What was I thinking?
I pressed my fists to my temples.
That I could just stroll out and be picked up by the Renegade’s men like some well-behaved courier?
“Nights out here are not safe,” the coachman had said.
And when I looked to the driveway and the rusty fence ahead—
Dear Lord.
I stared into the eyes of the devil.
Two gaping holes stared back—eyes carved into a pale, corpse-like face.
A grin of jagged, blackened teeth split the rotting flesh. Black, leathery wings.
I had seen that face before.
That night. The night that changed my life.
He still wore a tailored frock coat, immaculate despite the decay eating at his flesh. The pin with the snake and the skull was still there.
Where should I run to?
I looked around.
No path. No escape.
Just the manor behind me, nestled in dark woods.
My knees went soft, but I stepped back, my breath coming in shallow huffs.
And I hit something solid.
Something that breathed.
I knew before I turned around what it was.
The stench of rotting flesh and open graves confirmed my worst fear.
Long fingers trailed along my shoulder, their touch colder than the grave.
Terror, raw and irrational, slammed into me.
How many of these demons were out there?
So this was how I die.
Disemboweled like that woman in the back alley.
Alone. Terrified.
My breath was shallow and erratic. I opened my mouth, but like in a nightmare, no sound came out.
More figures closed in, silent as death itself.
All dressed in noble finery.
