the angels hidden blade

TWO

A wolf stared at her, and she stared back. 

Its silver face turned up in a snarl as it faced an unknown foe. 

The metal glinted in front of her, its fur almost seemed to move and ripple.

Her hand slowly inched toward the wolf, and before she knew it, the metal was in her hands. 

The medallion covered both her palms, and she marvelled at the image, turning the wolf over. The metal gleamed wickedly in the candlelight that bathed the room.

Nefeli knew she shouldn't be in this section of the fortress. 

Vesimir had always forbidden it. This was where the Witchers trained, slept, and ate together. 

She was a child, not old enough to hold a sword, and she didn't belong here.

But she couldn't stop herself as she walked past the open wooden door of the chamber and saw the metal wolf staring at her.

It had called to her from across the room, and she had responded, drawn to it as if by an invisible force.

"Get out," a harsh, deep voice rang from behind her, and she jumped, clutching the metal wolf to her erratic heart in panic. 

Spinning on her heel, she turned to face a large mountain of indifference and black leather.

Her eyes refused to meet his face, as Vesimir had warned her, knowing that provoking Witchers could be as dangerous as provoking a wild animal.

Nefeli had not heard the man step inside and sneak up behind her. 

Her hands shook as the scent of rain, dried herbs, and burning smoke filled her nose. 

She ducked her head down, her mind a chaotic mess.

"I won't tell you again, boy," the cold voice spoke, and that's when the panic turned to rage. 

The arrogance and harshness of the man stoked the embers of her fury.

Her teeth clenched together, and her blood burned hot in her veins.

Her head whipped up, pale eyes meeting burning amber coals. 

She couldn't see his face under the large black leather hood, but her gaze remained unwavering. 

The man stared back, and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise cross his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

Dropping the medallion to the floor with a loud clang, she rushed past the man without a word or correction, her heart pounding in her throat, and fear lacing her bones with ice. 

Sweat coated her body as she jumped upright, her skin glistening in the dim, candlelit room. 

The bed she had hastily risen from was a simple affair, a scarce wooden frame draped with furs and blankets that provided little comfort or luxury. 

Her chest swung up and down in a flurry as her heart thudded wildly.

A dream. It was just a dream, she reminded herself, the room's frigid air now chilling the dampness on her skin.

But it felt so real.

The image of the silver wolf burned through her mind, and she shivered, the vividness of the dream making it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion.