roaring darkness, the atavistic eyes of the wild creature bore into her. It shook her savagely, but Billi dug her knife in deeper. Claws ripped along her ribs, but she barely felt them now; her body was numb and her bones had locked into icicles.
The wolf’s heavy pelt weighed it down, and they began to sink. Bubbles shook out of the creature’s trembling body, and it jerked spasmodically, thrashing its limbs as panic took control. Its tongue lolled and its chest heaved. The fire in its eyes dimmed. As Billi kicked up, she saw the wolf rolling away, loose and limp in the current. Her lungs screamed, and blood pounded behind her eyes.
Vasilisa.
The stark, brilliant image of the young girl rose through her dull, slow mind. Billi kicked again, rising slowly. She had to find Vasilisa. If Billi died now, they all died. Still the river summoned her downward to join it. Billi kicked again. Her limbs rose and sank limply, but the light above brightened. The river’s surface was only a few feet away. She could see the moon, bright and heavy and huge above her.
Billi pummeled the ice with her bare fists until her last breath ran out as a futile cry in the silent blackness of the waters.
Then the ice exploded. Jagged shards stung her face while hands dug into her arms and hoisted her out of the water. The cold air shook her back to life. Pain ran through every vein, filling Billi with beautiful agony. She curled up on the ice, shivering uncontrollably. She was in pain, and pain was for the living.
Ivan must have saved her. She turned over onto her back, her vision clouded with dizziness. A figure moved against the near-full moon and bent over her. Hot, feverish breath swamped her face, but Billi gazed up at her savior, fighting the black sleep. She was so, so tired now-too tired even to shiver.
Apair of bright green eyes gazed down at her. Fingers hooked with talons caressed her face, smoothing away her wet hair. A gray-pelted wolf, standing on two legs, spoke. Its voice rumbled as its lips crudely mimicked human speech.
“Run,” said Old Gray.
32
BILLI RAN. TEETH SNAPPED AT HER HEELS IF SHE slowed, and rough fingers dragged her up if she fell.
At first she could barely stand-she was battered and exhausted, her arm bleeding heavily. All around her were darting shadows and howling monsters. The pack, led by Old Gray, drove her into the black heart of the ancient forest. But as she went deeper into it, as the dawn sun slowly tinged the night sky with purple, Billi grew stronger.
Her heartbeat thundered and her skin burned with fever. Her body wasn’t her own: something else growled deep in her guts and clawed its way through her chest, desperate to be free. Pine needles brushed her, and she glowered at the fat moon face in the star-laden sky. Hot, panting breath washed over her, and rough hands shoved her along the snow.
Old Gray faced her, her yellow fangs inches away.
The other wolves gathered around her, each one eager and bristling with a hunter’s fury. They bit at Billi’s heels, and if it hadn’t been for the older werewolf, Billi knew they’d have torn her to pieces. She stumbled over a half-hidden root and sprawled over the frozen earth. She wanted to stay there, push the burning fever out.
“Please,” Billi whispered. What was happening to her? Abone-chilling growl rumbled by her ear.
“Get up, Templar.”
Old Gray pulled her to her feet and pushed Billi on. They spilled into a small clearing, and Billi fell under the moonlight. She stared up at the near-full orb. Its light shone down on her, and passion seized her heart. She wanted to scream, to cry. To howl. Billi bit down hard; she wasn’t going to free the animal raging in her breast. The Beast Within battered itself against the cage of her will.
I’m changing. How? She shook her head, trying to understand what was happening. She’d been bitten-when she was on the ice. She was infected.
Elaine had warned her that older wolves carried more potent infection. This was nothing like when she’d been scratched by the red werewolf.
I am not a beast.
She ran on. And how she ran. Suddenly the forest whispered to her. She glided over the uneven ground, her preternatural senses sniffing out the low branches, the twisted roots, the dense bramble walls. The claw wounds along her sides tingled and pulsed warmly. She felt free and flooded with power.
Bodies-hot, musty, and animal-moved about her. A huge campfire blazed against the wall of trees. Billi was on fire, and the cloth on her skin was suffocating. She wanted the snow to sting her skin; she wanted to feel the icy wind wrap her body. She pulled at her coat, tearing off the cloth, not caring that her nails raked her arms. The fire rose higher and higher, and the others danced and howled around her. A large wolf jumped at her, knocking her to the ground. It snapped at her, then scampered away. She squeezed her eyes closed.
“I am not a beast,” she whispered. She dug her long nails deeper into the iron-hard earth. “I am not a beast.” She’d been clawed before, but she hadn’t felt like this. She screamed as pain racked her body; the Beast was trying to come out, urging her to give in and transform.
No. Billi went rigid, forcing herself to stay unchanged, human. She would not give in.
The trees rustled and the ground around them trembled. A sigh stroked the fire, and Billi saw the flames weaken-cringe, even. An old mangy crow perched itself on a branch above Billi, cawing. It flicked its head from side to side, watching Billi intently. One by one, the wolves fell silent at the black-feathered herald’s cry.
The shadows of the giant trees deepened as a figure-a darkness within the darkness-emerged.
Billi didn’t need to be told-the awe and fear radiating from the Polenitsy warned her who it was. Their Dark Goddess.
Twice the size of any of them, she walked slowly, shuffling and hunchbacked, already old beyond measure. The wolves backed away from her.
Baba Yaga held out her hand. A finger uncurled and pointed a curved black nail at Billi. Small polished bones and stones hung from a bracelet on her bony wrist. Her face was lost behind a thicket of white hair tangled with more bones, twigs, and shells. Only her eyes peered out, black and shiny as obsidian, and Billi leaned back, afraid.
Old Gray, back in human form, pulled her to her feet. The werewolf’s naked body was covered with downy white fur. She squinted at Billi.
“She fights it, Great Mother.”
The witch smiled, her jagged iron teeth scraping together like rusty knives.
“She HAZZ a DaRKNEss IN herrr.
“The Beastis strongin her. A gift from her father,” said Old Gray. The voices laughed.
“That GIFt did NoT
“I am not a beast!” Billi screamed.
The wolves pushed and beat her. Hard hands slapped her, pulled her hair, and tossed her back and forth across the frozen ground. Everywhere she turned, some creature barked and harried her. She was in the heart of the pack. The heady musk of the damp fur and hot breaths overwhelmed her. Women with wild raging faces, and bodies covered in woad patterns, attacked her with their nails and claws. Wolves barged into her, knocking her down each time she rose. Others, half-human and half-beast, attacked her with blows and heavy cuffs, never letting Billi gather a breath. She spun in confusion.
Fight back! the Beast urged. Bite! Claw! Kill! Billi’s eyes flooded red and a haze of fury roared in her head. Someone grabbed her coat collar, and Billi bit deep into that furry hand. The other person yelled, but Billi shook her head savagely, tearing into the flesh. She felt the blood fresh and hot on her tongue. It tasted good.
Billi threw herself away from the melee, stunned, her head spinning and her legs weak and made of rubber. She spat, wiping out her mouth with her fingers to remove the taint of the rich, mouthwatering smell.
