On edge, his muscles coiled and ready to spring, he crept forward. Another lightly ringing scrape whispered through the air, and the back of his neck tingled. Those fine hairs always warned him of danger, and from one breath to the next, he stopped hesitating, lifted the latch, and threw open Bel’s door. It took only a split second for his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness and for his mind to process what he saw. Talons and wings. Grasping hands and sharp claws. A huge harpy finished sneaking into Bel’s room through the open window. The one already inside reached for her sleeping form.
“Bel!” He shouted the warning just as she snapped awake with a gasp.
Carver lunged and brought his sword down hard on the creature’s outstretched arm. Metal rang on metal, almost shocking him into dropping his sword. He hissed as the blade bounced off the harpy’s solid limb and the painful impact echoed up his arm.
Unaffected by his hit, the creature dragged Bel off her bed and swung her toward the second harpy. They each grabbed an arm and stretched her between them, lifting her clear off the floor. They stood there, Bel struggling between them. Taller than him by two heads, these monsters resembled harpies, but they weren’t alive. They weren’t flesh and blood. They were made of metal from head to claws.
Automatons. His heart slammed up his throat. These creatures were the work of gods.
The metal harpies turned to the window. Bel twisted and kicked out at both, not slowing them down. She raised her head, and her panicked eyes met his through the tangle of her hair the instant before she went up in flames.
“No!” Fear lurched inside him. “They won’t burn!” Hephaestus crafted automatons in his volcanic forges. Nothing but the smith god himself could melt them back down.
Not seeming to hear him, Bel writhed and fought, her whole upper body flaming hotter as the metal harpies dragged her toward the edge of the room. Carver leaped for the window, putting himself between them and the open night. Did they want to fly away with her? Or were they going to drop her, just like Eryx with his sacrifices?
Their top-floor lodgings abruptly lost their appeal. Desperation drove him to try shooting forward for a sharp jab. His blade barely dented the harpy’s chest, useless against the metal beast. He felt more than saw the counterattack and ducked, weaving under a wing that scraped a dent into the wall above his head. He scrambled back, frantically searching for a weakness to exploit. He saw none. Animate but without emotion, conscience, or pain, the automatons were perfectly designed to swoop in, snatch their prize, and swoop out. Suddenly, he knew without a doubt. These were what had been stealing ancestral Magoi children from their beds. Not just harpies, butmechanicalones.
Bel gasped, her flames snuffing out. Her own fire never burned her, but it had heated her captors’ metal hands into searing-hot manacles. The loss of her blazing light left his eyes struggling to adjust, but Carver couldsmellher scorched wrists. Sick with dread, he strained to bring the shadows back into focus. Two hulking forms. A smaller one between them. Bel cried out in pain as they yanked her almost into the open window frame.
Terror spiked, and he lowered his shoulder and charged at the automaton closest to him. He smashed into it, and they both crashed to the floor. His shoulder throbbed, the unforgiving shock thudding in the bone. He pushed through the painand twisted, getting behind the creature and partway under it. He gripped the head by the empty eye sockets, planted his feet on the metal wing bones, and pulled. His sword might’ve betrayed him for the first time in his life, but murderous rage drove him now.
“Carver!” Bel kicked the wall next to the window, pushing back at the creature. The second harpy wrestled her into a punishing hold and aimed her at the window. She swung her legs up and braced her feet on either side of the frame, holding herself there and fighting as it tried to shove her out.
Shaking with effort, Carver pushed against the wings with his legs and hauled on the harpy’s head with his hands. The metal eye sockets cut into his skin. His aching fingers burned and then slicked with blood. If he lost his grip, this was over. Gritting his teeth, he pulled, the pressure against his bare feet almost as painful as he shoved with all his might against the wing bones. The automaton wasn’t one solid piece of metal. It was put together. He would godsdamned pull it apart, and then he’d do the same to the other.
Metal suddenly ripped, the head tore free, and he skidded halfway across the room on the bare skin of his back and shoulders. Pain and shock only immobilized him for a second. He flung the head aside, sprang up, and raced for the second automaton, charging at it from the side and toppling them all over inside the room.
Bel rolled away with a groan. He maneuvered into the position he’d found before, pushing with his legs and hauling with his arms. His fingers throbbed, and he channeled the hot, aching pain into ending this as fast as possible. Feet braced against the metal wing bones, he pulled so hard he half feared his veins would pop and his brain would explode. His hands slipped, and the automaton almost got away. He slammed thething’s head back down against his abdomen. Bel staggered over, grabbed its ankles, and pulled. It wasn’t enough. Sweat stung his eyes, his body shook, and he sensed he was a hairsbreadth from muscle cramps that would end this in a way he refused to contemplate.
He tapped into the last of his strength, groaning from between clenched teeth. The head wrenched free with a grinding rip of metal, and Carver gasped, his entire body seeming to liquify and sink into the floorboards as he held on to the harpy head like a prize. He didn’t think he was injured apart from his cut fingers and scraped back, but he hurt everywhere, especially deep inside his soul where fear of losing Bel lived.
But not today, thank the gods.Not ever, he vowed.
Sprawled on his back, breathing hard, Carver finally turned his head. Bel sat on the floor, staring at him, her eyes huge and vivid-hot. As if she didn’t know what to do with her hands, they hovered, palms up, above her lap. Burns ringed her delicate wrists, and he wished he could tear the metal harpies apart with his bare hands all over again.
Releasing a heavy breath, he uncurled his fingers and tossed the now inanimate automaton’s head aside. It thumped against the wall, and as if the noise woke her from a trance, Bel suddenly pitched forward and crawled to his side.
“Are you all right?” She leaned over him, her frown fierce. Concern dimmed her eyes, and the little notch between her brows deepened as her gaze swept over his bloodstained hands. “Your fingers…”
“Are fine. Just some cuts.”
“Cuts?” She rolled her lips in, pressing all the color from them. “You sound half dead.”
A weak smile slipped out. “Just taking a minute.”
She sat back on her heels, not looking convinced. The airaround her smelled of baked cherries and almond cream enough to slip into his lungs and start calming his thrashing pulse.
“How about you?” he asked. “All right?” His gaze searched hers.
“I don’t know.” Her chin trembled, and Carver nearly cracked in two. Bel didn’t show fear. She didn’t show weakness. She didn’t ask for help. “I’m a little the worse for wear.”
His eyes locked on to her scorched wrists. “I’m sorry I let them get you.”
She pulled her hands deeper into her lap. “You got here before I even woke up.”
“I…heard something.” He exhaled his lingering fear, his heartbeat and breathing finally evening out again. “I wasn’t asleep.”
She made a noise, faint and unsure. He waited, watching. He didn’t like her silence. It wasn’tBel.
