The Blood Curse (53 page)

T
HE HAWK FLEW
towards them, fast and low. Behind him, two people were running towards the curse stone. One of them was the prince. Jaumé
knew
it.

“I reckon that’s the lot of ’em,” Bennick said. “Three. Too easy.”

Jaumé heard Bennick draw back the bowstring. His agitation burst into panic. Bennick had killed the prince before, from further away than this. He scrambled to his feet. “Wait!”

Too late. An arrow speared into the sky.

The hawk swerved at the last moment—the arrow caught its shoulder, not its breast—and plummeted, hit the snow—cartwheeled—and lay still, less than a dozen yards away.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE

T
HE PRINCE PLOUGHED
through the snow. Innis hurried alongside, gripping strongly with her fingers and her magic, pinching closed the veins and arteries in his wrist. She could feel the curse in the prince’s hand, feel the terrible
wrongness
in his blood. His heart was pumping fast, and with each beat it grew harder to block the curse. Fresh blood tried to force its way into his hand; tainted blood tried to force its way up his arm.

“Slow down,” she cried. “Slow down!”

Prince Harkeld turned to her, desperation on his face. “The curse!”

“I can’t hold it back if you run.”

He gulped a breath. “Then we’ll walk.”

Walk they did, pushing through the snow. Innis glanced ahead. How far was the anchor stone? Thirty yards? Prince Harkeld’s hand was turning purple beneath the thick, black curse shadows, and even though her fingers and her magic were tightly clamped around his wrist, she was aware of a change in his blood, a trickle of something that wasn’t him. Savagery. Violence.

The prince felt it, too. His panic rose. “Be ready to kill me.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOUR

B
ENNICK CAME OUT
from the trees. He took half a dozen steps, stopped, nocked another arrow.

“No!” Jaumé cried, fumbling for his throwing knife.

The hawk on the ground turned into a naked man. He pushed to his feet, lurched, caught his balance. The arrow stuck right through his shoulder.

The witch stepped between Bennick and the curse stone and stood there swaying, panting. “I won’t let you kill him.”

“No?” Bennick sighted at him.

Jaumé desperately threw his knife. It hit Bennick’s right shoulder.

Bennick jerked, and the arrow whipped past the witch’s face, missing him by a hair’s breadth.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE

H
ARKELD GULPED COLD
air. Snowflakes stung his face. His heart beat frantically in his chest. He kept his eyes fixed on the anchor stone. Another half minute and they’d be there. But could he last half a minute?

He was aware of fear and panic—and also rage. The rage built in him with every step he took, primitive and savage. It churned in his blood, fogged his brain.

His breath was coming faster, in quick pants. And with each inhalation, the rage built. His vision seemed stained with blood.

“Innis...” His voice sounded thick, unfamiliar. “We’re going to have to run.”

“We can’t. Stay calm.”

Calm?
His control almost snapped. Rage almost bellowed out of him. He almost turned. Almost struck her.

Harkeld gritted his teeth and clung to his control. He concentrated on moving his legs, on walking. Walking. Walking.

Alongside the rage, was a rising hunger. Hunger such as he’d never experienced. He wanted blood. Wanted blood on his tongue. Blood streaming down his throat. Blood in his belly. The hunger was intense. He almost groaned from the agony of it.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX

B
ENNICK SPUN ROUND
. “What you doing, boy?”

“You can’t kill the prince.” Jaumé hastily unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. His hands were trembling. Behind Bennick and the witch, he saw the two people. They were walking. Too slow. Bennick would easily kill them.

“Can’t I?” Bennick’s face hardened. He reached beneath his cloak. A Star was suddenly in his hand.

Panic burst in Jaumé’s chest. He released the arrow. It struck Bennick in the middle of his forehead.

Bennick pitched backwards. The Star spun over Jaumé’s head in a lopsided arc.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN

“W
E’RE NEARLY THERE
,” a woman said.

Harkeld turned his head and looked at her, didn’t recognize her, didn’t see anything but
female
. Black hair dusted with snowflakes. Smooth, pale skin. Soft lips.

Lust spiked in his groin, as intense as the hunger.

He halted, panting. The lust stabbed him again, so strongly that he almost doubled over in pain. He wanted to tear off her clothes. Wanted to bury his cock in her. Wanted to see her blood on the snow, taste her blood in his mouth.

The woman tugged his wrist. “Harkeld, come on.”

Harkeld. The name sparked faint memory.
That’s me. I’m Harkeld.

And with that knowledge, came another spark of memory: the Ivek Curse.

A tiny sliver of sanity found its way through the blood-stained fog in his brain. He wrenched his gaze from the woman and fastened his gaze on the lump a dozen paces ahead of them in the snow. He knew what it was. Anchor stone.

Get to it. Get to it
.

He stumbled alongside the woman, wrestling with his rage, with his lust. The curse bellowed in his blood:
Hurt her. Rut her.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT

J
AUMÉ STARED AT
Bennick, at the outflung arms, the slack jaw, the arrow jutting from his forehead. Horror reverberated inside him. His heartbeat thundered in his head, pressing out all sound.

I killed Bennick?

The witch said something. Jaumé gulped down hysteria. He nocked another arrow, his hands hasty, trembling, and pointed it at the man.

“
Are you going to kill me, too?” the witch asked.

Jaumé lowered the bow. Tears filled his eyes. He shook his head.

“Stay here,” the witch said. “The prince has the curse.” He turned and ran towards the curse stone, lurching and stumbling.

Jaumé looked at Bennick’s body, and at the two people and the curse stone, and at the naked witch stumbling through the snow, the arrow sticking through his shoulder.

He ran after the witch.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINE

I
NNIS SWEPT SNOW
off the stone. The action sparked a memory: a smoky cavern, charred skeletons, ash. But that stone had been black; this one was rust red.

Prince Harkeld tried to jerk his hand free from her grip.

“No.” She snatched the knife from the sheath at her waist, pressed the blade to his left palm, and slapped his hand on the stone.

The scent of blood rose in the cold air.

Prince Harkeld swung towards her. His lips curled back from his teeth.

“Harkeld!” Innis said sharply.

He didn’t recognize his name. The curse shadows cloaking his face were almost as black as the ones smothering his left hand.