Page 13 of Wolf's Bane
The driver limped badly but stood on his own two feet. The horses reared and flailed their hooves, panic in their eyes. The carriage was in worse condition with a snapped axle.
“The horses were startled, sir,” the driver said, his voice panicked.
By the time he grabbed the horses’ reins, he had himself under enough control to coo soft words. Gently, he stroked their necks, and his calm demeanor eventually soothed the animals.
“What startled them?” Alek asked.
“A great furry beast. It darted out of the forest, bold as brass.”
Alek rolled his shoulders. He had a week until the next event, but he could already feel the pull of the nexus point the closer he got to Boxon. The area had always made his skin sing with awareness. Now it felt amplified. Undeniable.
A growl came from the tree line. The horses whinnied and stamped, nervous.
Yes, that pull again. A creature of the nexus was near.
“Do beasts often attack this road?” he asked.
“Sir?” The driver blinked. “No, sir. It’s never happened before. Only when the moon is full.”
And the barrier holding back the nexus energies was thin.
Alek retrieved his box from the back of the carriage. The contents were a jumbled mess. His fingers brushed over a wooden box but did not open it to check on the contents. Perhaps the bottles of wolfsbane tonic survived. If not, he had enough time to make more. At the moment, there was a beast stalking them in broad daylight.
Time was of the essence.
Strapped to the inside lid, the war hammer waited. Dedicated use had rounded the silver head of the hammer. The claw end curved wickedly backward, gleaming in the early afternoon light. Inlaid silver decorated the handle. It was a bit extravagant, but Alek had never regretted the purchase. The hammer had a comfortable weight and felt as familiar in his hands as an old friend. This was his preferred weapon, and nothing outperformed it for close combat.
The coachman’s eyes went wide at the sight of the hammer. “What do you have that for?”
Alek spun the hammer, tossed it in the air, and caught it with ease. The weight felt good, like it belonged in his hand. He barely felt the sting of silver through the calfskin gloves.
“Four or two?” he demanded.
“S-Sir?”
“Was the beast on four legs or two?”
“I cannot recall. It was a blur,” the coachman said, stumbling over his words.
“Stay here,” Alek said.
“We’re not going anywhere until the horses calm down.”
They weren’t going anywhere until he dealt with the rogue wolf.
Alek moved away from the mud of the road to the marginally less trampled grass alongside the road. Once the roads had been paved with a black substance that poured out like liquid and cooled to a rock-hard consistency. Concrete was used in the larger towns and cities, but the constant expanding and contracting with the weather made it degrade too quickly for the more rural routes.
He could have taken a boat down the river. Many people preferred to travel via canal and rivers than deal with a bumpy, dusty coach trip. Wanting to keep himself away from crowds as much as possible, he chose the less desirable coach on an infrequently used road.
More fool him.
He should have found a horse and rode the entire way. Alone. No nosy coachmen looking through his trunks or making eyes at his weaponry.
Carefully, he picked his way across the forest floor, tracking the wolf’s clumsy trail. Tracks in the mud and disturbed undergrowth gave no doubt which direction the wolf fled. But did it leave? Or was it stalking?
Creatures prowled the nights of solstice and equinox. A cursed wolf, however, could lose control in the days leading to the event. With just weeks to summer solstice, the cursed monstrosity had no control. The Marechals were right to beg for his help.
Solenne, he reminded himself. Solenne wrote to him. No one else. That knowledge pleased the bestial part of his nature. It wanted her to claim him, to mark him as hers, if only as her pet creature.
