Page 46 of The Wulver's Bond
Even though the panic subsided, a different kind of fear clouded his mind. What was it Arran had said? When Moss had joked that he was unkillable?
He couldn’t remember, and now he needed to knowsobadly.
Moss threw the radio into the rucksack and ran chaotically back into the main chamber.
‘Arran!’ he called into the dark, knocking a stool over on the way. His voice cracked. ‘Arran,please.’
Scuffles in the shadows, then warm fur enveloped him.
‘I’m here,’ Arran said gruffly. His claws flexed against Moss’s back. He was tensed, ready to fight. ‘What’s happened, Moss? Are you all right?’
Moss nodded mutely. For the time being he just wanted to exist in Arran’s embrace.
As Arran registered there was no immediate threat, his body relaxed against Moss. He stroked Moss’s hair out of his face. It was getting long. ‘A nightmare?’
‘Sort of,’ Moss mumbled.
‘Would you like to sleep next to me?’
Moss nodded again. Arran growled soothingly and led him into bed.
This time, Moss lay on his side facing Arran, snuggling deep into the silky fur of his chest. He met no protest, and Arran’s arm over his waist cinched them together tightly.
‘Wolfie.’
‘Yes?’
‘How can you be killed?’
Moss felt Arran stiffen. Fair. It was a dark question.
The Wulver’s reply was hesitant. ‘I don’t know for certain. I suspect my head would need to be cut off. Perhaps being burned to a cinder would work, as well.’
‘And silver?’
Moss glanced up to find Arran’s eyes staring at him with sombre concern.
‘Why are you asking me this, Moss?’
Moss’s fingers curled deeper in Arran’s fur. He didn’t want to let go. ‘I’m afraid,’ he whispered. ‘Of what would happen to me if you died. If someone else owned me.’
I’m afraid of losing you.
Moss’s soul sighed, like a deep exhale of yearning. Of confession. Of truth.
How fucking terrifying.
‘You don’t need to worry about me, Moss,’ Arran said, running claws lightly down his spine.
‘Really? Because I remember a time way back when you got shot, and you seemed pretty hurt then,’ Moss replied, harder than he meant to. ‘And even when you killed Elsie, that little scratch from her did a number on you, right? That was silver.’
Arran gave a long and weary huff through his nose. ‘Would it reassure you to know that I have been shot in the head by a silver bullet, and survived?’
This was massive news to Moss. He sat up and stared down into Arran’s face. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Gravely.’ Arran cocked his head, wincing as though grieved by the memory. ‘It was not pleasant. And for as long as the bullet was lodged in my brain, I suppose you could say Iwasdead, as my body was unable to heal from the wound. It was only later, and by pure luck, I must admit, that the hunter responsible decided to retrieve his bullet to keep as a trophy. I woke up while he was lashing my body to a plank, about to parade me around the town.’
‘Woah. I bet you tore his limbs off.’
