They were too strong. Reagan wasn’t breaking free. She was about to bite him. The feeling of those fangs surged in my mind with disgust as I felt the throbbing in my neck, my arm, my ankle.
This is my fault. He’s here because of me.
My hands rifled through the satchel as I stepped forward and broke into a run.
I wasn’t far from them. In a few strides, I was close, gripping the blade in one hand and grabbing the can of pepper spray with the other.
The first creature to notice me was a weaker one. It lunged, but I sent a stream splashing into its eyes. It shrieked, stumbling back.
Reagan struggled, straining as he kept the strong female down with his legs while trying to push away the male who reached for his neck, too close to his throat.
I didn’t hesitate before spraying at her black eyes, dousing them directly and driving the knife into the side of the male’s neck. They snarled, her eyes snapping shut, his grip faltering, blinded just long enough for Reagan to act. He rolled away, thrusting himself upright as he grabbed my shoulder. In an instant, we were several metres away.
The group of monsters turned toward us, surging closer. Reagan grunted, shoving me behind him as he stretched his hands forward. He murmured something, and a blinding flash of white light erupted from his hands, flooding the forest in front of us.
The brilliance was overwhelming. I could barely see anything but him, his raised hands trembling as if the power was taking a toll on his strength, his body swaying under the strain.
High-pitched shrieks filled the air. Adrenaline and fear kept me upright as I watched him, the glow burning brighter.
Then, the noise fell silent.
Reagan lowered his arms. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed face-first into the snow, propping his hands on the ground in time.
The piercing silence was broken only by the howl of the wind and the relentless hammering in my ears. My chest heaved as I took in the scene before us. Piles of ash littered the white, trampled snow—about fifteen of them—each one smouldering with faint wisps of smoke.
Something warm and wet trickled into my eyes, blurring my vision. Pain tore through my torso.
The ground rose to meet me as I crumpled, hitting the frozen earth.
CHAPTER 8
I jolted awake to a crackling noise.
A wool blanket had been draped over me as I lay on an umber leather couch, its colour like that of tree bark.
The sound of light footsteps made me sit upright, only to struggle and hiss as a sharp sting radiated from my arm and neck. Someone was approaching from the corridor outside. I tried to push myself off the couch, but my legs were as heavy as lead. Black spots danced in my vision with the same dizziness as before.
“Stop moving so much.” It was Reagan’s voice.
A washcloth and a bowl in hand, he sank onto the cushion beside me. Smudges of dirt streaked his shirt, the same grime clinging to his face and neck. His eyes looked dull, hooded in a way I hadn’t seen before.
He set the bowl on the floor.
“You lost a lot of blood. But it doesn’t look like anything is broken.” His voice was tired, his eyes surveying me as I broughtmy legs down to sit back. “You have bruises, so I sent for Madam Hildegard. She is the healer.”
I looked down at myself, removing the blanket that had fallen to the carpet. My trousers were covered in dirt, and so was the sweater that had been torn from the neckline to the shoulder. I noticed some scrapes and redness around my hands, and I knew they were on my face too, based on the stinging pain radiating there. My cloak was not on me anymore.
I didn’t remember how I arrived here, back in the castle. He must have carried me, which meant I’d never reached the station. There was not enough energy in me to feel disappointment.
“What were those things?” I asked him.
“Those were Strzygas, creatures who feed on blood. They drank from you, and the weakness will linger for some time.”
I pulled back my sleeves, and there it was. Two puncture wounds throbbing in the middle of my forearm, the skin around them red and swollen, though no longer bleeding.
“We need to clean the wounds before they fester,” Reagan said.
His gaze followed my hand as I brushed the tender hollow between my shoulder and neck, where two—no, four—small bite marks nestled.
