by Chloe Jacobs
He was toying with her.
“I commend your will to fight the inevitable,” he growled into the mist.
She was surprised he retained enough control to form basic pronouns, much less actual sentences. Most of the Lost she hunted forfeited that function of civility to answer the pull of the moons.
“Yeah? That’s nothing. Let’s see what you think of my will when I’m gouging your heart out.”
“You stand a much greater chance of keeping your limbs if you give up.” His arm suddenly came out of the mist, those deadly claws narrowly missing her as she hissed and jumped back. “But I’m not bringing you in for the bounty, so it doesn’t matter to me how damaged you are when I carry you out of here.”
She kept looking straight ahead, straining with all her other senses for him to betray his position. “If you don’t want the money, what are you doing this for?”
“For the sake of all worlds, you cannot be sacrificed to the demon. You will be brought before Queen Minetta to answer for the crimes of your race.”
She frowned, only more confused. Oh, goody. Yet another Mylean monarch who wanted a piece of her. And just what crimes was she supposed to have committed now?
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m going to have to take a rain check on that one.” Her breathing came in rasping coughs, the gashes in her chest pulling painfully with every movement. “It was nice chatting with you, though.”
They continued to circle each other. It took a concerted effort to ignore the pain in her chest and the blood trickling down her calf. She was still technically flying blind, but refused to make it easy for Lazarus by standing still like an open invitation, so she took a swing at every whisper of air in front or behind her.
It was obvious she was out of her league. He avoided her all too easily, but at least he couldn’t watch for her next shot and slice her throat open at the same time.
She began to hear things from the outside—the muffled sounds of another battle. Either Lazarus’s strength was weakening and his whirling cage was thinning, or maybe Wyatt had started to make a dent in it.
Greta’s shift in focus cost her dearly. Lazarus was suddenly behind her with his arm locked beneath her chin. If he’d wanted her dead, she would have less than a second before he snapped her neck like a fat spring hen’s.
Legs bent, she pushed her body backward full into his chest and sent them both careening into the thick haze that continued to keep them trapped together, biting her tongue at the instant flash of ice attacking her. Lazarus’s hold on her relaxed as he moved to brace himself. Greta’s arm was engulfed within the wall of smoke. She screamed and scuttled back, but her hand was so cold it burned.
Suddenly a shout breached the barrier. It sounded like thunder, the kind that rumbled through the sky and shook the ground, heralding the coming of a drenching that would take up small children and wash them away down the street.
Greta knew it wasn’t thunder. She knew it wasn’t Wyatt, either.
Isaac.
Her breath caught and warmth flooded her in deliberate opposition to the icy calm she had been fighting to maintain. She was stupidly glad that he’d found her, and stupidly terrified.
She started to push herself to her feet, but Lazarus was quicker and he threw her hard onto her back before she could regain her balance. His eyes glittered as he came over her. Greta hauled her knee to her chest and kicked him in the face. His head snapped to the side but otherwise her attack made little impression.
She could only hope Wyatt had been smart enough to run, get the boys out of the line of fire and to a safe place where they could ride out the eclipse.
“Isaac,” she whispered, wishing she had the strength to send him away to safety, too.
The circle of fog was suddenly falling away, dissipating rapidly.
No doubt because of the large hand reaching through it, wrapping around Lazarus’s throat.
The faerie choked, fighting to draw air just as Greta herself had fought not so long ago. She groaned as he was pulled off her and sent flying through the camp. He landed in the remains of the fire, scattering the few glowing embers every which way across the tracked-up snow.
When she dared look up, it was to find Isaac glaring down at her, his face a twisted mask of raw ferocity.
This was no dream lover, or even the infuriating goblin king who had baited her endlessly. She didn’t know what he was anymore, but she couldn’t look away.
Sprawled flat on the cold earth, she whimpered. He stood over her, their gazes locked together. The power of the eclipse shone from his eyes, but beyond that was something even more compelling. An absolute possession lit his dark gaze, even now when the moons were strong and the instinct for blood should have overridden everything else.
Her emotions numbed by pain, she watched the plumes of wintery air coming from his nostrils. The quick rise and fall of his chest. The clenching of his heavy fists at his sides. Everything about his posture spoke of blood lust and promised death.
Yet it wasn’t Greta who bore the brunt of his fury.
When Lazarus got to his feet, Isaac turned away from her and directed all that wildness toward the faerie, his angry cry a clear warning that the hunter’s remaining moments were numbered.
She shrank back as Lazarus lurched from Isaac’s torturous grip and reached for her again, but Isaac jumped over her and slammed Lazarus to the ground a few feet away.
“Greta!”
Wyatt.
Turning onto her side, she put a leg under her and levered herself to her knees. Wyatt was hunched over a log not far from her. He got to his feet and took a shaky step forward. A long gash crossed his face, blood smeared across his cheek and forehead, and he favored his right side.
Her chest locked with fear. “What are you still doing here?”
“Shut up,” he snapped in a sharp whisper. “I wouldn’t have left without any one of the others, and I’m not leaving without you. Now get up. We have to go while the two heavyweights are keeping each other busy.”
She shook her head. “It’s no use. No matter who comes out of it alive, neither one is going to stop. They’ll keep coming for me.”
“Then we’ll just have to go somewhere they can’t follow.” He reached for her arm. “Come on. They aren’t the only ones we have to worry about. Can’t you hear it?” He glanced over her head. “The whole forest is shaking. We won’t have much time. Have to hurry.”
He was right. Even though the eclipse was still at least a day away, its effect was already widespread. She could hear it in the rustling, screeching, snarling echoes coming from all around them.
The world was turning. Greta and Wyatt had no choice now but to run and to hide, or become easy prey.
She found herself looking uneasily at Isaac’s intimidating form and winced as he was hit with one of Lazarus’s icy tornado blasts. He stumbled backward, giving the faerie an open shot with those deadly claws.
When they tore through Isaac’s shoulder and he fell to his knees, her scream was drowned out by his pained shout.
She lurched forward, but Wyatt yanked her back. “Greta, I swear, if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here, I’m going to be really pissed.”
Lazarus hit Isaac over and over. Greta flinched and bit her tongue, drawing her own blood to keep from screaming. She knew she had to go. She couldn’t help him. If she tried, they would all be dead and she’d made a promise to Wyatt, to her own kind. They needed her to get them through this.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Go on, I’m with you.” She spotted her sword a few feet away and stumbled over to pick it up. She spun around in response to Isaac’s roar, but before she could rush to help, Wyatt yanked her back.
“Come on!”
With a firm inward shake, she followed Wyatt without another glance back. A sharp sliver of pain sliced her heart in two as she tried to determine whether she was running toward something…or away from something else.
Chapt
er Seventeen
Greta and Wyatt dashed out of the glade, but she soon realized they’d just stumbled out of the cauldron and into the fire.
Her gut said it was only Isaac’s fearsome presence that had been keeping the other creatures at bay this long, and now that they had walked away from him, the humans were apparently fair game.
What had she done? Isaac. Oh, God. Isaac. I’m sorry.
“They’re closing in quickly,” she called to Wyatt.
Early morning moisture chilled the air, but it was still very dark, too dark to see. That didn’t mean they couldn’t hear everything. Crunching snow and snapping twigs, and the more ominous snorts, grunts, and growls that came from every direction as more and more of Mylena’s inhabitants turned on one another, transforming the forest into a battle zone.
She hoped to God Ray had been able to find a safe place for the boys.
Something close by snarled, and a long, creature-shaped shadow flew out of the bush-shaped shadows off Wyatt’s left.
He went down. The thing that landed on top of him was huge and lunged right for his throat.
“Wyatt!”
It was impossible to determine what the animal had been before the moons turned it into a rabid thing, but thankfully, Greta didn’t need to know what it was in order to kill it. Ignoring the screaming protest of her injuries, she jumped on its back and drew her dagger across its throat. The creature’s howl turned into a choked gurgle.
She threw its dead weight off Wyatt and gave him her hand to help him up.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
Wiping the blade on her already grimy pant-leg, she flipped it and handed it over to him. “Take it. I have another.”
He nodded and accepted the weapon.
A howl echoed, sounding some distance away, but not far enough.
Not Isaac.
Another beast pitched into their path, eyes glowing yellow. She thought she recognized the animal from the length of the snout, but that’s where its resemblance to the Mylean equivalent of a wolf ended. Wyatt stood protecting her back as the beast hunkered down in front of her, but instead of attacking, it launched itself at the dead thing between them, tearing the creature’s throat out.
“Move,” she whispered, taking a step away from the wolf. It lifted its head, hackles raised, but its attention wasn’t on the two of them.
More of them were coming, though. Likely drawn by the scent of blood.
“Follow me,” Wyatt said.
They took off again. They weren’t followed by the wolf, but Greta kept her eyes and ears open to the sounds of carnage all around them. “Where are we going?” No place would be safe, not from those creatures that had already picked up on their scent.
“We have a back-up place. Ray and the boys all know to run there if something happens in the camp.”
A tortured howl echoed in the night. Greta finally looked behind her, the light in Isaac’s eyes haunting her.
“Come on!”
She stumbled forward as Wyatt ran ahead. Her vision was blurred by tears and pain and she struggled to keep him in her sights.
She hoped he knew where the hell they were going because Greta quickly became lost. The forest was a maze of white snow and dark shadows that disoriented her. Dizzy and weak, she was failing fast. When they were attacked by yet another pair of crazed wolves, she barely reacted. Wyatt threw her behind him, snatched the sword from her limp hand, and faced off against them both.
Then he was holding her in his arms. The two of them knelt together on the cold ground. Greta blinked at the pair of beasts lying dead a few feet away with surprise. Where had they come from? She didn’t recall the blows that killed them.
“What happened? Where are the boys? Did he get them? Are they—” She sobbed, suddenly certain she would never see them again. She would lose Jacob and Ray, Sloane and the others, just like she’d lost everyone else. Her brother. Luke.
Isaac.
“We’ve got to keep moving.” Wyatt tried to push her to her feet, but she shook her head, all the fight bleeding out of her.
Noises hit them from all sides. Growling sounds. Clawing sounds. Chomping sounds. Even the trees shook. The entire forest roared, sending a shiver down her spine.
Something screeched and dropped down on them from above. Wyatt let her go, and both of them slapped furiously at their faces and head. Bats. Hopped up on the eclipse, and with fangs as long as any freaking vampire.
One of them sank those fangs into her wrist. She hissed and waved her arm trying to dislodge it. Wyatt pulled it off and threw it hard against a tree trunk. He wrapped himself around her and tucked her head into his chest, holding on tight until the mad beating of wings scattered.
Had something else scared them off? What would attack them next?
“Come on, get up. We have to keep moving. You can do it. I’ve got you.” He anchored her arm over his shoulder and pulled her upright. She bit back a groan as the raw, torn skin over her chest stretched painfully.
He pulled her along. “It’s not far, baby. Just stay with me a little while longer.”
She drifted in and out of consciousness as they continued at a much slower pace. She knew this only because every once in a while, she heard Wyatt calling her back to him and felt his hands tighten on her waist and wrist as he hitched her body closer in an attempt to keep her on her feet.
Just as the sky started to lighten and she squinted up at the beginnings of the new day—a day that would only heighten the instability of each and every living thing already hunting them—Wyatt pushed her down in front of an odd reddish stone poking out of the ground. It was shaped like a long cone.
Something moved in the trees behind them. Greta opened her mouth to shout, but she was too slow and weak to do anything about the snarling gnome flying at her from the branches.
An arrow whizzed past her face. It lodged in the gnome’s thick chest with a meaty thud, but the thing seemed not to have noticed that the wooden protrusion sticking out of there meant it should fall down. It rocked back on the balls of its feet, screaming and shaking its head. Wyatt stepped in front of Greta with her sword held in his hands.
“Sloane, now!”
Ray’s voice called to action a flurry of movement from all sides as Sloane led the charge and four boys attacked the intruder with daggers, rocks and more arrows.
This time the gnome got the picture. Ray put one last arrow into a bloodshot eye for good measure, but it was already falling over dead.
Which would have been peachy if she wasn’t falling over herself.
…
Greta came to suddenly with a crushing feeling weighing down on her chest.
She hadn’t dreamed. Not at all.
He’s really gone.
Her stomach roiled. She opened her eyes but couldn’t see and flung her arm out blindly to grab onto something, anything.
Her hand only scraped against rock on the one side, and nothing on the other.
Her lungs clamped shut. She couldn’t breathe.
Shut in.
The eclipse was here and she’d been shut in the darkness once again.
“No,” she moaned. “Oh, no.” She was aware of the mewling whisper of her sore voice, but only in as much as she was also aware that the damp had seeped into her bones, and the air she tried dragging into her lungs tasted stale and gritty.
They’d brought her under the ground. They’d buried her and left her alone in a tomb of darkness.
I have to get out. Get out. Get out. Outoutout.
Her head thrashed back and forth, fingers clawed at the dirt. Part of her recognized her extreme response as a childish reaction to remembered fear, but it didn’t change how she felt. Helpless. Alone. Buried alive.
Her aching muscles protested when she tried to get up, almost as much as her other varied and many shooting pains. She fell back down with a sob.
Out. Out. Out. Get out. “I can’t,” she mumbled. “I can’t stay here. Let me out. Please,
let me out.”
“She’s awake.”
She gasped and jerked her head toward the whisper. Pain shot through her chest, but it didn’t matter. She recognized that voice. That had been Ray’s voice.
Not alone.
The knowledge made it immediately easier to breathe. Greta closed her eyes, focusing on the in and out for a long moment before she turned onto her side and drew her legs to her chest, forehead hitting her knees.
A shuffle. Movement. A hand touched her shoulder. She knew it was Wyatt. She would know his sure, solid touch anywhere. It helped ground her, bring her part of the way back from the scary place in her own mind, even though that little bird continued to flutter desperately against the glass.
“Shh, you’re all right,” he said.
As the nightmare of her surroundings lessened and she became more aware of reality, she started to soak up the warmth of the other bodies filling the close space with her. How many of them had made it?
“Where are we?” Her voice was hoarse and her throat dry and painful—no doubt a result of getting herself choked almost to death. Once again, she tried struggling into a sitting position, helped on one side by small hands. Carter?
“Greta?” The small voice echoed in the pitch dark. Jacob’s palpable fear pierced the veil of her panic. She pulled herself together as much as she could and held out her hand, but the arm she touched was bigger than Jacob’s. Wyatt took her fingers and brought them to his lips. She sighed before pulling away gently.
“I’m here, Jacob,” she replied with as much calm as possible. “Everything’s okay.”
Such a horrible liar.
“I can’t see you,” he whispered. “Can I come sit on your lap?”
“Jacob, not now.” Sloane’s sharp impatience didn’t quite cover his own fear.
Now that she was emerging from the cocoon of self-paralyzing terror, Greta could feel the same emotions coming off everyone. That fear must be more potent for the boys because of her incapacitation. After all, they were relying on Greta the bounty hunter to be the strong one, and so far, she’d done a real bang up job of protecting them, hadn’t she?
