Page 3 of The Wulver's Bond
The Wulver wrenched Elsie’s right hand up into her chin. She made a guttural sound as the bolts pierced her jaw and blood spilled in a stream down her throat. The Wulver released her left hand, instead gripping her head—and in a simple, matter-of-fact motion, he snapped her neck.
Chapter Two
Arran dropped the lifeless body of the hunter to the ground. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but knew it was the most likely outcome. Elsie was always going to be the hardest to persuade. Hopefully, the rest of her crew would see sense.
The young one who controlled the plants dropped his attack immediately. The pale, wormlike roots were slinking back into the soil around him. Apart from this, the boy appeared strangely unfazed, staring Arran down calmly instead of backing away.
Logan, by contrast, was shuffling backward on his arse, pathetically cradling his limp wrist while his panicked eyes flipped back and forth between the Wulver and Elsie’s corpse.
‘Get out of here,’ Arran snarled at him, ‘and I will let you live.’
‘Fuck,’ Logan hissed, scrambling to his feet. ‘Fucking fuck. Come on, Weed. Fuck.’
He grabbed one of the rucksacks, launching another at Weed’s feet. When the boy didn’t move, he nearly screamed. ‘Did you fucking hear me? Move your shit, Weed!’
Weed shook his head slowly. ‘Can’t do that, Logan. He killed Elsie.’
‘That’s why we’re going tofucking leave!’
Arran adjusted his stance, preparing for another possible attack. But surely the kid wasn’t stupid enough to try again? Even though Elsie had landed a couple of hits, there was no way Weed could hope to fare any better than she had.
Arran growled to mask a groan as the stab wound in his side flared with pain.
‘Fuck,’ Logan hissed again, backing off. ‘Suit yourself.Fuck.’
The hunter stumbled away, slipping halfway down the slope in his terror. Weed remained in place, unnervingly relaxed. Arran’s claws twitched. What the hell was he playing at?
‘I am not joking,’ Arran said evenly, and with as menacing a rumble as he could muster. ‘If you do not leave, I shall kill you too.’
Weed shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. I’m yours to do what you want with.’
Was he… was Weedsmiling?The glint in his eye and coy curve to his mouth put Arran completely on edge. Did the kid have other magic tricks up his sleeve?
He tensed when Weed held out his arms, expecting another assault. But instead, the boy simply pulled his sleeves up, revealing the twisted rope tattoos that encircled each wrist.
‘Magical bindings, these are,’ Weed said brightly, like he was discussing the weather. ‘I’m cursed to serve whoever owns me. That’s you now, wolfie.’
Arran’s eyes narrowed, hunting for a spark of deception in Weed’s outwardly honest face. ‘No.’
Weed chuckled—it had a vicious quality to it. Like he was enjoying this fucked up explanation. ‘’Fraid so. You just killed my master, see? That means ownership passes to you. I’mall yours.’ He twirled a finger through his auburn hair, affecting a sickly sweet tone. ‘Whether you want me or not.’
Arran looked from Weed to Elsie’s body. Her methods had been ruthless, and he wouldn’t put it past her to have enslaved a person to do her bidding. Or, of course, the boy could be lying to save his own skin. Perhaps he didn’t like the thought of continuing to travel in Logan’s company. The man seemed brutish even from a distance.
Well, fine. Let him prove it.
‘You’ll follow my instructions?’ Arran asked, cocking his head in doubt.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then dig a grave. I will watch you.’
Arran folded his arms, resisting the urge to clutch at his stomach. Elsie’s knife blade was only steel—the wound would heal in a few hours. The graze to his arm was another matter. The bite of silver left a stinging, raw sensation over the cut, like his flesh was burning. Arran was grateful it wasn’t too deep. He would clean and bandage it when he was able.
‘As you command,’ Weed drawled, waving a hand.
Arran leapt back as the ground began to open in front of him. Moving under the force of thousands of squirming roots, the soil peeled away from itself. The roots carried the loose earth up over a newly formed edge and heaped it next to the growing hole in the ground.
‘Deep enough?’ Weed asked, once it was about six feet deep.
