A second later, I was outside, pushing through the crowds, pulling my winter robes closer. Bellamy murmured the details into my ear and I ran as a fresh bout of snow fell.
My hair blew back with a gust of cold air, and I turned toward it, moving past several shops that were open late. I recognized the street. It was almost where I’d apprehended the last monster—the vorakh dancer on Lyr’s birthday. The recent months had been surprisingly quiet with little for me to hunt. I found myself practically itching for a fight.
The new crowd forming around me contained a mix of drunk and belligerent Bamarians. There were so many bodies I could barely see the vorakh. The revelers were openly spilling their drinks, dancing and toasting. The distractions were everywhere.
But it didn’t matter. It had become instinct.
Follow the unique signature of their vorakh, the chill of their ice. Follow the pit in my gut.
I may have misunderstood my relationship with Lyr in the end. Underestimated my grandmother’s intentions for our Ka.
But this?
This I knew.
A fresh snap of chilly air rushed against my skin, biting my nose and cheeks. Not the cold of the Bamarian winter, but the strange and peculiar chill I knew far too well. The chill that had haunted my nightmares since I was a boy.The chill that came from a vision. It wrapped around my body, tightening like a vise. I was close. So fucking close.
The crowd clustered together, bodies pushing against each other to better see the vorakh.
“Move aside!” I demanded.
At last, I found my target. A mage. Female. Mid-twenties. Her dark hair was wild and unkempt, falling to her waist. She wore no cloak, nor sleeves, despite the season.
“I am Lord Tristan Grey,” I said. The words I said every time. The ritual. A calmness washed over me. My focus narrowed.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she screeched toward the moon.
I aimed my stave at her heart, feeling the rage and anger that always rose to the surface.
She turned toward me; her knees bent as she swiped at an enemy that wasn’t there.
“Just a baby!” she screamed. “Just a baby? No. No. No. I don’t think so.”
Just a baby…
My stomach hollowed, my heart stopping as the pit in my belly grew, and to my horror, my hand holding the stave began to shake.
“My lord,” Bellamy warned. The crowd was growing restless, their auras spiked with the foul scent of fear. If I didn’t apprehend her quickly, they would form a mob—the vorakh would only become more volatile. And more lives would be endangered.
I caught the vorakh’s blank stare.
“I am Lord Tristan Grey,” I said again, strengthening my voice. I’d said these exact words dozens of times. Had been successful with every utterance. I’d captured them all, conquered over their unnatural strength. I never failed.
She shrieked in response.
I inched forward. “You have been accused of possessing vorakh in the first order, the power of visions. I will bind you and hand you over to His Highness, Imperator Kormac. And then, you will receive justice.”
“No. Just a baby?” Only the whites of her eyes showed, but a chill shot through my body, and I swore she could see me. “All grown up, aren’t you?”
“Now,” Eric, my other bodyguard, hissed. “My lord, take her down.”
I tightened my grip on my stave, my fingers like ice.
“You’ll regret it when he grows,” she screamed. “When you see inside him like I have. When you learn what he is!”
Those words. Thoseexactwords. The ones from my nightmares. From my memories. But she didn’t—couldn’tknow. It wasn’t possible.
Her dark irises rolled forward, her expression suddenly lucid, as she stared right at me.
