A beam of light collides with one of my shadows, and we fall. Eloise screams. But another shadow catches us the moment we are outside the beam of light. We barrel into the shelter of the trees just as elven soldiers pour from the palace.
If I could shadoweave with Eloise in my arms, we’d easily outrun them, but she can’t transition to shadow like a shade can. “Can you run?” I ask her.
She nods. “I think so, but I’m weak. I’m not sure how far.”
“We only need to make it to Borus. He waits for us at the edge of the wood.” I swing her legs down, and we both run for it. Daylight arrows cut through the darkness, landing painfully close, but she bravely remains as silent as death. The only clue she’s afraid is her widened eyes. I lead her through the trees, cutting left, then right, and cloaking us in darkness. We veer behind a tree, dodging an arrow that plunges into the forest floor near my foot.
“Damien, I…” She’s bracing herself on her knees, and the skin of her face is pale. Her feet look like someone’s dipped them in boiling oil, and there’s a red mark along the side of her face. Fuck, that blast of sunlight that hit us on the way to the balcony injured her worse than I suspected. Goddess, by the amount of blood in that room, I’m surprised we’ve gotten as far as we have.
“Come, little bird. I have you.” I lift her into my arms again. I can’t hear the elves behind us, but I know they’re coming, hunting us on silent feet, from tree branches and forest floor alike. If I am going to save Eloise, I have to move like the night itself. I draw the shadows to me and wrap them around us, cloaking us, and then I run. I partially shift, everything but the part of me carrying her. This half state is unnatural and drains my energy, but it works. My shadow self glides through the forest. Arrows fly, but we’re a hard target. They miss. Soon, they fall short by feet and then yards, and then we see none at all. We’ve outrun them, for now.
I groan with the effort of pulling myself together when we reach Borus. I set her in front of me in the saddle. Thank the goddess; I’m not sure I could have sustained the partial shift much longer. She sags against me, her eyes closing in a way that makes me sick with worry. I kick Borus into a gallop and race for Dimhollow.
Catarina meets us at the border, but she stops us from crossing with a lifted hand. A crystal tied to the saddle of her rabble beast is glowing red, and she’s shaking her head. “Stop!”
“She’s very weak. She needs help.”
The witch dismounts and comes to our side, cupping Eloise’s sleeping cheek. “She’s tagged with a tracking spell. I was afraid of this. I can remove it, but she must drink.” Catarina returns to dig into her saddlebag.
I pat the side of Eloise’s cheek and reposition her in my arms. Her skin is so cold and her complexion ashen. “Wake up. You have to drink something.”
She moans but doesn’t open her eyes. Catarina returns with a vial of black sludge. I get a whiff of it as she reaches up to hold it to Eloise’s lips and recoil at the stench.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask Catarina.
“She drinks it, or she doesn’t enter Dimhollow. Already, she puts us all at risk.”
I reposition Eloise in my arms. “Drink, my mate. Now.”
She whimpers but obeys. Although she never opens her eyes, she swallows it down. Immediately, she starts to gag as if she’s going to be sick.
“That’s all right,” Catarina says. “That’s what we want. She must bring it up.”
Eloise’s lids flip open, and for a single moment, she looks at me as if I’ve betrayed her. Then, she throws her torso to the left and retches a fountain of blood onto the snow. I grip her waist and hips, holding her to me as the vomiting grows ever more violent. How can she survive this?
It stops just as abruptly as it began.
Catarina uses a stick to prod something glowing from the puddle of blood. It looks like a gumdrop. “There it is. It must be destroyed.”
“That’s the translation spell Nevina fed me,” Eloise says weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. I don’t miss that she says it in English.
“What’s she saying?” Catarina asks.
“Nevina told her it was a translation spell.”
With a scattering of herbs and the strike of a match, the gumdrop goes up in flames. “It may have been, but it was also a tracker spell,” Catarina says. “The queen has known your mate’s precise location since she ate it.”
Fuck. So that’s how the hunters found us.
Eloise is asleep again, but thankfully, the crystal that glowed red before on Catarina’s saddle fades to clear with the dying fire. She gives me a curt nod. “It is done. Now, we may cross. Come. I’ve placated the dead to allow you through without a fight.”
“Placated? That’s a funny word for lifting a protection spell.”
She turns her steed around, and we all begin riding toward the village. “Oh, no. It’s not a spell that can be lifted. The wraiths are former witches who chose to protect Dimhollow before they died. Now they inhabit their bones when need be. They are former warriors of our kind who will spend their eternity defending their homeland. I can’t just douse them like a fire. I have to summon them with mead and sweetmeats and explain that you’re invited.”
“I hope to never encounter one uninvited again,” I mumble.
Catarina gives a short laugh. “I’d be surprised if any intelligent warrior would.” Her expression grows somber. “What did they do to her?” She points her chin at Eloise, scowling at the blood.
