From the ground behind it, Darian made a sound that was half growl, half curse. He was trying to push himself up, one armuseless, blood pooling beneath him. “Don’t—don’t you fucking dare?—”
The beast’s attention snapped to him, and for a moment I thought it might finish what it started.
Then the world exploded.
Something slammed into the earth between me and the wolf with enough force to fissure the stone beneath our feet. Wind erupted around us, whipping my hair across my face and sending rose petals spinning like a storm.
I caught a glimpse of wings, not feathered like Fenric’s, but gossamer-thin and iridescent, catching the light like a dragonfly’s. They snapped wide, spanning twice the width of their owner’s body, and the air around them shimmered with power.
A woman. Tall, lean, deadly. Tiny braids of black and magenta hair whipped around a face carved from angles and fury. Her clothes were practical leather and steel, and when she turned slightly, I caught the glint of a blade at her hip.
The wolf’s grin faltered.
“Brynelle,” it said, and there was something like respect in that inhuman voice. “Still playing saviour, I see.”
“Still playing lapdog, Torrath.” Her voice was silk over steel, calm despite the hurricane of wind swirling around her. “Tell me, does your master know you’re hunting children now? Or is that your own particular brand of cowardice?”
The beast—Torrath—snarled but didn’t advance. “The children were not the target. Though they smell interesting too.”
Brynelle’s wings flared wider, the wind around us picking up until it howled. “What does your master want with them?”
Torrath’s grin stretched wider, all teeth and malice. “You know, Brynelle. You’ve always known.” His massive head tilted toward me. “But now... now I think I’ll take the human. She smells so very interesting.”
He lunged.
But Brynelle was faster.
Her blade sang as it cleared its sheath, the steel gleaming silver-bright in the morning sun. She moved like liquid death, wind carrying her forward, and met his charge with a grace that was purely predatory.
The collision was brutal. Torrath’s claws raked across her arm, drawing blood, but her blade found his throat. He twisted away at the last second, the steel scoring deep but not fatal.
They broke apart, circling.
“You cannot win this,” Torrath said, voice conversational despite the blood dripping from his neck. “Not against what’s coming.”
“Watch me.”
Brynelle raised her free hand, and the wind around us gathered, lashing through the air. Then she released it.
The gust hit Torrath like a battering ram, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the garden wall with a sickening crunch. Stone crumbled. Dust filled the air.
But the bastard got back up.
He shook his head, spat blood, and that horrible grin never wavered. “Lord Ashterion will have what he wants. Today, tomorrow or next week. It matters little. He is patient. And you...” His eyes found mine again. “You cannot run from what you are.”
Brynelle took advantage of his distraction. She darted forward, and her blade found the soft spot between his ribs before he could dodge, sinking deep.
He collapsed, massive body hitting the ground with a sound like thunder.
Brynelle stood in the sudden silence, wings spread, wind stirring around her.
She turned to look at me. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
She nodded once, then moved to where Darian lay bleeding in the dirt. Her hands were gentle as she examined his shoulder, but her expression remained granite-hard.
“Deep, but not fatal,” she murmured. “You’ll live, you damn fool.”
