I have no idea what it is, but all I can picture is Lachlan lying on the floor of a salon, bleeding out on one of the duke’s fancy carpets. Is he alone? Where are the other celestial knights? Why did no one protect him? And what sort of threat could have injured a man as skilled in combat as Lachlan?
Fueled by a regrettable amount of biscuits, my adrenaline spikes as I creep down the main staircase into the entrance hall.
As soon as my boot touches marble, a growl rumbles through the castle. A warning from some extremely large and very hungry creature. And it seems to have originated in the east wing.
I brush hair out of my eyes with shaky fingers, then straighten my shoulders and head in that direction.
I come upon a hallway lined with suits of armour that ends in a pair of tall doors. A crash booms behind them, and I race toward the room, pausing to grab a sword from one of the statues.
God, it’s bloodyheavy. Lachlan swings them around so easily.
Still, its hefty weight makes me feel slightly less vulnerable as I open the doors into a space with an uncanny resemblance to Statuary Hall at Harbridge. A mezzanine rings a vast room filled with sculptures and free-standing walls covered in framed artwork. Clouds smother any moonlight trying to peek through the glass ceiling, resulting in plenty of shadowed corners for beasties to lurk. I see no hint of movement, and everything looks?—
There. At the bottom of the opposite staircase. A large statue has been toppled, its head gently rocking several paces from where its body has fallen. An unmistakable moan of pain emanates from behind it, and my heart seizes.
Lachlan.
I adjust my grip on the sword, then scurry down the staircase to the tune ofget to him, get to him, get to him. It’s not quite loud enough to mask my simultaneous mental scolding. If he’s gravely injured, how on earth am I going to get him out of here? He’s easily twice my weight, if not more. And whatever made that growling noise is in here somewhere. Where the hell is Aowen? Or Vesper, for that matter? She’s deadly enough to claw out an eyeball or two for me, surely.
I weave around walls covered in grand portraits of stone-faced, silver-haired faerie men. Names and dates are stamped on golden plaques beneath each frame—the years of their reign overHouse Áine? Odd, though, I do not see an open-ended pair that might correspond to the current duke.
I round a corner, and the next section contains a series of landscapes. There are several large pieces depicting Tír na Lune’s castle and surrounding city. Smaller works fill the gaps between their frames, one barely the size of a book cover. My eyes rove over it, and the ring warms.
Of all the sodding times to get a hint.
The small painting depicts a bell-shaped hill rising above a lush, green valley. Neat, thatch-roofed buildings gather around variously sized lakes. The metal grows faintly hotter as I step closer, searching for an inscription or a title or even the artist’s?—
A deep snarl burbles, far too close.
Something loosens in my gut, and as soon as I turn, I wish I hadn’t.
Standing behind me is some hideous cross between a lion and a hairless dog. Its snout is thick and its face wrinkled, haloed by a pale white mane. Shiny, pupilless eyes that look like mercury swirled with ink track me; there’s a puckered grey scar slashed through the left. Cuts shine on its belly, one deep enough to release blood in its wake. Is this the creature that wounded Lachlan? If so, he got a few good blows in beforehand. A long tail swings above its hind legs while another growl rumbles past the largest, sharpest teeth I’ve ever seen.
I take several slow, unsteady steps backward, hiding the sword behind my back and raising my palm to let the creature know I mean no harm.
The beast sniffs the air then tilts its head. Curious. Maybe it can be?—
It releases a deafening roar, blowing back my hair.
I curse myself for disobeying Lachlan and hold the sword out with shaking arms.
The beast chuffs out a breath. Almost a laugh, as it stalks closer. As if it’s got all the time in the Otherworld to gnaw the flesh from my bones. It’s all sharp teeth and clacking claws and wrinkled, hairless skin—hideous in a rather breathtaking way. If it didn’t look so intent on eating me, I might consider drawing it.
The creature shifts its pace from languid to swift, catching me off guard and swiping at my sword. Metal whines as a claw glances off the blade I barely manage to angle across my chest.
Blind instinct takes over, and I swing the sword with fiercely protesting arms. It catches the creature on the nose with a smack, but the blade does not bite.
It’s decorative. Dulled.
Shit.
Still, the blow startles the creature enough to rear back, and I’m off.
I zip between walls and pedestals, shouting through thediamrhán,Please tell me where you are!I feel a flicker of surprise shoot back, but no words or full sentences.
I run and twist and look over my shoulder to see the creature weaving toward me again, and I’m hauling this ridiculously heavy sword which I probably should have dropped about four turns ago, but it was the only thing that stopped the dog-lion from chomping me even if it was mostly due to surprise, and if that was my one and only move then I’ve just used it up, and oh hell what was I thinking trying to rescue Lachlan because I was not made for fighting off deadly monsters or even running for that mat?—
Something booms to the floor behind me, swiping dangerously close to my head. I turn, staggering backwards, to see the creature’s knocked over another statue.
