Page 82 of Ravenous

The lovers’ crescendo spurred her on. She hadn’t been born just to bealone. Surely not?

Creepy wrong ones, her mind whispered in answer.

Shaking away that thought, she cut into the ravines and chose a channel she half recognized from training. If she could just reach the river, its course would take her through Craigdúr and the Witchwood, then directly into Umber.

The canyon meandered and split, so she followed her nose toward the scent of water, pushing herself.

Weak? No more. Her body felt powerful. And the stronger she’d grown, the more she had felt Ravinelun’s rugged call. But it wasn’t to be.

Right. Left. Right.

Any moment now the ravine would open up—

Dead end. Of course it was.

She backtracked, picked another corridor, pursuing it as the moon trailed her.

Dead end.

Wind picked up through the corridors, smearing scents until the river seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. Arctos’s voice surfaced in her memory:The ravines eat strangers.

Lia was still a stranger.

The rock path left no sign of her footsteps, so she couldn’t even follow them back to the village in defeat. She tried to etch the stone with her sword. Sparks. A dulled edge. No mark.

Keep calm. Try the maze again.

Left. Right. Left. Dead end. Like that day Co?tin chased her—only this time she had no ray of sun to flee into. The air closed in, tight with old cold. Panic rose, slipping a hand around her throat. But she kept moving, turned again and again.

Miles. Backtrack. Turn. Wrong. Backtrack. Wrong.

All the corridors looked horrifically the same, and she suspected she was about to lose her mind. At last she sagged to the ground, surrender bursting out as sobs. Through pink-filmed vision, she glared at the stone.You win. You win! Congratulations.

If the Berserkers caught her, Yrsa might demand Lia’s life. If they didn’t, the maze could. She wasn’t fully immortal yet, could die of exposure.

Then she frowned. The ravinescouldn’tbe identical. Berserkers learnedthem.What do they see that I can’t?

She stood and pressed her palm to the rock: tiny pits like constellations, hairline grooves angling upward, a subtle lean. At the next turn, the striations shifted, climbing higher. She moved faster, fingers skimming stone, cataloging differences.

No wonder Berserkers didn’t gild the walls of their caves. The stone was already exquisite—and distinct!

A shallow gully appeared at the base of one wall, nearly hidden. Spring melt would ride this down. She followed, the channel deepening, the walls edging wider.

Noise to her right—maybe only wind—no, a low rush of water.Please be real!

Heart thudding, she raced around the next bend. The river flashed ahead, a braid of churning silver and black. Relief hit so hard, she laughed, breath fogging.

So that’s what victory feels like.Brief.

She ran beside the iced shore, hopping rocks, weaving trees. If she kept pace, she could cross Craigdúr’s border by dawn.

Each step took her away from Ravinelun, away from a male she’d never been able to befriend. She paused for a final look over her shoulder, and a memory of last night’s full moon arose.

Her, sharpening their swords. Arctos, polishing a shield for her. A fire before them. She’d heard the ghostly howls of Lykae and grinned over at him. His stoic mask had dropped, not into a grin, but his grimness had eased…

Not to be.She turned back to her escape—

Brown rose like a wall. Fangs. Breath. Hot, rank musk.