The air in the grand hall grew thick, charged with the acrid scent of gunpowder and burning timber from outside. Dust motes hung in the single shaft of moonlight piercing a grimy window. He stepped closer, the arbalest steady. “Olgierd will come for you, and when he does, I’ll have bait ready. You’ll stand there, still and silent, and then I’ll put him down for good.”
Jadwiga’s gaze didn’t waver from the quarrel's tip. “Inefficient,” she stated, her voice flat. “His movements are erratic in his current state. You’d likely miss, and then you’d merely provoke him further. A tactical error of considerable magnitude.”
Witek’s sneer twisted. “Always the clever words, witch. But they won’t save you now. He’s a beast. A monster. And you’re just a fool who thinks she can make order out of chaos.”
A low, guttural growl rumbled from the deep shadows at the far end of the hall, a sound like grinding stone and tearing metal. The very floorboards vibrated. Olgierd. He emerged slowly, a towering mass of shadow and jagged bone, larger and more tormented than Jadwiga had ever seen him. His eyes, usually jade edged in midnight, burned a dull, furious red, devoid of all but primal instinct. He was truly on the brink of mindless savagery.
Witek, despite his bravado, flinched. His fingers tightened on the stock, skin pale over bone. “See?” he crowed, his voice cracking. “He’s coming for you. For *all* of us.” He shifted his aim towards Olgierd, keeping Jadwiga squarely in his peripheral vision. “One shot for the brute, then I cut the thrall free.”
The beast took another heavy step, its claws scoring deep gouges in the polished floor. It smelled the fear, the rage, the proximity of prey. But as its gaze swept over Witek, it snagged on Jadwiga. A flicker, almost imperceptible, passed through its red eyes. A brief pause broke the fiend's predatory advance. Something in its churning depths recognized her, even in this diminished state.
“No!” A desperate cry ripped through the air. Grzegorz, who had been standing a few paces behind Witek, his face a mask of conflicted agony, suddenly lunged. He was old, but the sheer force of his conviction lent him a surprising burst of speed. He slammed into Witek’s side, a wheezing grunt escaping his lips. The span skittered across the marble floor with a sharp clatter.
“Run, Jadwiga! Get out!” Grzegorz yelled, grappling with the much younger hunter. Witek, caught completely off guard, stumbled. His face contorted with shock and fury. “You old fool! What are you doing?”
“I’m not letting you become what you claim to fight!” Grzegorz gasped, locking Witek’s arms. “He was never meant to be this cruel. You are nothing but a petty murderer, Witek Głowacz!”
Witek snarled, shoving Grzegorz back with a furious heave. The old majordomo went down hard, hitting the cold stone with a sickening thud. Witek scrambled for the dropped stock, his face taut with murderous intent. But Jadwiga didn’t run.
She took a deliberate step forward, her gaze fixed on Olgierd's towering silhouette. The hound-thing paused its advance, cocking its massive skull as if puzzled by the lull. Jadwiga ignored Witek, who was now fumbling for his dropped weapon, his breath heavy with exertion and rage.
“Lord Olgierd,” she said, her voice clear and level, cutting through the chaos like a honed blade. “This is a truly appalling display of self-sabotage. You spent a week attempting to arrange your own demise with dramatic speeches, only to then spend another week protecting me from villagers and your own majordomo.”
The beast shuddered, a low rumble escaping its throat, less a growl now and more a tormented groan. Its red pupils flickered, a faint viridian glimmer fighting through the crimson haze.
“You are, frankly, an inefficient beast,” Jadwiga continued, her hands clasped calmly before her. “Your posture when you transform is terrible for your spinal column, which I mentioned previously. Your attempts at intimidation are often undermined by your tendency to seek out soft blankets. You track mud into the manor after every garden skirmish, and I am the one who must ensure the enchanted floor polish is reapplied. You are a catastrophically disorganized individual, and your melancholic brooding consumes far too much energy that could be better spent on, say, strategic planning or perhaps learning to control your unfortunate bodily fluids.”
The massive muzzle dipped, red slits narrowing with profound, almost comical confusion. A sliver of the intelligent, dramatic lord seemed to peek through the bristles, baffled by her assessment.
“Furthermore,” Jadwiga pressed on, taking another step closer, “you are intensely dramatic. Every sigh, every pronouncement of doom, could power a small village. Yet, you are also deeply, irritatingly caring. You offered me terms for my ‘sacrifice’ that were absurdly generous. You ensured I was fed, even when you yourself clearly forgot to eat. You stood between me and a rampaging mob, despite the obvious danger to yourself. You even, against all logic, pulled a blanket over me when you thought I was cold.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “You are a logistical nightmare, Lord Olgierd.”
The Gloomfang let out a soft whine, utterly out of place for such a dread fiend. It shrank back, massive shoulders hunching, claws retracting partially into broad pads. The furious red receded further, revealing more of the deep, troubled jade beneath. It seemed to be listening, truly listening, to her blunt, practical dissection of its existence.
Witek, who had finally retrieved his iron bow, froze, watching. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. The terror of the woods was… cowering? From a woman who was berating it for bad posture and messy habits?
Jadwiga took another step, then another, until she stood directly before the shrinking hulk. The chill in the air gave way to damp, heavy heat as humanity fought to break through the hide. She reached out, her fingers brushing the coarse, matted fur along his snout. The beast flinched, but didn’t recoil. His gaze, now a flecked swirl of crimson and moss, fixed on her, raw and exposed.
“You are the most illogical problem I have ever faced,” Jadwiga declared, her voice resonating with an uncharacteristic, fierce resolve, “and I refuse to leave you unsolved.” She leaned in, her lips pressing against the rough, warm hide of his jaw.