Author's Note
Be prepared for rapid fire uploading! I am finishing this book tonight! Finishing touches will soon be up! Please, vote and comment, as all of your love only helps point me in the right direction. Thank you for this journey once again! It was one hellllll of a ride!
It was easy to track Vivian when a Wolf sniffed her out.
Despite the witch's clever attempts to cover her trail— crossing the river at two separate points and sending half of her soldiers into the opposite direction—Fenris's sensitive nose combed through each scent until he pinpointed Vivian.
"She smells like rose and blood," he said when he reached for a low hanging branch and brought it to his nose. "Rotten and sweet."
Hours ago, she clung to the outskirts of Woodsmen Landing, leading the villagers in circles until they finally descended into the dark forest.
Marjorie followed closely behind Fenris in a blur of red velvet, her eyes traced the outline of his broad shoulders, recounting each ridge and muscle his body offered. Behind the young woman, Petyr clung close. Each time she glanced back, Petyr would pull his eyes away from the surrounding environment and offer her what he likely assumed to be a comforting smile. Despite his efforts, a tremble in his pink lips remained, proving that his fear overshadowed his brave face.
Above them, the red moon still hung, making it impossible to decipher if it was meant to be morning or day. By the heaviness under Marjorie's eyes, she imagined it was early morning.
Despite three nights passing, sleep only found Marjorie in the few hours she spent beside her Grandmother. Even then, in her flighty slumber, the appearance of Cedar tired her mind. The moments with her Grandfather stole her energy, leaving her vision blurry and her strides wobbling.
Somehow, Marjorie dragged her feet to the edge of Mirkwood. Her footsteps slowed once the forest came into view, an innate fear strumming through her.
As much as Mirkwood was beautiful, a danger lurked somewhere between the trees and the thick, rising mist. Underneath the Blood Moon, everything morphed into varying shades of red. The fog reflected the moonbeams, covering the forest in a moving sea of crimson.
Marjorie pressed her palms against the smooth bark of the closest tree. Like before, it moved as though a strum of energy traveled through its slender trunk. The tree climbed up and up, until it disappeared to a thin point in the cloudless night. The young woman closed her eyes, wondering how the world appeared from the steady gaze of Mother above. Did she mourn for the fate of her devoted? Or was Vivian's presence a curse she believed they deserved?
"Do you truly believe it is safe to cross into Mirkwood?" Petyr asked. His hand snaked around Marjorie's shoulder, pulling the young woman out of her thoughts.
"With me, there will be little to fear," Fenris said from where he stood, head raised to the air and mouth titled open as if he searched for Vivian's scent.
"I was not asking you," Petyr whispered. "Marjorie, do you believe you will be safe inside the forest?"
She rolled her lips into a thin line, taking a second to think of her answer. Inside the forest, there were secrets never shared, and steps never taken by villagers. So many unknowns remained.
When they were children, the unknown terrified the Woodsman. He clung to what he knew—the well-worn hilt of his father's axe, the safe brick walls of his home, the rituals that promised him mercy. Marjorie never understood that steady way of life, but she did envy it. If she could just place all of her worries into a fate that was well-traveled, perhaps her existence would not continue to exhaust her.
She turned to Fenris. Before she met the strange man, her mundane life was considered peculiar by the harsh standards of the villagers, but comfortable to her. She grew use to the nights spent alone in her home, and the days she wasted with Petyr. But now, she had no desire to run away from the Wolf or the unknown that accompanied him.
"I believe we will be safe if we stay with Fenris," Marjorie confirmed after a long moment of silence.
Petyr nodded at her answer. Although she repeated Fenris's identical sentiment, he only trusted it when the words came from Marjorie's lips.
"I—I have never been in the woods before," Petyr admitted. He stood farthest from the tree line, as if he feared the branches would dart down and grab him by the waist, pulling him inside the red belly of the forest only to disappear like the Woodsmen before him.
"You have nothing to fear." Marjorie looped a hand around the bend of his elbow. She brought him close, until he stood flush against her heavy cloak. Like this, the wideness of his dark eyes waned, until they no longer resembled the shape of the full moon above. Instead, they calmed down to two steady half-crescents.
"Marjorie," Fenris spoke her name.
In his hands, he held the gossamer fabric of his white tunic. The dark skin of his chest contrasted with the red light above, highlighting the many scars on his bare torso.
"Y-yes?" she asked, trying to keep herself from stuttering. She failed, too entranced by the impossible beauty of his body.
"Do you mind if I shift?" He combed a hand through his long, black curls. "I know my other form frightens most humans. It is not my intention to—"
"Will you look the same as last time?" Marjorie asked, imagining the giant, black wolf.
"Yes," he said. Fenris pushed the tunic over his elbows, preparing to pull the top over his head. It was pulled taut over his forehead before she raised her hand and rested it on his forearm.
"It does not frighten me," she answered, too blunt in her delivery for it to be anything but the truth. "Please. Shift."
He gave her a crooked smile, and then, he flung his head up. His body contorted and stretched, breaking and bending at angles that stirred the contents of Marjorie's belly. It looked as though his shift should be painful, but he kept his smile.
And then his spine broke in half.
The mighty crack echoed through the forest, bending his back like a broken cattail still attempting to stand tall. His arms flung back, now longer than before.
Marjorie suppressed an unexpected scream by catching it in the palm of her hands. Petyr was not as quick. The man swayed on his feet and leaned his body against her shoulder for support.
Fenris laughed out at the pain, as if he grew used to the strange contortions and the brokenness that came with the shift. The man ripped forward, like a gust of wind pushed on his back and he was helpless to follow. He flew with his wide, outstretched hands reaching in front of him. His dark eyes remained steady on the ground that continued to approach closer and closer.
He landed on all fours. Paws wider than Marjorie's entire hand padded on the grass below. The transformation was quick. In Fenris's place was the Wolf. The creature doubled her height. His head measured the same width of her shoulders.
He walked forward, hanging his heavy head between his shoulder blades to level his gaze with Marjorie. Even with him bending low, Marjorie had to tip her head up to see his golden eyes.
The Wolf pressed the wet tip of his nose to touch against her cheek.
Marjorie reached up and ran her fingers through his long black fur, which glimmered like morning gossamer. She was taken back by the unexpected softness that came with her touch. It reminded her of river moss, how the green tops and brown underbellies curved to the gentle waves and swayed weightlessly when capsized.
How could anyone fear such a creature like Fenris? In this form, covered in the red moonlight, he appeared so beautiful that he looked otherworldly.
"Good thinking Fenris," Petyr patted his massive shoulder blade. Its size dwarfed the Woodsman's hand. That was an uncommon phenomenon—Petyr anywhere close to being small. He towered over every average-sized man in the village. "Now we will not have to hear your voice." He snorted.
In silent answer, hot breath fanned over Marjorie's face like rising steam.
"I wish you could turn into something, Petyr," Marjorie said. "A toad would be fitting."
The red moonlight made it impossible to differentiate the color on Petyr's cheeks. But the tall tell of his clicking jaw revealed his true state. He blushed from the attention.
Marjorie brought her knuckles to her lips to hide a laugh. She could always read Petyr.
"Come on," Petyr said, golden eyebrows furrowed. "We do not have any time to waste."
He grabbed Marjorie from around the elbow and pushed forward into the heart of the forest.
***
Wandering through Mirkwood with no sense of time or direction weighed heavily on Marjorie. She threw her head back to the sky in efforts to check the time, but found frustration growing in response to the unmoving red moon.
It did no good to glance around her surroundings, either. Thick fog made it impossible to see anything farther than a few feet ahead. It forced Marjorie to rely on Fenris for direction.
The Wolf walked alongside her. The length of his dark body blocked her right side. Petyr clung to her left flank, unwilling to bring himself any closer in fear he couldn't protect her from behind. He kept his axe steady in his hand, prepared for any unseen threat.
"Do you think we are just about there?" Petyr asked in a flat tone.
Marjorie twisted around to find the Woodsman anxiously gripping at the long helm of his weapon. His dark eyes stopped roaming their surroundings and fell onto her face.
She forced herself to break his gaze and shifted her attention to the polished blade of his axe. Marjorie wanted to give him an answer. She even opened her mouth but found there was nothing to say.
In this forest, Marjorie and Petyr were both outsiders. Where Fenris followed trails with his heightened senses and walked over familiar paths with his paws, they were nothing but two villagers voluntarily diving into the heart of a strange beast.
Then, she saw it.
Off the glint of Petyr's blade, a wisp of a fleeing shadow ran in the opposite direction. It vanished into the thick mist, as if it was a distant memory disappearing from one's memory.
She didn't think. There was no time to. Instead, Marjorie propelled herself forward in a wild attempt to catch the strange movement. Something dark and heavy raced with her, its feet drummed against the forest floor as if a herd of galloping horses ran beside Marjorie.
Fenris.
His teeth caught around the collar of her cape, and with one fluid movement, he swung her backward through the air. She fell freely, hands scraping for any kind of purchase across the empty red sky.
She wanted to scream, but found her fear dissipated. Her fingers threaded through tufts of dark hair. Her legs lay on either side of Fenris's narrow back. Beneath her thighs, his muscles stretched and contracted with each long stride he took.
He threw her on his back.
Like this, the forest passed in a red blur.
But one thing was clear.
Ahead of them, a dark cloak stuck out from the surrounding crimson.
Vivian.
The witch darted through the thick tree line. To Marjorie, it was as though she dematerialized—quick like a candle being snuffed out by breath. But Fenris did not need his eyes to follow the woman, instead he continued with his nose tipped to the air, tracking her like true prey. Every step he took was a ripple of strength. Beneath her was not the man she knew, but a creature fueled by magick and the full moon above.
Marjorie clung tighter, until the bandaged cuts in her fingers ached from the strain. She ignored the pain, and instead tucked herself closer to his spine. Like that, curled into him and seeing the same passing landscape, she could imagine them as one moving beast.
Fenris made a sudden right turn. His claws dragged through loose foliage. Once they were redirected, Vivian came into view. The tall woman stood between two trees; her black cloak no longer fought against the wind.
It was as though she waited for them.
Something was off.
Marjorie tightened her fist in Fenris's fur in a weak attempt to catch his attention, but it was too late.
He pushed off from the ground and rushed forward quicker than any man or steed. Marjorie would have screamed if she had time to understand what was happening, but Fenris's speed made it impossible to comprehend anything but the strength in his steps.
He opened his jaw, revealing a mouth full of shining, sharp teeth. It was as though Death lived between his fangs. He was created to kill, there could be no other purpose for Fenris.
But Vivian did not move.
"Stop—" Marjorie screamed just as the Wolf snapped his jaws around the collar of the cloak.
Time slowed.
There was no Vivian caught in his teeth, only limp, velvet fabric. It was as though the woman disappeared like a fading forest wisp. In that moment, Marjorie was unsure if she was ever there, if she ever existed.
Her worst fear came true. It was a trap.
"No!" Marjorie shouted. Her eyes shot to the landscape in front of them—or the lack of it.
A cliff.
Fenris barreled forward, distracted by his anger. Covered by the thick red blanket of fog, the sudden drop-off appeared just as quickly as they cleared it. The ground beneath Fenris's paws disappeared. They unceremoniously flung off the side.
Marjorie flipped over in the freefall, dismounting from Fenris's back and scrambling for any kind of purchase in the empty, cold air. Her cloak wrapped around her body, blocking her vision aside for one, tiny sliver of the world above.
Overhead, Petyr ran, slower than Fenris, but fast enough not to see it—the abrupt gap in the landscape, the plummet that would take them all down.
Marjorie shouted in warning. Her desperate voice was swallowed by the rushing wind.
Petyr flew over the edge.
Together, they descended toward the earth below.