Chapter 237 The shadow at the river: Zoey's POV

Chapter 237 The shadow at the river: Zoey's POV
The river woods three miles south of the crossroads were silent, smothered in four inches of fresh, powdery snow.

I crouched behind a low granite boulder fifty yards from the old timber river bridge, my short bow held low against my chest. Beside me, Samuel and Garos stayed flat in the snow, their dark wool cloaks blending into the pine shadows.

Across the black, icy water, the southern shore belonged to Kaelen’s territory.

"Movement near the watch post," Samuel whispered, his breath rising in a tiny white plume.

I narrowed my eyes, tracking two figures through the bare birch trees on the far bank. They wore dark gray coats over rusted chainmail—Kaelen’s vanguard. But they were not standing watch. They were arguing. One of them slammed the butt of his iron spear into the other man's chest, knocking him into the frozen mud before turning and walking back toward their camp.

The fallen guard scrambled to his feet, looked over his shoulder, and threw his spear into the snow. He did not run toward his post. He ran straight across the frozen river ice, heading north toward our side.

A deserter.

"Secure him," I ordered softly, pulling my bowstring back to my ear. "Do not let him raise a shout."

Garos and Samuel moved like shadows through the brush, stepping out onto the snowy bank just as the deserter stumbled off the ice. The man did not even draw his dagger. He dropped to his knees in the snow, his hands raised in surrender, his teeth chattering from the freezing cold.

"Please," the deserter gasped, his face pale and sunken. "I have news for the Alpha of the pass! Kaelen is executing every captain who supported Vane!"

Before Garos could grab his coat collar, a sharp, metallic twang echoed from the far tree line across the river.

A heavy iron crossbow bolt whistled through the birch trees.

"Down!" I screamed, lunging sideways to shove Samuel into the snow ditch.

The heavy iron bolt missed Samuel's helmet by inches, but a second shot tore through the brush right behind it. The iron tip ripped clean through the leather strap on my left shoulder, slicing a four-inch gash across my skin before embedding itself deep into the pine trunk behind me.

A sharp, searing heat flooded my shoulder, turning into a blinding flash of pain that made my vision blur.

"Zoey!" Garos yelled, drawing his short blade.

"I am fine!" I hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the warm blood rapidly soaking through my wool tunic. "Grab the prisoner and fall back to the horses! Now!"

I rolled onto my right side, drew an arrow from my quiver with shaking fingers, and fired blindly across the black river into the birch shadows. The arrow struck a mercenary's wooden shield with a loud crack, giving Samuel and Garos the three seconds they needed to drag the terrified deserter into the thick pine cover.

I scrambled after them, my left arm hanging numb and useless at my side. Every step sent a jolt of fire through my collarbone, but I kept my jaw locked shut. I was the head scout of this unit. I was not going to bleed out in a ditch over a scout skirmish.

By the time we rode our bay horses through the gates of Miller’s manor, the sun was sinking behind the high granite peaks, casting long, blood-red shadows across the snow.

I slid off my horse near the porch, my knees buckling for a brief second before I caught my balance against the saddle leather.

"Get the prisoner to the guardroom," I told Samuel, my voice raspy and thin. "Tell Jace to start the interrogation."

"Zoey, your shoulder is soaked," Samuel said, his eyes wide with worry as he looked at the dark red stain covering my left side. "Let me get the elder’s wife—"

"I said take the prisoner," I commanded, my voice cold enough to stop him in his tracks.

I turned and walked up the stone steps into the manor hall, heading straight toward the back wing where Klaus kept his private quarters. My blood was dripping off my leather sleeve now, leaving a faint red trail on the clean stone floor, but I kept my head held high.

I pushed open the door to his room without knocking.

Klaus was standing by his heavy oak desk, unbuckling his broadsword belt. The stone fireplace was roaring, casting a warm, deep amber glow over the pine furniture and the fur rugs on the floor.

He turned his head as the door creaked, his sharp eyes instantly dropping to the dark, wet stain on my shoulder.

His face went rigid. In less than a second, the calm, calculating commander vanished, replaced by the raw, dangerous Alpha instinct that made the air in the room instantly heavy and suffocating.

He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping right in front of me.

"Who did this?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl that vibrated straight through the floorboards.

"Kaelen's scouts at the river bridge," I said, trying to keep my voice flat, though my breathing was fast and shallow. "We took a prisoner. He says Kaelen is marching as soon as the ice breaks. I just need a clean rag and some salt—"

"Shut up," Klaus growled quietly.

He did not call for the village women. He did not call for Valerius.

He reached out with his broad, warm hands, grabbed my right elbow, and guided me firmly toward the wooden bench beside the hearth. He pushed me down gently, his fingers surprisingly careful despite the dark rage burning in his eyes.

Before I could protest, his heavy hands were at my collar.

He unbuckled my leather chest piece, pulling the torn straps away from my neck. Then, with a quick, deliberate motion, he took his iron dagger and sliced the wool tunic clean down my left shoulder, exposing the bloody, jagged cut across my skin.

The cold air hit the raw wound, making me hiss and flinch back against the stone wall.

Klaus’s heavy hand instantly came up to rest flat against the right side of my neck, his broad palm warm, firm, and grounding as he pinned me gently in place.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping low, thick with an intense heat that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

I forced myself to look up into his dark eyes. He was crouching right between my knees, so close I could feel the hot exhale of his breath against my chin.

He picked up a clean cloth from the water basin beside the hearth, soaked it in warm water, and pressed it directly against the bloody wound on my shoulder.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through my chest. I gasped, my right hand instinctively flying out and grabbing the leather collar of his shirt, my knuckles digging deep into the fabric as I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I know," Klaus murmured, his voice surprisingly soft right beside my ear. "Hold on to me."

He did not pull back. He leaned closer, his chest pressing against my knees as he wiped the blood from my skin with slow, firm strokes. His broad thumb brushed lightly against my collarbone, leaving a streak of heat that burned hotter than the wound itself.

The pain was sharp, but the suffocating closeness between us was dangerous.

I opened my eyes. Klaus was staring down at my shoulder, his jaw set hard, his thumb tracing the clean edge of the cut. He looked up, his dark gaze locking onto mine from inches away.

The room was completely quiet except for the crackle of the hearth fire. His hand was still resting against my neck, his thumb resting right over my pulse, feeling every frantic, heavy beat.

"You do not get shot for a deserter again," Klaus said, his voice a low, dark threat that carried no real anger—only a fierce, possessive demand that made my skin tingle. "Do you understand me, Zoey?"

"I brought you the intelligence you needed," I whispered, my chest rising and falling rapidly against his collar. "I did my job, Alpha."

"I do not care about the intelligence," Klaus growled softly, stepping even closer between my legs until his broad chest was brushing my bare, uninjured shoulder. "If I lose you, this whole valley can burn to ground."

The breath caught in my throat.

For three long seconds, neither of us moved. His eyes dipped to my lips, his grip on my neck tightening just enough to pull me a fraction of an inch closer. The tension between us pulled so tight I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, suffocating every thought of war, scouts, and snow.

He reached for the clean linen strip on the table, wrapping it tightly around my shoulder, his fingers lingering against my skin every time he pulled the cloth snug.

When he finished, he did not step back. He tied the knot, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he spoke.

"You stay in this room tonight," he ordered softly. "And tomorrow, we go after Kaelen together."