But what choice did he have? Leave her here, helpless, to die?
Shan’s own nature conspired against him. He lifted the girl like a bundle of old rags, her chestnut hair tumbling over his shoulder. She felt so light in his arms, like a bird. He retreated with swift but cautious steps, retracing his own footsteps through the snow, until a copse of trees hid him. The green of the girl’s travelling dress aided him, merging with the shadows.
The wolf’s look branded him an idiot. Still, she followed him, nose to the ground.
More men arrived, taking the narrow path which wound sedately down from the road rather than the sheer climb undertaken by the first pair. They carried torches, the light staining the snow with ruddy tones.
Shan grimaced. He could not remain hidden here for long. “Can you find some shelter, Anala?” he whispered to the wolf. “Somewhere safer?”
With a whine of pure frustration, Anala whirled away and bounded through the snow-laden trees.
Four heavily armed guards laboured through the snow surrounding a man cloaked in ermine. A jagged wound ran along the left side of his jaw. Though unencumbered by armour, he clearly held command. He scoured the wreckage with flint-like eyes.
“The girl’s missing,” the first assassin reported. “If news of this reaches River Holt…” The underling’s fear reeked, pungent on the night’s air.
Flint-eyes studied the trees, as if aware that he too was being watched. Shan resisted the urge to move. He became part of the trees, part of the snow, concentrating on invisibility, or at the very least, camouflage. It wasn’t enough.
“They’re in the trees.” Flint-eyes’ voice was as remorseless as his eyes. “Over there! Get Lady Jeren back, or you’ll all be sending my greetings to the Death Goddess.”
Shan fled, slinging Lady Jeren over his shoulder. She cried out at the rough treatment, but he ignored her groggy protests. The need for speed outweighed all other considerations. A shape bounding through the frozen landscape ahead gave him a single hope.
“Anala! Shelter, safety, now!”
The wolf launched herself forwards, tearing madly across the snowfield, making for the rising hills. Fluid as shadow, Shan followed her, trusting the wolf’s instincts even above his own.
Behind him, guards scrambled through the trees, hampered by the conditions and their inexperience of this place, this landscape. Shan bared his teeth in a tight grin. They were weak, slow. He was not.
An arrow grazed his face, so close he could swear he felt the brush of the fletching against his cheek. He dodged aside.
But too slow.
Pain erupted in the back of his leg. His knee buckled and he went down with a cry, Jeren underneath him.
A triumphant voice rang out across the snow. “He’s winged, my lord!” The underling.
Flint-eyes didn’t respond.
Another arrow punched into the ground by Shan’s face and he threw himself back, rolling to his feet once more. His leg almost went beneath him again, but he knew if he stopped now they’d both be dead. Jeren struggled against him as he lifted her.
“Hush, little one,” he murmured as gently as he could through his clenched teeth. “Trust me now.”
Wounded and carrying her over his shoulder, he didn’t know where he found the strength to run. Anala dwindled to a black speck in the distance, heading north towards home. Shan fixed his eyes on the wolf, ignoring the sounds of pursuit. He could outdistance any man, but even a trickle of blood would leave a trail a child could follow.
The hills were the key. He knew them well. Up there, where the land was riddled with caves and tunnel, he could hide, dress the wound.
Right now, he couldn’t think.
I need rest and warmth, that’s all.
Pain lanced up his leg again, and he felt the barb of the arrow deep inside the soft flesh. Only his own kind could help him. If he didn’t find someone to get the arrow out, it would kill him.
The wind rose and Shan felt his determination falter. Anala had vanished. He could smell a storm coming, the air sharp and bitter, heavy with snow. And when the weather broke…
It happened even sooner than he expected.
The blizzard clawed at his limbs and tore at his braided hair. Only Jeren’s warmth kept him alive at this point, just as his body sustained her. They were one, dependent on each other, breathing as one, moving as one. He could hardly recall a time when his arms had not held her, when her arms had not held him. The nagging sense that she belonged there grew on him second by second. He pushed such foolish thoughts away with a determined will, putting it down to the cold and the wind addling his wits.
Shan could run no longer, even if he could see where they were going. It became harder to put one foot in front of the other. As the last of his strength slipped away, he dropped to his knees.
“I’m sorry, little one. There’s no more in me.” Her grip tightened for a moment. A brief surge of comfort passed through him. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling a scent like spring flowers in sunshine. As quickly as it came, the comfort bled away, replaced by wind and snow. “Who are you really? Why did they want you dead?” he murmured.
A sound screeched out of the maelstrom, battering against his head and shoulders. An owl? What was an owl doing abroad in a storm? White wings beat against Shan, implacable and determined, until he clambered to his feet. Huge yellow eyes loomed from the darkness and talons raked over his scalp. The owl shrieked, forcing him forwards. She swooped ahead, circling him, leading him on.
Then he saw another shape, one he knew. Anala, her fur caked in snow, gave a yelp of delight and bounded towards him. She leaped in circles, rubbing his thighs and licking him enthusiastically. Between them, the owl and the wolf herded him into a cave.
Breathing harshly, Shan released Jeren and looked up. Anala shook herself, yawned and stretched out, barring the entrance. The owl perched on a rocky outcrop, preening herself. Shan stared at her for some minutes before he found the right words.
Respect was everything, especially for a gift such as this. Respect and gratitude.
“You aren’t my totem, little sister, but I thank you for your help.”
Chapter Four
Jeren’s limbs burned, her body shivering. The warmth against her made the wind’s knives dim to a faint memory. Before that, the panic of their flight…troops in pursuit…Mina crying out as the coach lurched to one side, and the horses screaming. Then everything had tumbled into chaos and darkness.
Jeren tried to sit up but a hand closed on her wrist, the grip like a tree root around a stone. The other hand clamped over her mouth, the pads of his long fingers callused but not rough. Terrified, she sank back against him. A male body, his warmth pressed the length of her, his arms enfolding her.
“Stay still, little one,” the melodious voice rumbled against her distraught senses. “We aren’t out of danger yet. Go out there now and you’ll freeze, if you’re lucky…”
Jeren opened her mouth to reply, but he didn’t remove his hand. She narrowed her eyes, irritation slicing through the hold fear had on her.
Little one, indeed! She scowled and bit down hard on his palm.
Startled, he pulled back, a curse on his lips she didn’t recognise.
“Who do you think you are?” she snapped, using the imperious tones her mother used on errant servants. “How dare you!”
He moved before she could twist around to look at him, one hand back over her mouth and the other uncomfortably tight at the base of her throat. He squeezed slightly, just a warning, but Jeren’s heart thudded and her eyes opened wide.