Page 53 of Harbinger

“Fine.” I hold out my hand. “Give me a knife in case there’s something in the traps.”

He winces, squinting slightly in the afternoon sun. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Of course he won’t arm me. “Never mind. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Look,” he starts. “Let me know if you find something, and I’ll come to—”

But I’m already stalking toward the tree line, ignoring the rest of his instructions. Stepping into the trees feels like walking into a mouth that might snap shut. My breath shortens, palms slicking with sweat. But I refuse to turn back and let him think he’s right about me.

The snares are empty, except for one. It’s been sprung, but whatever was caught chewed its own leg off to escape. I stare at the bloody tuft of fur for a second. The creature will still die, and I’ll go hungry. A thin blood trail leads away, and I follow it, ignoring the tingle of warning that grows with each step I take deeper into the woods, the need for food winning out over my fear.

But there’s no animal at the end of the trail. The blood simply stops. I’m still looking for where I went wrong when leaves rustle behind me. I whirl toward the sound, my heart slamming hard enough it might crack my ribs. A form explodes through the underbrush, branches snapping as something heavy barrels between the trees. Why the fuck didn’t I demand that knife?

I stumble back a few steps, tripping over a fallen branch as the crashing sounds grow closer. Shoving myself to my feet, I run toward the dappled light breaking through clustered trunks. I burst past them, boots skidding on fallen leaves as I reach Bishop. He’s washing up in the lake, back turned to me and his tunic and armor on a rock nearby. I force enough air into my burning lungs to yell, “Wolf!”

He startles, water flying around him as he moves with the instinct of a warrior toward me. He looks larger stripped of his coat and armor, all hard lines and power, like nothing about him is meant to yield. The sun is lower on the horizon now, turning the water to molten gold, and the light catches on a network of scars on his chest. The sight of them makes me freeze, makes me forget why I’m running.

No. Scars don’t look like this.

These lines and patterns connect and intersect, shimmering like the starlight of a patron’s birthright.

“Do you mind?” he snarls.

I turn quickly away as he snatches up his tunic. Void swallow me. He caught me staring. He probably thought …

I resist the urge to look at the marks again as he yanks on his shirt.

I don’t know why I’m so rattled. I’ve seen a man before—but never one marked like that. As if every line on his chest is a record of something survived, and the sum of them is a story I can’t begin to understand.

“Stay here,” he orders.

My eyes fly open to find him prowling toward the woods in his pants, his now slightly damp shirt and gloves on again, holding his sheath.

“You’re not actually going after it!”

But he pulls out his sword, tossing the sheath to me. “Will you sleep tonight if I don’t?”

He stalks through the trees, not waiting for an answer. I drop the sheath next to the coat he’s left behind, and, against all reason and common sense, follow him. “Bishop, let’s just find a village. Take our chances.”

Turning toward me, he tucks his sword behind his right arm. “Trust me. It’s safer to face the wolves.”

The sound erupts again, the crashing closer this time. The footfalls are frantic and uneven. Bishop’s sword slices through the air in an elegant arc as he spins toward the sound. He raises it at the approaching predator as a white-spotted fawn ambles from behind a tree and freezes.

Bishop lowers his sword slowly. “That,” he says flatly, “is a deer.”

“I know what it is,” I say through gritted teeth, cheeks already burning.

But he’s still glaring at me. “You screamed wolf like we were about to be torn apart.”

“I thought we were!”

“It has spots, Arden.”

“Forgive me for not pausing to inspect its coat while it was charging at me!”

His jaw tightens. “If you’re going to panic every time a leaf rustles, you’re going to get us both killed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I grit out. “Next time, I’ll let whatever it is chew on me first, so I don’t inconvenience you.”