Page 66 of Curses and Casualties
“We need to move faster,” he says, but he’s looking at my limp with concern.
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing myself to pick up the pace despite the burning in my leg.
The spring appears suddenly, a perfect circle of crystal-clear water surrounded by stones worn smooth by centuries of use. The moon’s reflection on the surface is so perfect it looks like a silver coin floating on liquid glass.
“This is it,” I breathe, approaching slowly. “God, it’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful and exposed,” Ryan says, taking up position where he can watch the tree line. “Make it quick, love.”
I kneel at the water’s edge, the silver vial cool in my trembling hands. The instructions are explicit: fill from the topmost point of the moon’s reflection, don’t disturb the water before collecting, and whatever happens, don’t let the vial touch the bottom of the spring.
Easy, I tell myself, though my hands are shaking so badly the vial chatters against my fingers.
A branch snaps in the distance. We all freeze.
“Just the wind,” Ethan whispers, but his eyes are scanning the shadows.
I lower the vial carefully, exhaling to steady my hands. The water shimmers as it fills, taking on an opalescent glow that makes my skin tingle. Almost there?—
A howl erupts from the trees, close enough that I can hear the rage in it. Then another, from a different direction.
“They’ve found our trail,” Erik says, his voice tight. “We need to go. Now.”
“Almost finished,” I gasp, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop the vial into the water. The moon water sloshes, its glow dimming. “Shit, I think I ruined it?—”
“It’s fine,” Ryan says, though he sounds anything but calm. “Cap it and let’s move.”
I fumble with the silver stopper, my fingers clumsy with fear. The howling is getting closer, and now I can hear the sound of bodies moving fast through underbrush.
“Georgia!” Ethan hisses.
“Got it!” I shove the sealed vial into my pack and scramble to my feet just as something massive crashes through the trees.
The wolf that staggers into the moonlit clearing is enormous—larger than any I’ve seen besides Ryan in his alpha form. But this one is wrong, somehow. His coat, which might have been silver-gray once, is now dark with blood. It mats his fur, drips from his muzzle, pools beneath his paws.
He limps heavily, favoring his right side where deep gashes leak crimson. His breathing is labored, wet-sounding. But it’s his eyes that catch me—wild with pain but fiercely intelligent, burning with something between fury and desperation.
“Is that?” Ethan starts, but the wolf collapses before he can finish the question.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “Help him!”
“Georgia.” Ryan starts to object, still in protective mode.
“Look at him, Ryan!” I move toward the fallen wolf despite his weak snarl of warning. “He’s been fighting. Fighting something that was chasing us. This has to be?—”
“Magnus,” Ethan confirms, crouching low and scenting the air. “Or what’s left of him.”
The wolf tries to drag himself away from us despite clearly being unable to stand. Blood trails behind him, black in the moonlight.
“Peace, brother,” Erik says in a soothing rumble, shifting to human form to seem less threatening. “We mean no harm.”
The distant howling is getting closer. Whatever Magnus fought off, it bought us time, but not much.
“We can’t leave him,” I say firmly.
“We can’t carry him either,” Ryan points out, though I can see the conflict in his eyes. “Not if we want to outrun?—”
“Then we don’t outrun them.” I look around at our group—two warriors, an alpha, and me with my ritual components. “We get him back to camp where Amara can help him.”
