Silent Flame

Kurda

Wind cut across the ridge and found the skin under my white coat.

Below, the pines held still. No bird. No branch moving. The storm had rolled off and left the air wrong.

The air reeked of rot and standing water, thick with dead things. It coated the back of my throat.

Too quiet.

I didn’t trust quiet.

My ears twitched. Pain forked through the torn one, sharp enough to tear a whimper out of me. Stamped my paw on the worn stone. Claws scraped ice. The ache sank into the bone of my legs.

Should have slept longer in that cursed bear den.

Couldn’t. Not with what waited below.

Started down. Set each paw and tested it before I trusted it. Pebbles broke loose under me and dropped away past hearing. Cold combed through my coat.

Near the bottom, leapt. Hit the ground running. Wind tore at my face. Trees smeared past.

Each bend closed the world down to my own pulse battering my skull.

The trail threaded muck and moss and bark scabbed black. Mildew and old blood packed into the back of my nose.

Branches raked my face as I broke through the thicket—

Two black wolves stood at the far edge of the clearing.

I skidded. Claws gouged the wet ground.

My heart climbed my throat and lodged there.

They crossed the open ground without hurry. Muscle rolled loose under their coats. One stood half again the size of the other, big enough to fill the clearing.

Not wolves. Not only.

The air around them thickened. It seeped over me where the wind hadn’t and sucked the warmth out of the clearing.

My breath plumed.

TaintedBloods.

My stomach dropped. My lip peeled off my teeth.

“You mustn’t forget—they’re unpredictable. Deadly.” My brother’s voice, sharp in my skull.

No. I hadn’t forgotten.

Gray light slid off their coats with a sheen no living thing wore.

And the eyes—

Red. Both of them.

Their ears pricked. Their heads turned my way. They halted. Watched. Tipped their heads.

The larger one swept his tongue once over a fang.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

My legs wanted to bolt. My throat wanted to scream.

Something under both refused.

“Run. Now. We can’t fight them. Kurda, please—run.”

Willow’s voice, thin and climbing.

I didn’t run.

Couldn’t have said why. A calm dropped over me and pushed the terror down under it.

My heart still slammed. Dug my claws into the earth. My hackles rose. A growl gathered low in my chest.

Let it out.

“Get out of my way,” I snarled, every drop of venom I had behind it.

Neither wolf moved.

The red burned into me, steady, unblinking.

A chuckle rolled out of the larger one. Low. It crossed the clearing and crawled under my coat, shoulder to flank, and kept crawling.

“What do we have here?” the other said. “Seems like we’ve got ourselves a runner.”

His stare pinned me. My breath stuck halfway.

“Don’t be foolish. It’s two against one. Don’t fight them, Kurda!” Willow, breaking apart.

Frost crept across the clearing and reached for my paws. It crackled, the loudest sound in the air.

Their darkness pushed in behind my eyes and pulled. Down. A weight settled onto the back of my skull.

Surrender. Submit. Sleep.

My eyelids sank. My legs loosened under me, wanting to fold, wanting the cold ground and the quiet in it.

It hunted through me for the give. The soft place to sink into.

There was none.

The pull slid off me and away.

Dragged my eyes open. Steadied my legs under me.

Not this time.

Bared my fangs. Stood my ground.

Over a century ago…

Leaves crackled underfoot. Dry. Brittle.

Followed the trail where it narrowed between the trees. Tracked the canopy. The shadows. Back again. The basket dragged at my elbow, half full and already too heavy.

Leaf-rot. Damp bark. The sky sagged low and gray, swollen with rain that wouldn’t break.

No birdsong.

The silence leaned on the back of my neck and rooted.

Gather fruit. Herbs. Stock the cellar before the freeze locked the land.

An ordinary day.

The deeper I walked, the harder it leaned. Wrong. Crawling under my skin.

Watched.

The breeze brushed my arms. Too soft. Quickened my steps.

Stopped. Swept the trees. Branches creaked. Leaves stirred. No eyes met mine, no shadow crossed the trail.

My chest pulled tight anyway.

Shook my head.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered. “You’re just spooking yourself.”

Pushed on. The air clung. Damp. Heavy on my shoulders.

And with every step the certainty hardened. Not my brother. When he stalked me through these woods I felt him—bright, familiar, grinning behind every trunk.

This pressed cold.

Froze mid-step. Held my breath.

He stepped out from behind a gnarled trunk and onto the trail.

Tall. Pale. Still.

Cold slid down my spine.

A black cloak hung off his shoulders, the hem chewed to holes. Black hair fell to his jaw, unruly.

And his eyes—blood-red, fixed on mine.

His lips curved. Slow.

Fangs caught the last gray light.

TaintedBlood.

The wrongness in the air. The pressure coiling up my spine.

Never face one alone.

No one would hear me scream this deep in the forest.

My knees loosened. Locked them. My mouth dried.

Stepped back.

Reached for my dagger—

The sheath hung slack at my belt.

My blade sat in my satchel. On my bed.

Heat rushed my face.

Think.

Read him.

Searched his mouth. His hands. His eyes.

He held still and let me look.

His smile didn’t move.

My throat closed.

The breeze shifted.

The trail stood empty.

Behind.

Spun.

Too late.

Fingers clamped my throat. The cold sank into my skin and kept sinking.

I clawed at his wrist. Thrashed. Nothing in him gave.

The basket dropped and rolled, and fruit scattered into the leaf-rot at our feet.

His grip tightened.

Cold earth filled my nose. Something metallic threaded under it. Old blood.

His eyes held mine. His lips parted over his fangs. Slow. Deliberate.

Then he struck.

A sting punched into my neck. Then heat—fire poured down my veins and flooded my chest.

My body locked. My legs buckled. Sagged into him. My heart slammed. My breath thinned.

The trees spun, the trail smeared, and the color bled into shadow.

“No—”

The word died in his hand.

My strength drained with every beat of my pulse.

He swallowed.

Swallowed again.

Then the air around him surged. Freezing. It poured behind my eyes and spread through my skull—and the fire in my veins thickened, slowed, turned to sludge.

I ordered my hands to move. Do anything.

They didn’t.

My fingers slid off his wrist and dropped.

A quiet settled over my thoughts, layer on layer, until nothing underneath could reach the surface.

My head fell back against his hard chest.

He carried my whole weight on one arm and didn’t shift.

“Sleep, little one.” His voice slid into my ear. Low. Smooth.

The BlackBird blessing might have saved me. If I’d ever bloomed.

I hadn’t.

The dark crawled in from the edges of my sight and swallowed me whole.