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The woods only get darker the further they go in, their food rations are the lowest they’ve ever been, Billy won’t shut up, and Steve is so over this.
“I’m telling you,” Billy murmurs, voice low and grating, “this is the wrong fucking way.”
“And I’m telling you, it isn’t,” Steve shoots back, shoving his way through a low-hanging branch that, to his utter chagrin, rebounds and cuffs him over the back of the head.
He stumbles forward, gritting his teeth against the laughter that echoes behind him. The forest floor rises to catch him, and he saves himself at the last second by catching hold of a bush. The bush, unfortunately, turns out to be gorse. Which he would have noticed if he hadn’t been so furious at Billy, the worst squire in the entire world and committed pain in Steve’s goddamn ass.
By the time he’s picked himself up off the ground and removed the thorns from his palm, Billy is doubled up against the very tree that started the whole thing, howling with laughter. Despite the unfairness of it all, Steve’s lips twitch, because it’s a relief to see Billy smile again.
And because Steve is that much of a loser, so gone on his aggressively-straight squire that just the sight of him smiling is enough to lift Steve’s spirits.
“You could’ve warned me,” he mutters, dusting down his leggings and rearranging his leather jerkin.
Billy shoves back from the tree and wipes away tears, grinning all the while. “I told you, Bambi, I’m not that kind of squire.”
Steve snorts. “I still don’t know what kind of squire you are , but anyway.” He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “Trust me, the cottage is this way. I can see smoke from the chimney.”
Billy looks up and studies the smoke curling above the canopy. It’s barely visible through the thickness of trees, but it’s definitely there. He narrows his eyes, teeth glinting as he runs his tongue along them. “Could’ve sworn it was behind us.”
Despite the argument, it does make Steve pause, because Billy is an exceptional tracker. It’s the only thing he’s good for—at least, Steve tells himself as much, the lie choking him as he pretends there isn’t so much more he likes about Billy. So much more he wishes Billy did for him. In truth, tracking is the only thing Billy will concede to do for Steve, ever since losing their bet last summer that contracted him to an entire season of assisting Steve as his squire.
Their season is almost out. This will be their last adventure, and it’s for this reason that Steve is moody and upset. Typically, he goes months without seeing Billy, before running into him piss-drunk in some tavern, a girl under each arm and a filthy expression that leaves Steve’s mouth full of bile. He doesn't want to go back to that.
“Well the smoke isn’t far, whatever it is,” Steve concedes, eager to end this charade now so he can sulk alone. Preferably with several ales and whoever will warm his bed out of pity. “Let’s follow it and see.”
Billy nods slowly, but instead of trailing behind, like he has been, he slides lithely in front of Steve, cutting him off and taking the lead. Steve lets him, if only because his view is vastly improved. Billy fills out leathers like no one else.
The woods grow darker still, so thick and quiet that even the birds fall silent. The only sign of life is the soft rustle of leaves that follows their steps, like some small forest creature is trailing them, and it doesn’t make him feel better.
Suddenly, Billy throws out an arm, sending Steve stumbling backwards for the second time today. He opens his mouth to protest, but then he sees the expression on Billy’s face, and he draws his sword instead.
There’s a whistling sound, like the laughter of some unknown creature, and then silence. Neither of them move, Steve’s feet firmly planted in the soft earth, Billy hunched forward with his hands over his knives, ready to throw. Steve has never seen anyone better with knives than Billy.
It’s fairly safe to say, at this point, he’s just never seen anyone like Billy. Even with the impeding danger, his heart aches, knowing as soon as they win—and they never lose—it will all be over and he’ll go back to being an occasional passerby in Billy’s life.
A low growl emanates from beside them, and it’s all the warning they have before the wolf springs free.
It’s gigantic. Steve has only a split second to marvel at the incredible, terrifying size of the creature before it’s upon them. Billy’s knives embed into its side, but they do nothing, the beast batting them away with a single, dextrous claw.
It’s too human. It’s too in human, and Steve is frozen with fear. Nothing they’ve ever fought has been like this—bandits, pirates, graverobbers; nothing compares. They were told this was a wolf . This is no wolf. He startles into action as the beast turns on him, slicing it with his sword, but it's like hacking at rock. Too quickly, the beast disappears into the trees. But Steve can still hear it, circling them.
There’s a flash of movement by his side, a hint of red, and a young girl with fiery hair emerges from the thicket and fires an arrow at the wolf. She’s covered in mud, scratches lining her arms and a ferocious grimace twisted onto her face.
“What the hell?” Billy reappears at Steve’s side, having retrieved his daggers from where the beast had thrown them. “Aren’t you meant to be defenceless and shit?” He jerks his head towards her while glaring at Steve, as if to say are you fucking seeing this ? “I thought this was a rescue mission.”
The girl turns to them, incredulous. “I don’t need rescuing . And if you losers aren’t going to help me, then get out of my way.”
Billy gapes at her, his expression presumably mirrored on Steve’s face, but there’s no time to argue because the wolf is back.
It’s then that Steve sees the amulet around the wolf’s neck. The wolf dives at them, dodging Billy’s knives and the girl’s arrows, and Steve only has seconds to make his decision.
Steve doesn't know what the amulet will do to him when he destroys it. He’s heard of sorcerers and magic, but thought them only myths. An amulet around a gigantic wolf’s head isn’t a myth; it’s breathing red hot fire down his neck, pushing him closer to his own death with each passing second.
He makes his decision. In the moments between the wolf disappearing once again and circling back around, he grasps Billy by the collar and pulls him into a fierce kiss. He allows himself a second to bask in it, to melt into the softness of Billy’s lips, and then he pulls back just far enough to see two startled blue eyes. “It’s been fun, Hargrove,” he mutters. “Pay some bard to sing a song about me.”
Then he turns, ready to leap straight at the wolf and stab his sword through the amulet, but he hadn’t counted on Billy. Strong fingers grip his arm, white-knuckled, and when Steve glances back all he can see is Billy’s face, shadowed yet spotlit from a thin beam of daylight through the trees. At first, it's contorted into fear—an expression Steve has never seen on him before. And then it shifts, wolfish in the shadowed haze of adrenaline, and Billy shoves him aside to leap straight for the beast’s throat.
There’s a horrible howling, unlike anything he’s heard before, and Steve thinks it must be Billy, he’s lost Billy, he can’t breathe—
—and then the wolf disintegrates in a pile of dust.
Billy stands there, in the center of the swirling eddies of dust lit by fading sunlight, and stares at the amulet in his hand. “That explains how it threw off my tracking,” he mutters, and then he trails off in disbelief.
For long moments, neither of them move, and then the silence is broken by the girl throwing her bow on the ground.
“God dammit that was my kill!”
Billy blinks, and it’s only then that Steve notices how much his chest is heaving, how tight his grip is upon the amulet. In something of a daze, Steve puts the facts together and realises Billy is never afraid for himself.
Then the familiar, laconic smile returns to Billy’s face and he shoves the prize into his pocket. “Don’t see your name on it.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
Billy tsks her, waving a finger in the air. “Isn’t it past your bed time? You’ve got to be, what, ten?”
“ Fourteen .”
Billy rolls his eyes. “Sure, squirt. You’re fourteen.”
The girl’s expression turns shrewd. “If you keep this up, I won’t tell you where the dragon is. Needs at least three to take it down.”
Steve gapes at her, shocked back into the conversation. “Dragons don’t exist,” he protests.
The girl scoffs. “And neither do wolves that crumble into dust,” she says pointedly. Then, she hooks her bow onto her back and strides back towards the smoke. “Are you coming? We can stay in the cottage tonight.”
Steve moves to follow, but strong fingers wrap around his elbow and hold him back. His stomach sinks; this is the moment. This is when Billy says he’s leaving. He turns back to find blue, startled eyes waiting for him.
“Don’t ever do that again.” Billy mutters, low.
Steve blinks. “What?”
“You don’t sacrifice yourself like that. Okay?”
“What does it matter?” Steve yanks his arm back, bitter and all too willing to lash out. “We’re done now, aren’t we?”
Billy frowns, and then his expression turns knowing. Too knowing. “Is that what’s had your panties in a twist the last three days?”
“I have not —”
Billy interrupts him, leaning in so close it makes Steve’s breath hitch. “I’m not going anywhere, pretty boy.”
Steve swallows. “But the bet. It was only for a season. Besides, you hate this. You’re a terrible squire.”
“I told you,” Billy grins, wolfish, his expression roaming across Steve’s body in a way Steve never imagined it could. “I’m not that kind of squire.”
And this time Billy kisses him .