Page 127 of Fawn

“I love you, Eiden.”

“As I love you, my sweet Fawn. We shall get out of this, I promise.”

A knock sounds on the wooden door, making me jump.

Eiden snarls, snatches up the cloak, and drapes it over me. “Enter,” he calls.

I peer back. The wooden door creaks as it swings open, and a small, weasely man enters. His clothes are little more than rags. He bobs his head and holds out a bundle. “I brought clothes. Best as could be found.” He licks his cracked, dirty lips and eyeballs me. Eiden growls, and the man snaps his beady gaze away. “I’ll leave ‘em here then.” He performs a low bow and places the bundle on the floor.

Only now do I notice that his left hand is a claw like a crab.

“Shit’s kicked off up top.” His cackle is high and a little crazy in nature. “Troops ‘av entered Wormwood fer the first timein many generations. Stirred things up good an’ proper.” He cackles again. “Fires… fires everywhere. Looting. And death. A good bit of death. Lots of pickings come tomorrow.”

“Keep me posted,” Eiden says.

The strange man bobs his head. His eyes slide to me again.

Eiden growls, and the man flees the room, the door banging into the jamb behind him.

“Eiden,” I whisper. “What have you done?”

“I might have started a riot.”

“Might have?!”

“I started a riot,” he amends and shrugs his big shoulders. “News has spread beyond the walls of Wormwood. They will be coming for us. We need to be ready for when they do. It is time we got dressed.”

Chapter Forty

Nox

Asense of danger for Fawn and Eiden presents a pressure at the back of my skull. I shove it down and focus on the task, taking my half-shift battle stag form, donning plate and leather armor, and collecting weapons.

This is not my fastest form—that belongs to the true stag. But all elite warriors with this capability train in this form, so we are ready to call on it when necessary… When there is a battle to come.

Unlike Jude, whose werebeast is more animal than human and comes equipped with lethal claws and teeth that are weapons in their own right, the battle stag is more human than animal, save our size and power are immense. Our heads are that of a stag, but beastly and misshapen: a little shorter in the snout, with our eyes facing forward.

Our own citizens rarely see this side of us save for the occasional ceremony.

And nights like tonight.

I test the weight of my sword before slotting it into the sheath across my back.

“Goddess, have mercy on anyone who gets in our way,” Jude says dryly as he joins Seven and me at the front of the assembled troops. The elite guards who likewise have shifted to their battle stags, nearly fifty in number, are similarly kitted out with weapons and armor. The rest of our forces are split evenly between their stag and human forms, for there are advantages to both. Over many centuries, we have perfected the art of drawing on the best of all our capabilities.

Gideon pushes his way through the assembled ranks to stand at my side. In human form, he wears light armor, a helm tucked under one arm, and his usual sword at his hip.

Jude gives him a piercing look but offers no comment.

It is Gideon’s right as Fawn’s mate to take a place on the front line. As our enemy shall soon find out, size can be deceiving where Gideon is concerned.

It’s time.

Night has fallen. The streets of the capital are absent of life; the good citizens have taken to their homes under curfew as we march out, bound for Wormwood.

The name alone enough to inspire a thousand nightmares. The reality of this desolate place is so much worse. As we near the ancient wooden gates, the sounds of violence rises. The glow of raging fires lights the skies above the fallen district, the crackle of flames, along with the hoots and screams of mayhem.

Closer still, and we hear the steady drum of weapons beating at the gate, the wood rocking under the assault. Several lines of stag warriors are lined up in case they should break through.

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