the last moment he hesitated and withdrew his hand.
‘I will to leave after,’ said Sólmundr. ‘And all can be my fault.’
‘Oh no, Sól,’ said Wynter. ‘No. You can’t leave. We can find another way to deal with this.’
Sól smiled at her. ‘There not be another way,’ he said. ‘But it good. I proud to do this. After everything that Coinín has risk for me and for Ash, to avenge him and his first father is my honour.’
‘We’ll find another way,’ said Wynter firmly.
She glanced at Christopher, who, seemingly oblivious to the conversation, continued to crouch by David Le Garou, staring into his face. She was amazed at how calm he was. After everything that he had suffered at the hands of this man and his pack, she had expected more than this peculiar stillness. She went to speak again, but Christopher drew the long black dagger from his boot, and Wynter and Sól became very still and quiet.
With no discernible emotion, Christopher used his knife to flick the hair from David Le Garou’s face; then slowly, almost caressingly, he ran the tip of the dark blade along the Wolf ’s brow and down his temple. David Le Garou’s eyelid twitched, and Christopher paused. His knife slid across to press lightly against the corner of Le Garou’s eye. Wynter readied herself to look away, but instead of pressing harder, Christopher simply sighed and ran the tip of the knife down the Wolf ’s cheek.
The blade scraped audibly against the light stubble on Le Garou’s jaw, traced the vulnerable swell of his Adam’s apple and came to rest against the lightly beating pulse at Le Garou’s throat.
‘I could,’ whispered Christopher.
He pressed down, dimpling the flesh beneath his blade. The smallest bead of red welled up at the sharp tip of his knife, and Christopher’s lips parted. He tilted his head, watching intently as David’s blood trickled a thin red path to the Wolf ’s collar. Christopher lifted his eyes to David’s face. Whatever he saw there seemed to break his strange detachment, and he snarled in sudden anger. Snatching the Wolf by his hair, Christopher dragged David’s head up until their faces were within inches of each other. With a hiss that might have been a word, he once again pressed his knife against the pale arch of David’s neck.
‘I could!’ he said.
He snapped the knife away from David’s throat and plunged it between David’s legs, jerking the blade up into his groin. ‘I could,’ he said again, staring into the Wolf ’s slack face. ‘I could take you apart, little by little.’
The Wolf remained impassive, his eyes lightly shut, his mouth open. He was completely at peace, blissfully unaware of Christopher’s rage. With a desperate noise, Christopher dragged him closer still and, once again, pressed the knife to his eye. The sharp tip trembled against the Wolf ’s dark eyelashes and Christopher desperately scanned his face for a reaction – but there was none.
‘Curse you,’ he whispered. ‘Curse you. You goddamned pox.’
Then, to Wynter’s amazement, he flung the Wolf back onto the furs and, with a shaking hand, slipped his knife back into his boot.
‘Coinín,’ said Sólmundr. ‘It not matter he not feel it. You need do it now! You might not ever again get the chance.’
Christopher shook his head and stood up.
‘We can burn the tent afterwards,’ murmured Wynter. The two men turned to look at her in shock, and she hefted her sword uncertainly. ‘If you must kill them,’ she said, ‘we could burn the tent with the Wolves’ bodies inside. You can finally take your revenge, Christopher. They would be out of your life forever. Sól would not have to leave. It would be very neat.’ She waited, thrown by their silence and the way they were staring at her in the crawling firelight. ‘I’m not sure I could stay to watch, though,’ she admitted softly. ‘I thought I could . . . but I don’t think I could bear it.’
‘God help me, Iseult,’ whispered Christopher. ‘I love you more every day.’
Wynter’s eyes filled with tears and Christopher’s dark outline was suddenly haloed in orange stars as the firelight split itself into pinpoints of brilliance around him. ‘I love you too,’ she said. Then she wiped her eyes, sheathed her sword, and turned for the door. ‘I shall wait outside.’
‘Stay,’ said Christopher.
‘I can’t, Chris. I’m sorry. I understand what you need to do. But I can’t stay.’
‘No. Stay. It’s all right. I ain’t about to do aught.’