Evil radiated from him like heat, scorching the breath from her lungs. He was a nightmare made flesh—a unicorn corrupted by demons. The black fabric masking his face hid his expression, but not the soulless void behind his eyes.
Luna’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a desperate cry for escape, but there was nowhere to run. Her very soul shrank, retreating from the darkness that threatened to consume her.
“Here lies a human sympathizer,” he said, his voice booming as it reverberated off the walls. “Tell me—what do we do with unicorns like this?”
“Kill ’em!” the others roared.
Her gaze dropped to the swords at their waists, slick with blood. One was likely stained with Venita’s; Luna’s stomach twisted. Clipped to their belts were small white canisters, the same kind used by the king’s guard. Why did the Darkened One’s men have them? Had they stolen them? Or . . .
A cruel laugh snapped her attention back.
“Any last words?” the Darkened One sneered.
“I . . .” Her voice broke. “I’m not one of you.”
His response was immediate. His sword flashed upward, slicing across her shoulder. Pain exploded, hot and sharp, and she cried out as her luminous blood streamed down her arm, agony buckling her knees. Only the guards’ grip kept her upright.
“Blood doesn’t lie,” he mused coldly.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, fury rising beneath her pain. If only she’d learned how to use her magic, maybe then . . .
“I’m not lying,” she hissed.
They laughed, clearly thinking her a fool—but she wasn’t lying. She didn’t consider herself a unicorn. She was Luna; nothing more, nothing less.
A man standing near her lifted his blade, flourishing it theatrically. The steel hissed, cutting the silence with deadly promise. Luna strained, fighting against the hands pinning her. It was no use. She should beg or plead for her life, but the words refused to form.
The Darkened One spoke again, “You’re either with us, or against us. And from where I stand . . .” He waved his hands, and the men holding her pushed her to her knees.
The executioner stepped forward, holding his blade above her throat.
She closed her eyes, expecting her life to flash before her . . . but it didn’t.Wasn’t that supposed to happen at the brink of death? Though she supposed she didn’t really get to live her life, everything she’d known, everything she’d ever believed in—it had all been a lie.
Cold steel nicked her skin. She trembled, adrenaline surging.
The sword lifted.
“No,” she whimpered softly, the word spilling from her lips over and over like a desperate prayer.
Nothing happened.
Peeking, she opened her eyes just a fraction—and in that instant, he swung. It was as if he’d only been waiting for her to witness her own death. The blade sliced through the air, moving in slow motion, each second stretching into an eternity as the gleaming edge descended towards her.
This was it; it’d all be over now.
She braced for the inevitable.
But still, it never came.
His blade stopped inches from her jugular. Her heart battered against her ribs and her entire body shook wildly; she was alive.
“Is this one a dud?” the man asked, stepping back to sheath his sword.
“Or just stupid,” said a familiar voice.
Luna turned, as much as the men holding her allowed, to see Clyde rising from the bed with an unsettling ease.
Impossible.
