. He’ll slaughter her. As he did that last one.
The Witchwood rose before Thane, Strix Keep a dark promise in the distance. He sped through barren trees, scent light guiding him.
But something thudded wrong in his chest: Where were the traps Ditch had promised? The wards. The snares. The Witchwood yawned exposed. Had her enemies undone her protections too?
Then Straegan veered sharply. Away from Ditch’s sublime thread?
Aye, his brother followed a pulsing lure, one Thane had scented in the past but couldn’t place.
His beast stilled. The threat had shifted. Something else called to Straegan.
But Ditch’s intoxicating scent overwhelmed Thane, irresistible. The moon amplified it, driving his beast wild.
His steps faltered on the last, thin tether of reason. Even knowing the impossibility of it, Thane fought to regain control. Yet his beast would never give up this night. It knew that Thane’s anything—up to a point hadn’t been working, and it had a plan to protect Ditch totally.
Forever.
Gods almighty, if she canna defend herself, it’s going to take her through the portal.
Chapter 57
Dagny
Labor.
It hit like a sword strike. She woke to a wrenching contraction and the sickening realization that her mate’s side of the bed was cold and empty.
“Torben!” The scream lodged in her throat as another wave of pain folded her over. Her water had broken, and the sheets were almost all blood. The room spun.
Something is very wrong.
She tried to stand, but her legs failed her, sending her to her knees on the fur rug. She struggled to rise. Couldn’t. Pain doubled, then tripled…each contraction hitting faster and faster, as if her body raced to get this child born.
She crawled from the back room and screamed for help. Where was Torben? Why had she fought with him? They never fought! She’d sent him away. Take more than a minute, she’d told him.
Control. Breathe. Safely birth this baby. She could handle pain, but the thought of her child being hurt choked her. Her lungs seized.
Torben, where are you?
Her body had changed for pregnancy; she could only hope her mind had too, because horrible thoughts filled it. Horrible feelings.
Dread.
And it centered on Torben. As her mate, he should sense her distress. Yet he still hadn’t returned from their fight. He was probably out bartering for a present to make up for their quarrel. Of course, he would return soon. She told herself this.
She’d made it halfway to the cave door when snow crunched outside. Ah, Torben, thank gods! The flap opened, and she cried, “Quick, love, get the midwife…”
“There’s no time for a midwife, child,” Hulda said, cheeks damp with tears. “You’ll be executed before then.”
Clarity hit Dagny like a bolt tapping the Channeler Stone, shaping her forever. “Like Torben?”
Hulda gave a sob.
Shock. Cold. Emotions gone frozen. Even Dagny’s Berserkerage seemed struck into quiescence. Her physical anguish too. A relative graze.
Hulda whispered, “And Arctos is gone as well.” She cried harder.
“Who did these deeds? Who is coming for me?” Who will I kill once this babe leaves the comfort of my body? Another contraction racked her as the head began to crown.
“Yrsa and Torben both entered the ravines earlier, but only she returned, blood all over her. She often goes to meet Prince Coștin. They’ve been working together. Lovers of a sort.”