Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(13)

I run with my hand outstretched, grasping at the air in front of me. There’s a crunch of leaves, a wrench on my arm. Arien staggers back, his hand torn loose from mine as I fall forward.

“Arien?” I turn in a circle, searching. “Where are you?”

“I’m here!” He sounds muffled, far away. “Leta? I can’t see anything!”

Then his voice is cut off, an absence that’s filled with the night. I hold my breath, trying to listen for him through the dark. “Arien!”

My fingers strike against another trunk. But rather than cold and smooth, the bark is wet, smeared with a thick, oozing liquid. I snatch my hand back and scrub it against my skirts. The ground is damp, too. Mud catches my boots as cold moisture seeps in through my stockings and over my feet.

I’m in a clear space, ringed by trees. Skeletal roots jut from the forest floor. In the canopy above there’s a bare piece of sky—star specked, lit by the moon.

And at the center of the clearing is a single, tall tree. Its bark isn’t pale but an oily, midnight black.

The grove is blighted. The magic in the earth—the Lady’s light that flows through the world—is poisoned with darkness from the world Below, and it’s spread through the ground, the roots, the trees. It happened in the almond orchard near Greymere once, but never as bad as this. Here, even the air feels wrong.

My feet cut through the sodden earth as I pace the clearing, but whatever path led me here has now vanished. I’m caged by trees. Arien weaves back and forth on the other side, trying to find a way through. He looks at me, his face a frightened sliver between the trunks, before he’s swallowed up by the gloom.

Then a low growl cuts through the air.

“Arien?”

He doesn’t answer. Everything is still. I can’t even hear the monster.

The growl comes again.

I press back against the edge of the grove, my pulse thudding hard. Behind the poisoned tree there’s a blurred movement. A creature comes out from the darkness, hunched close to the ground.

It takes form. Long legs, a tail, pointed ears.

Sharp teeth.

A wolf.

Head lowered, it stalks forward. I’m frozen by fear, captured by the intent sharpness of its eyes. It gathers itself, teeth bared, a growl in the depths of its throat.

I shout over my shoulder. “Run, Arien! You have to run, you—”

The wolf leaps. I throw myself down and curl forward, closing my eyes as I wait for those teeth to tear through my skin.

Then a bright wave of heat flares past my face. I look up hurriedly. The monster is there, tall and dark and furious, with a pine torch clutched in one hand. Arien is behind him, wielding a broken branch.

The monster rushes between me and the wolf. They collide in a blur of cloak and claws and teeth. He feints, then the wolf is on him, snapping ferociously. There’s a sickening bite, and the monster cries out as the wolf catches his arm. He wrenches himself free with a snarl, the sound spat through his teeth. He looks just as fearsome as the wolf, just as dangerous.

He thrusts the torch forward. Sparks fill the air, and the wolf writhes. Then everything happens in a blur, so fast I can hardly parse together what I’m seeing. There’s the sound, a slice, a splatter of dark blood over the ground.

The monster shoves his hand against the earth where the soil is wet and black and blighted. The air gives a tremor, and the sense of wrongness from before builds and builds.

I can feel it in my chest. I can taste it, sour, on my tongue. Tendrils of darkness unfold from the ground and snare the wolf, wrapping its legs like vines. It whimpers, struggling to get free, teeth bared and eyes rolled back, white half-moons of fear.

With another snarl, the monster pulls his hand back from the ground. The shadows evaporate in a rush, and the wolf, freed, falls down with a yelp. It scrabbles to right itself, paws carving the mud, then turns and runs swiftly back into the forest.

The monster watches it go before collapsing onto his knees with a groan. His head hangs forward, his face hidden behind his hair. He holds his arm against his chest.

Arien throws down the branch and runs over to me. “I went to find him. He came back for you—he wasn’t going to, but we heard the wolf, and—”

I look quickly from the monster, slumped on the ground, to the forest, where a space has appeared between the trees. He won’t catch us now if we run. We can leave him here. We can go.

But Arien’s words are like a knife at my throat. He came back for you.

I take a halting step forward. “You saved me.”

The monster’s head snaps up. There’s a smear of blood near his mouth. His sleeve is torn, and on his arm is a deep wound—from teeth or claws or both—that bleeds freshly crimson. We stare at each other as the truth of it settles. This monster, who claims there’s darkness in my brother, who wanted to take Arien away and leave me behind, he came back for me.

I reach to my skirts, gather them up in my hands. The embroidered pattern I stitched at the hem is rough beneath my trembling fingers. It’s the nicest of my two dresses, the one I save for best. I wrap the linen around my hands and pull, hard.

I tear once, twice, then a piece comes loose with a loud rip. I hold the length of cloth out between us. The monster doesn’t move, but for just a breath his expression softens. It’s like seeing a mask slip then quickly be put back into place.