Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

47. The Horse Pursuits

Akrum-as-a-wolf waited for Naktim to stretch on his back, hugging his neck. This wasn't the most comfortable riding position, but it looked more real than in the fairy tales where lovers rode wolves side-saddle, cuddling each-other. Akrum's long legs straightened, lifting Naktim like a feather.

Meanwhile, Yasuwa climbed unsteadily to all fours, shaking his head to break hold of whatever poison Akrum injected in his veins. Every exposed patch of his already ruddy skin flushed: neck, ears, cheeks. His mouth worked through a foaming spittle before opening in a furious scream. He launched himself at the wolf.

Akrum snarled, showing his white fangs, and danced away. Naktim held fast. The wolf's eyes blazed another threat at Yasuwa, before he sprung into the night. He ran slower at first, ears pricked for any sign of his rider's distress. Then his gait widened, but his paws landed heavier with the load on his back.

The thunderous falls of the horse's hooves shook the ground. They echoed off the horizon. Yasuwa's people were gaining on the fugitives. The pursuers' torches streamed orange, the tidal wave of the fire ocean, about to sweep Akrum and Naktim under. The Yamnaya ululated the moment they spotted their prey on the open steppe. You're finished, wolf, they gloated, we'll box you.

"Leave me," Naktim yelled. She released her grip on Akrum's neck and would have rolled through the dust, if he didn't skid to a stop, almost tumbling head over heels. He took on his human shape and sat up, rolling tongue over his teeth to check for blood, then pushed to his feet.

"Hide in the Shrine of the Roots," Akrum commanded. Without waiting for her answer, he turned to the Yamnaya. The staff appeared in his hand out of the thin air. It looked weird next to his body covered in charcoal symbols, head to toe... and nothing else. Volya didn't realize that his clothes fell off when he transformed. But it made sense.

Naktim, also in the buff, grabbed Akrum's forearm to pull him along with her. "Hurry!"

He didn't budge. His eyes glazed over, as if he couldn't see anything but the approaching Yamnaya.

Naktim let go of him and staggered a couple of steps back.

"You are a shaman," she whispered in wonder, before limping away.

The stars went out as if on command in the graying skies. The pre-dawn light produced a ray of pale green, the forerunner of sunrise. The lead horses were only two hundred yards from Akrum when he came back to life to start a ritual dance. Volya realized that this was the precise moment that Anabelle had witnessed.

This was when Akrum created the first centaurs in the world.

Volya strained his eyes to remember every movement of Akrum's legs and torso, every twist of his head, and every blazing sign that Akrum inscribed in the air to curse the Yamnaya. He had to remember everything.

If Anabelle hadn't given out the spoiler that Akrum's curse had worked, Volya would have chewed his lips in suspense. The horses bore on Akrum, abreast, neighing in primal exaltation of the gallop. Their hooves rose and fell in a terrible rhythm, shattering the world.

Yasuwa, not worse for wear, loomed the largest among the men, with a cruel grin on his lips.

But Volya couldn't look at the approaching doom. He had to look at Akrum.

The horsehair whips hissed through the air, ready to latch onto their dancing prey from all sides.

Akrum winced at their first sting, red welts rising on his skin. He swayed on his feet, but miraculously kept his footing. The whips couldn't snarl him. The Yamnaya jeered at their inexplicable failure. Akrum stabbed the ground with his staff. It connected, with sparks flying as if it was flint hitting on metal, not wood sinking into dirt.