His fellow Shadows inclined their heads in acknowledgment. “I don’t pretend to understand what I saw tonight,” Alexei said, “but I do know that if you belonged to the Darkness—if you were its tool—we would all be dead, Niko. You have my gratitude.”
“And mine.” Damien’s gaze flicked from him to Katerina, then to the muddy ground visible through the treeline. “Were it not for you both, I would be fodder for the Void.”
“You are all impossible,” Niko bit out through gritted teeth.
They were his friends. They still believed in him.
He was grateful for them, but they were fools.
Elena had gotten her hooks into Ana, somehow. She had sent those hounds to kill Katerina and reclaim him. He knew it down to the dregs of his divided soul. He should leave his Dimi; it was the best option. But first, he had to finish the work he’d begun in Kalach.
He had to devour as much of the Darkness as he could, the way he’d planned. He would open himself up and take it in, swallowing it down until he was naught but its vessel. He would rip the shard that animated the Dark Angel of War from the demon’s body, the next time their paths crossed. And then, when he was full to bursting, he would ask of Katerina the same thing Gadreel had: to summon her Light and cast him into the Void, taking the Darkness with him.
She was strong enough to do it, especially if he were willing.
Much as she would hate it—much as he hated it—he saw no other way.
He had to die, and by her hand.
Chapter Thirty
KATERINA
Katerina sat beneath the shrouded stars of their new campsite, the dark forest breathing around her, her gaze scanning the spaces between the trees for threats. She had first watch, but that was no more than a formality. She couldn’t have slept if she tried.
Their horses had taken flight, lost gods knew where. They would have to go the rest of the way to the Magiya on foot—which might be for the best, since the mountain passes were likely too steep and unsteady to ride.
The others slept; Katerina spared a glance for Ana, curled close to the fire, looking innocent in repose—nothing like the woman who’d had her hands around Katerina’s neck two weeks ago. Why had Ana’s magic failed her in battle tonight? Terror could do such a thing to a Dimi, like what had happened to Katerina when Gadreel had killed her mother. But Katerina had been a child. Ana was an adult woman, in her prime. There had to be more to it, and whatever the answers were, Katerina was sure she wouldn’t like them.
Nausea swirled in her gut; the potatoes and hares they’d planned for dinner had been obliterated in the demon attack, and the anxiety that knotted her stomach made food less than appealing. Still, she’d used a lot of her magic, and if she didn’t eat something soon, she’d start to draw on Niko’s lifeforce to sustain herself. Already she felt that strange sense of disorientation again, as if her body were not her own. Each time she breathed, her lungs filled with layered, complex scents: the mulch of the forest floor; the trace of ashes on her companions’ skin; a strange, burnt-amber aroma she couldn’t quite place.
Perhaps she had already asked too much of Niko. Perhaps, as she’d worried when they escaped Rivki, she was perceiving the world through his senses. How else could she explain it?
Sighing, she dug in a pocket for the dried meat she’d been eating to sustain herself on the road. It would make her thirsty, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Behind Ana, Alexei slept sitting up against a tree, his blade clutched in his hand. Sofi and Damien dozed beneath the canopy of rowans they’d found to shelter them; like Alexei, Damien gripped his blade, prepared to defend them at a moment’s notice.
Alexei had the next watch. She didn’t want to wake him prematurely with her restlessness. Nor did she want to disturb her Shadow, who slept a proper distance away from her, mumbling in his sleep. He had been glorious tonight, ripping their attackers apart in a whirl of teeth and blades and, yes, his shades. But the shades had fought on their side. Never had she felt threatened by them, not even when Niko had been lost to them, their uncanny black flames filling his eyes. He’d wielded them to slay every hound in the clearing, until the survivors fled back into the rift, sealing it behind them. It was Ana who had nearly set fire to her own Shadow. Ana whose flames Katerina had had to quench.
And yet she had had the audacity to cast aspersions on Niko, before the demons had come. How was he supposed to believe that he was still a warrior for the Light, if even their allies questioned his loyalty?
“No,” he murmured in his sleep. His next words came low, masked by the crackle of the flames, but Katerina was listening for all she was worth, and she could make out each vicious syllable. “You can make me crawl to you, but you can’t make me love you. I will never be yours. And I’ll die twice before I let you touch her.”
Katerina froze.
He was dreaming of Elena, damn her.
To the Underworld with all of his principles. She rose to her feet and crossed the clearing to him, shaking him by the shoulder. “Niko,” she murmured. “Wake up.”
One moment, her Shadow was asleep. The next, he’d leapt into a crouch, knife in hand, his hair tousled and his eyes wild. They darted from left to right, assessing the clearing for threats. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and his shades flared at his fingertips, twining around the blessed metal of his blade.
Katerina stared at him, nonplussed. He was trained to wake at the slightest provocation, but he’d never come to consciousness like this, ready to slaughter a threat when none existed. Nor had he ever glared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. As if she’d come within a hairsbreadth of feeling the sharp edge of his blade against her throat.
He blinked once, then again. A second later, he was on his feet, shame washing across his face. He straightened, stalked from the campsite, and was gone.
“You should go after him.” It was Alexei, his voice a quiet murmur.
Katerina turned. Her Shadow’s former second’s eyes were fixed on the place where Niko had disappeared between the trees. His muscles were tensed, but his voice was slow, even.
