Excerpt

Never before had she attempted traveling as far as the southern border. Tonight, nothing could've stopped her from riding to meet with the witch. If anyone could break the curse, it had to be her.

The gods knew she'd exhausted the healers of her village, and none of Finnick's books had helped. Nor had Finnick himself. Her stepfather claimed innocence when it came to the curse—professing to not know how it had come to pass and even trying to blame her mother, something Rainne wouldn't tolerate. That he could in one breath deny responsibility and accuse a woman who was incapable of defending herself was repugnant. Rainne suspected it was Finnick who had put her mother into the deep sleep of which she had yet to wake.

A glint caught her attention and she slowed the nag. A movement followed the sound of branches breaking and she stopped the mare completely. The poor old girl wheezed. The ogress wasn't as large as a true ogre, but her weight and height was that of an elven warrior and more than the nag was accustomed to handling. Pora sat upright, his whiskers tickling her cheek as he peered over her shoulder.

Male voices drifted to them and Rainne's ogre blood heated with excitement. For rutting or carnage, she wasn't sure. Seven years with the curse and she still had a hard time deciphering when she was craving sex or bloodshed. Her brain beat out a tempo of, "Men! Men! Men!" which led her to think this time it was the former.

Another movement, to her left, set all her senses on alert. She sniffed the air. Ogres might have shite eyesight, but their sense of smell was fantastic.

"Wolves."

Pora hissed and his claws gripped her cloak. "We can't outrun them."

Five silver-haired beasts emerged from the underbrush, their bodies low, mouths open to reveal fangs that looked like they could do mortal damage with one snap of their powerful jaws. This was not a battle she'd like to fight, but if they caught her scent, she'd have no choice.

On her other side, two men on horseback broke through the trees and stopped on the path. One of them, mounted on a gleaming black stallion, scratched his head, his face screwed into one of confusion. He wore dark clothing, from his cape to his gloves, but his long, brilliantly blond hair shone like sunlight in the dappled darkness. An elf.

Beautiful and perfect and nothing like the emerald-skinned ogress.

Rainne sucked in a breath and put a hand to her heart. A stinging pain ripped through her veins. As though something had punctured her heart and the sensation filled all her nerves.

"What's wrong?" Pora's whisper pounded against her skull.

"I don't know." She flexed her hands and pulled her gloves tighter before gripping the hilt of her sword. "Be ready."

The acrid taste of bile teased the back of her throat and she swallowed hard.

The men hadn't seen the wolves yet. In fact, the handsome one was staring up at the sky.

Not so for the pack. They tracked the men as they silently crept closer. Their skinny frames and guttural snarls spoke to a hunger they sought to alleviate. Rainne had a choice—stay and watch the men get slaughtered, or leave now and escape with her life.

Pora drew his rapier, the one she'd had custom made for him along with his boots, vest, cape, and hat.

Dammit all, he wanted the third choice—the one she had hoped to avoid. Stay and fight.

She kicked the nag, urging her forward even though she would be useless in the fight. Pora purred near her ear and Rainne smirked. Despite being three feet tall at best—and standing on his hind legs at that—Pora loved a challenge. Gods' truth, the ogre in her did, too.

The men startled at her approach, each reaching for a sword as if to fight her. She swung the mare away from them and slashed at the first wolf that leapt up, claws extended, fangs bared. It veered away from her blade and landed several feet away.

"Wolves! Simpson, get behind me," the one on the black stallion ordered.

Rainne didn't have time to worry about them. Two more wolves joined the one who had lunged at them. A faint mewling came from Pora before he leapt from the saddle and stabbed one of the beasts with his blade. An angry growl rent the air and a moment later, the wolf collapsed to the ground. Pora rolled off him and ran at another beast, a hideous cackling following. Nerves on fire and ogre bloodlust fueling her actions, Rainne slid from the saddle and slapped the mare's flank to move her down the path. Pora's giddy laughter came from beyond her sight and she prayed for the ridiculous cat.

To her right, a low growl raised the hairs on her neck and she turned to face glowing eyes and dripping jaws. She twirled her sword in her hand and crouched, expectant. The wolf circled her once, then lowered, its hind legs finding footing in the dirt. She breathed in and out, counting the seconds. Five, six, seven—the wolf lunged and she dove to the side. She rolled up, but not fast enough. The wolf was on her in a flash, his snapping maw inches from her face.

Putrid, hot breath assaulted her nostrils and she gagged. She stumbled backward and floundered for balance. What the hell was she thinking? In the years since she started patrolling the borders, she'd never faced a situation as dire as this. Outnumbered and out of her league, true panic seized her and she froze, unable to remember anything the swordmaster had taught her. It was gone. All of his advice, the training—everything left her brain.

The wolf lunged at her again, murderous intent clear in his golden eyes. Without thinking, both hands gripped her sword as she thrust it into the beast's dazzling fur.

It screeched, upsetting night creatures that watched impassively from the trees. A moment later, the wolf dropped to the ground with a thud. She stared at the thing, conflicted emotions washing over her. She'd never killed before. Never. Not even the one time she'd fought off two raiders from the south. The elf in her recoiled at the sight, but the ogre in her urged action. There were more wolves in the woods and she wasn't safe yet.

She didn't waste time mourning. Instead, she spun on her heels to see another pair of wolves circling the two men. One of them had the terrified look of a man who saw his own death, but the other, well, he didn't look so much scared as resigned to his fate. He held his sword with confidence, giving Rainne the impression he'd been trained, but to what extent, she didn't want to guess. Their lives were dependent on him knowing more than how to hold the bloody thing.

She pulled her hood low over her face and crept closer. Pora's laughter burst through the bushes to her right and she jumped aside as a wolf blundered onto the path. Upon his back was Pora, rapier sticking up from between the beast's shoulder blades. Her companion tapped the edge of his hat with his paw before the wolf stumbled down the path away from her.

The commotion drew the other wolves' attention from the two men, and Rainne took advantage of their momentary distraction. She raced in, sword low, and cut the hamstrings of the first wolf. The cry from the beast's mouth could've deafened the gods above and for once she was grateful not to have her sensitive elf hearing. The unarmed man covered his ears, but the sunlight-haired one jumped from his saddle and attacked the last remaining wolf. Gods be blessed, he knew how to use a sword.

Rainne shoved her blade into the chest of the wolf she'd maimed to be certain it couldn't sink its teeth into her skin. She didn't like this business of killing animals, but in these woods, the wolves would've slaughtered her without a thought. In other parts of Elvenwood or even Faerie, there were tales of wolves who had become sentient over the years, taking on the form of men and women, but they didn't exist in the Duir Woods.

A grunt pulled her attention to the handsome elf as he staggered backward. The wolf's head swung in her direction, and Rainne held her sword up, showing the beast's blood that dripped from the blade. Inside, her nerves were taut, her gut spiraling with bloodlust and fear, but outward, she kept her face impassive. She'd spent seven long, lonely years perfecting the appearance of nonchalance.

The man went down on one knee and Rainne chanced a glance at him. His leather coat was torn near his right shoulder and blood oozed from a wound, but it was the gash on his neck that caused her the most concern. His sword slipped from his fingers as he stared at the wolf. A strange, surprised sort of resignation shone from his eyes.

Rainne focused her sight to the wolf. The man would either die or live, but if she didn't dispatch the beast now, they would both perish.

A low, greedy growl came from its snarling lips. Golden eyes tracked her every move. The beast sniffed the air, its muzzle lifting, nostrils flaring. It didn't know what to make of her—she was an elf, but would the curse that made her an ogre mask her elf scent? What did she smell like to the wolf?

What about the elf kneeling to her left? Could he sense her elven blood? Or did he think she was a monster?

Rainne gripped the hilt of her sword.

"If you leave now," she said low and with authority, "I will let you live. But if you attack, I will have to defend myself." She tipped her head toward the three dead wolves. "I'll give you to the count of five to move along."

"You're negotiating with that thing?" The gasped words of the elf were like a melody sung at midsummer. Lyrical, ethereal.

"I don't actually like killing things." She didn't, but the ogress did. A little too much.

The elf pressed a white cloth to his neck and wheezed with each breath. He needed healers.

"One," Rainne started her countdown. "Two, three—"

The beast lunged, but not at her—at the elf.