“If I don’t stop them, no one survives.” Emrys’s wings spread, beating the mist.
I drew a sharp breath. “This will turn into a massacre.”
What if they swarmed the ship while everyone slept?
That night in the alley flashed through my mind—the woman in the mud, her body torn open, entrails steaming in the cold. The image was etched into me, permanent as a scar.
Something cold coiled in my gut. I could already see it: blood on the walls, flesh ripped apart, screams swallowed by the dark.
Hell. Hell would break loose.
Emrys’s massive wings spread wide, slicing through the low mist. Gone was the violin player, the clothes thief, theprisoner of Duskmere Manor. Before me stood an immortal warrior who had once turned armies into dust.
“It won’t happen.” His voice was a dark promise, and I believed him. “Nothing gets past me, Miss Daphne. Nothing will get to you. Not as long as I breathe.” He turned to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me carefully. I want you to run to the bridge and raise the alarm. Tell the crew that pirates are attacking.”
My eyes darted between him and the horde of devils swarming the night sky.
“You’ll… leave me here?” I rasped.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he said, voice rough. “But if I stay by your side, they’ll reach the others. I need to draw them off. Please, Daphne.”
I glanced back. The bridge was behind me, its light a promise of safety.
“Okay. I’ll get everyone who can shoot on deck.”
Warmth flashed in his eyes when he smiled at me. And something else.
“Run, Miss Daphne! I’ll hold them off.” He shot into the sky, throwing one last look over his shoulder at me. Then his magic sliced through the first Hollowborn.
I ran, the sounds of the battle behind me—growling and the thunder of magic—fading.
The bridge shimmered like a pale winter sun in the mist ahead.
“Hello!” I shouted, banging on the thick glass with my fist. “We’re under attack! Pirates!”
Where was the damned door? That stupid fog! I pressed my face against the cold glass. “Hey, let me in!” I shouted. When I peeked inside, my knees buckled.
Six uniformed men stood motionless, their backs turned as if talking to someone invisible.
“Captain! We’re under attack!”
The man standing closest to me twitched and turned around. He was young, wearing a thin mustache. His neck popped when he stretched it to see me better. His leg twisted at an unnatural angle as he moved to the door.
I covered my mouth and stumbled backwards. Something about these moves seemed disturbingly familiar.
I had seen this in the catacombs of Paris.
They were all looking at me now.
Distorted pale faces. Decay flashing beneath. Gaping mouths.
Possessed. Twisted into something unnatural.
The men lunged to the door, moving like one.
Panic tightened my throat. Had Emrys sensed them, too? Who would help him now?
I needed to find someone—
