Aela Darkwood's Arc

Chapter 7 of 13

Aela ran until her lungs burned. The book banged against her ribs. The branch's green light spilled between her fingers and painted the trunks as she passed. Behind her, the werewolf's breath came in wet bursts, closer with every stride. She smelled her own sweat on the wind and knew the creature smelled it too. Her scent was a rope pulling it straight to her. She skidded to a stop at a low bush that gave off a soft candle-yellow glow. She had eaten from one like it in the inn days ago. She dropped to her knees, tore leaves in fistfuls, and crushed them against her neck, her wrists, the hollow of her throat. The sap smelled thick and sweet, like hot wax. She smeared it over the book too. Then she rolled sideways into the leaf litter and lay still. The werewolf crashed through the pines. It stopped where her trail ended. Its head swung left, right. Yellow eyes passed over her and did not fix. It took one step closer. Aela stopped breathing. A snarl came from the dark behind it. A wolf the size of a pony hit the werewolf in the ribs. They rolled together through the brush. The new wolf's eyes threw back the branch light like coals. It bit down on the werewolf's throat. The werewolf twisted, tore free, and ran. It did not look back. The wolf stood in the clearing. Its shoulders shortened. Its snout pulled in. Fur ran back into skin. A young man knelt where the wolf had stood. Thin. Short brown hair. Blood on his hands that was not his. "Aela," he said. He said it like he had said it before. She stood up slow. "I don't know you." "Kalen. I've been looking three years." He wiped his palms on his jeans. "The witch who cursed you. I found her. She told me how it comes off." Aela's grip tightened on the book. "Say it here." "Not here. Your friend?" "Back at the grove. Alive when I left." "Then we walk. You need food. I need to sit down." He led her to a road she had not known was near. The Traveler's Rest sat at a bend, windows warm, flower boxes under the sills. He paid for bread, stew, and a corner table. Aela ate with one hand on the book. "The knot in your skin," Kalen said. "Hand-tied. Six crossings." "I know. My friend copied it. She has a lens that reads them." "Good. The knot holds the shape. The moon holds the deadline. Neither breaks alone." He held up his palm. Dried blood cracked across the lines. "My blood on yours, under moonlight, while she reads the knot open. That's the third piece. The witch would not have given it up any other way." Aela set her spoon down. "Then we have three nights. And we have all three pieces." "Yes," Kalen said. "Now we get back to her before the werewolf does."