Don't Call the Wolf - Aleksandra Ross Page 0,39

whisper of an unseen river. A thousand coincidental noises, arranged into a semblance of a tune.

A figure stepped into the path.

Ren skidded and crashed into it, and they both hit the ice-cold ground. She leapt back to her feet, snarling. Claws split through her fingertips.

Ren had never seen a nav. This could be one of them.

The other girl climbed to her feet. Ren wondered wildly if it was one of their tricks. After all, wasn’t that how the rusalka had tricked the Wolf-Lord? Couldn’t this just be another mirage, from the freckles on this girl’s blunt nose to the toes of her crimson boots? And yet . . .

That face was too familiar. She recognized those eyes, with the dark circles beneath them. Ren hesitated a moment.

It was the girl from the village.

“Please,” begged the girl. “You have to go back.”

She had tried to help Ren. She’d tried to protect her. She’d told her to run.

The music swelled around then. It seeped through Ren’s skin and rushed through her whole body, and her own wild heartbeat joined the sound.

“Please,” echoed the girl. “They will kill him.”

The woods grew colder. The beat of the music was moving faster and faster and taking her heart with it—

“What are you talking about?” demanded Ren.

“My friend,” said the girl. “After those two soldiers kidnapped you, he tried to follow you. To save you. But they—he—”

While the forest changed and sang around them, the girl’s eyes grew wet.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said desperately. “He saved my life. Please, I can’t leave him—”

The frost was growing around them. Ren had to run. She had to get back to the safety of the castle and let these selfish humans answer for their cruelty.

“He should not have come,” said Ren harshly. “You should not have come.”

“Please—”

“No,” said Ren coldly. She went to push past the girl. “You humans can fend for yourselves. You are nothing but cruel.”

“People make mistakes.” The girl’s voice rose. “Even you!”

“I am not people!” Ren roared, and the trees trembled.

The girl did not cower, and Ren paused. She was taken aback. No human had ever looked on her without fear before. The girl was not finished.

“Just because they say you’re a monster,” she shot back, “it doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

That stung. Stung worse than the herb-soaked ropes, cutting into her wrists. Worse than the cut on her cheek. Worse than that horrible, ignorant word, pounded into her skull.

Monster.

Evil gathered. The trees turned to hoarfrost around them. Brittle, crumbling. Under the claws of the most terrible of monsters, Ren had to choose.

“Fine,” growled Ren. “Fine. I will help. But only for you.”

The girl followed as she turned on her heel, starting back through the trees. Toward the epicenter of the cold. The heart of the evil. That girl was going to die, thought Ren. That girl was going to die in the frost and the starlight, and it would not be her fault.

All for a human.

“They’re near the river,” said the girl behind her as they walked. “They have a camp—”

Ren spun around.

“How do you know that?” she demanded. “Were you with them? Are you part of this? Are you lying?”

“No!” retorted the girl, “I came to help you, but the Wolf-Lord had already let you go.”

Ren turned back around to hide her expression. He had let her go, hadn’t he? He had cut the ropes. . . .

She spoke as they walked, without turning back.

“And they never noticed you?”

“No one notices me.”

Ren did not answer. They walked in silence back through the campsite, even though every instinct in Ren screamed against it. Everything in her wanted to run. A thousand unseen hands placed themselves on her shoulders, trying to force her back. Each step was harder than the last, and she was breathing raggedly as the trees became familiar.

They passed the remainder of the campfire. Ren looked around.

“The nawia took them,” the girl was saying. “They must have taken them all—”

Ren remembered the glimmer of the saber in the dark. Then she remembered that other time, too—when the snow had been red and Czarn had been hurt. They had hurt Czarn. They had hurt her. She owed them nothing.

The horses shrieked, stamping, still tied to tree branches, showing the whites of their eyes.

“I said I would help your friend,” said Ren, and it took a great effort to get the words out. “But not the others.”

Is this the shape of your fury?

The girl was going through the

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