Page 59 of On Broken Bonds

Every so often, a cluster takes flight somewhere behind us. Not close enough to be an immediate threat. Not far enough to be coincidence. Then there's the occasional rustle of undergrowth that comes a heartbeat too late after we've passed through an area.

A shadow moving through the forest.

Following our path.

I keep listening as we walk, paying more attention to what's behind us than what's ahead. The sounds come and go, sometimes disappearing for several minutes before returning again.

One person. Moving carefully. Trying not to be noticed.

Not a monster, then. At least not the kind with claws.

Rather than alerting Nyx, I let the stranger trail us. If they're following, they'll eventually make a mistake. Most people do. And when it’s the right time, I’ll tell Nyx.

When we stop beside a small stream to refill our canteens, it finally happens.

A branch bends. Not breaks. Bends.

The subtle sound comes from the trees behind us. It’s close. Too close.

My hand is already on my sword before the movement fully registers.

“Don’t!”

Nyx’s voice stills my hand, and I stop the sword just a breath from the berserker’s throat.

I stand, frozen by her command, thinking I’m an idiot for listening to her. Her reluctance to kill will result in our own deaths.

“Fenric,” she says, arriving at my side a second later, her small hand landing on the crook of my elbow, “you’re alive!”

He nods, but doesn’t take his eyes off the sword in my hand.

“Put the sword down,” Nyx says, tugging on my arm, which doesn’t move. It’s one thing not to lop his head off, it’s another to lower my weapon completely. As if I could be so stupid.

“He saved my life, Thorian. Just like you did with the dire wolf.”

“Oh, is that so?” An unpleasant twist of jealousy and irritation works through me, and I do my best to keep it from showing.

Why do I hate the note of admiration in her voice? As if it matters to me what she thinks of some other man. Some berserker.

“He did,” Nyx says, a sharp edge entering her voice as she tugs on my arm again.

I sweep my gaze over this Fenric. He’s dirty, looking like he at one point plunged into water and re-emerged, his loose clothing stiff, his hair limp. In his left hand he holds a staff to the side.

When he walked into the clearing, he wasn't planning to attack. That much is obvious by how easily I could've killed him.

Fenric raises both hands slightly.

“Easy,” he says. “I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. Well, I was, but only because I wasn't sure how you'd react to finding me behind you.”

Despite the situation, he offers Nyx a sheepish smile.

“My teammate didn't make it down the mountain,” he says. “So it's just me now.”

The implication of that hangs heavy in the air. The gods themselves already made it clear that people could join other teams. And he can’t win without one.

“Not happening,” I say instantly.

This was not a part of the plan. And how am I to know this berserker isn’t some Valtor plant, that he hasn’t been persuaded to join my party and slit my throat in my sleep?