The creature inside me purred. It liked Graysen, it always had. It wasn't a tentative touch either, it seeped outward to glide around his chest and squeeze gently in a reassuring embrace.

I pulled back and cupped my hands around Graysen's cold cheeks. "I don't have much power. I don't think I can swift for very long." I didn't think I'd be able to swift all the way home, even if I was swifting in short bursts.

"F-follow the r-river..." he rasped.

Yes! Wherever there was water, there was life. If I followed the tumbling waters far enough surely I'd come upon someone living along the riverbank. Someone I could beg for help.

Which way? Up or downriver?

Downriver!

I gathered the remnants of its power and clasped hold of Graysen's arm. His bloodshot eyes flared wide as dark magic rumbled all around us. Swifting wind stirred—gray-tipped wind and the illusion of feathers—a welcome caress.

Because I could only swift somewhere I'd been, or at the very least, seen, I could only swift short distances. From one line of sight to the next, I followed the river, reappearing to disappear before we'd fully materialized, only to slip back into the void. Each time, it got harder and harder to push through the abyss, the creature inside me was nearing exhaustion. I followed the churning water, down bends and through rapids, leaving the mountainous ravine behind, to swift through gloomy thickets and along the riverbank that bordered lonely meadows, until the river spilled into a small lake, and there at its edge, I spied a cottage. We were on the opposite shore but it only took one blink, one heartbeat, for me to swift us there.

It was a small paint-chipped wood-battened cottage. No fences, just a short overgrown lawn stretching to where waves lapped against a rocky shore and a raft bobbed in the distance.

I left Graysen lying amid the overgrown grass and ran up the porch steps which groaned underneath my weight. I banged my fist loudly against the door and shouted, "Help! Help!" But no one replied. My stomach fell at the thought that no one was home. Jiggling the door handle, I discovered it was locked, but that was nothing to me. Power coiled around my bones. I kicked the door in and was greeted by a musty smell that meant no one had lived there for quite some time.

Where is the phone?

I need a phone!

A mess of panicked thoughts, I burst inside and ran through the small cottage and its few rooms.

Nothing. No electrical devices. No TV. It was a rustic place with a pot-belly stove and fire-burning range. A place I might have appreciated if I didn't desperately need to contact my family.

My feet slapped against the paint-chipped wooden boards of the porch as I ran back outside and came to a slamming halt—

We weren't alone.

Someone stood between Graysen and me.

He stared at me with kingfisher-blue eyes—Silas Boon.

My gaze cut to Graysen, splayed on the grass with his eyes closed. As soon as I saw the pulse point fluttering in his throat, I let out the pent-up breath I was holding. He'd mercifully passed out.

I turned my attention to the stranger.

No longer wearing a black tuxedo, instead, he was dressed in an ivory robe that hit him mid-thigh, intricately detailed with black stitching. A curved dagger was tucked into the belt. And he wore a tight black shirt and pants with knee-high boots. His appearance and stiff posture seemed old-fashioned, and there was an aura about him as if he were from another era. His attire was also eerily similar to the two things standing silently on either side of him.

And these things were exactly like those in the catacombs. Warriors. They towered over his height, with papier-mâché masks, a twisted mockery of features that perhaps resembled their own true face hidden behind the mask. Though a morning breeze stirred over the lake, teasing small waves and fluttering Sila's clothing and hair, the robes the warriors wore remained untouched. In each of their studded-gloved hands was a savage-looking sword.

What did I know about them? But more importantly, what did I feel about them?

I cast my senses wide and I felt nothing living about them at all.

What if someone did bring back the dead?

But the dead never came back right. That was something that had been made clear to me from my findings in my family's dusty tomes. So whoever created these warriors, who surely had been resurrected from the dead, had to have a dark hold over their skill of necromancy.

I felt Silas's gaze traveling all over my body and my gaze returned to him. The shock at the state of me, I expect, had his eyes widening and his mouth tightening, his hands fisting with violent tension. Graysen's blood was a smear of red on my cheeks. My chin too was crusted with dried blood, where I'd bitten Danne's earlobe off. My dress was torn and filthy, my hair a knotted mess of locks, and I was scraped and bruised all over.

He hurried forward.

I lurched back, raising a hand. "Back off!"

"What happened? What did he do to you?!"

And the question was so ridiculous, the absurdity of it had a rough laugh crackling from my throat. Gods, everything. Danne wanted everything from me. He wanted to do such vile things to my body. Desired with a cruel passion to break my mind and my spirit. He'd been desperate to end the life of the one person who was mine, and Graysen's death would have accomplished all of that. It only made my harsh laugh louder, more manic. A moment later my reckless chuckle slowly died. "You mean Danne Pelan—the man you left me with after you captured me? Danne, who double-crossed you? Who attempted to steal something from me?"

Silas looked unnerved and sickened. Perhaps from my laughter as well as a bite of the truth.

"I didn't know. He hid you behind a shield. I couldn't find you."

I wiped the pinch of tears from the corner of my eyes, collected myself, and strode down the rickety porch steps. Wild grass scratched against my ankles and shins as I waded through its thickness, drawing closer to the trio. "No, I expect not." I cocked my head glaring at the stranger. But he wasn't a stranger any longer. I knew his name and greeted him coldly with it. "Silas Boon."

He inclined his head, his pale blond hair sliding over his forehead with the motion.

My gaze flicked to those things on either side of him. "Children of the Harbinger, right?" I snorted. "And you said, you didn't want to frighten me."

"The catacombs was rather regrettable. And I apologize... I saw a chance and I took it. You hadn't left the estate in months. You'd slipped out of my hands when Danne tried to exchange you with the Changeling that first night. And since then you were always in his company."

His company. Graysen's company. And I could feel his palpable abhorrence rolling toward Graysen lying in the grass near his feet.

Graysen whose breathing was shallow and hard fought for. The rasping sound of it had fear trickling down my spine and squeezing my heart with icy fingers.

I turned my attention back to the man with bright blue eyes and my fury for him began to boil my blood. I wanted him gone!

Throwing myself into a swift, I reappeared in front of Graysen, lowering my stance and bracing my bare feet wide apart. Dark power, the scraps I had left, sparked in my balled fists.

The two warriors turned as one. Despite the eyeless masks, I knew where they were staring...knew what they wanted.

Graysen dead.

Silas followed their movement. And it was with grace when he swooped to one knee, bowing before me.

For a moment I was blind-sided.

Bowing? What was he doing? I was a Wychthorn, yes, but I didn't understand why he'd be bowing at the feet of someone like me—his enemy.

He raised his head and his striking blue eyes met mine before he raised a hand, palm upward in offering. "Come with me."

"Why the hells would I willingly come with you?" Why in all Nine Hells would a child of the Houses—of the Horned Gods no less—go with the Children of the Harbinger? Our enemy? The faction that had sworn to rid the earth of us and very nearly did.

"Wouldn't you like to know what you are?"

I blinked in astonishment.

He knew what lurked inside of me.

Could he give a name to it?

It was so unexpected, my fury stumbled.

"I can explain it all," he said softly. "I can explain everything."

But I noticed his companions—his guards—had moved forward, their swords rising.

"I can keep you safe. Protect you."

From him, Silas was saying. From Graysen—that was what he was truly saying.

A sweltering heat poured like molten lava through my veins. Fire. Rage. "Right now," I said, with lethal slowness."The only one who needs protecting is you from me."

He blinked. Then gestured behind me at Graysen's limp body. "This...he...he's not right for you. You have another choice."

"Choice? Do I? Or is it, yet again, someone telling me my choice is already made?"

Silas would steal me away and Graysen would be slaughtered.

He rose to his feet, taking a step toward me.

"Leave before I burn you to hells," I snarled.

Silas's companions didn't listen—moving with utter silence through the long waving grass.

I unleashed the dark power—the last of it.

The earth erupted in a violent quake that shuddered through my bones. Silas jostled, stumbling back, his arms shifting to right his balance against the ground rumbling beneath his feet. A cruel wind whistled through the wild unkempt lawns, whipping up dead leaves to dance in the air, and my fire burst free, great swathes of silver and golden flames setting the grass alight to create a wall of wind and fire and fury.

Silas braced himself against the wind that struck at him. Half-twisting away, he threw up an arm to shield his face against the deadly flames that licked out. His pale hair was tugged and torn at by the squall. Sweat rolled down his temples. Gold and silver fire reflected in his bright blue eyes.

"MINE!" I roared.

"Stop it! Stop it now!" Silas barked. Alarm flared across every inch of his horrified features.

MINE!—the creature's rumbling snarl joined my own—"MINE!"

His hands shot up, palms outward in surrender. The words fell from his mouth, rushed and panicked. "You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what it means!"

Mine.

I was making a claim. I felt it, those threads of power binding Graysen and myself together, tightening. Anticipation hummed through the air. Aether sparked and vibrated with the embers tossed about by the wind.

What will happen if I say that word, heavy with meaning, one more time?

My lips met, curling in as I began to form the word.

"No!" he shouted in rising horror. "I'll leave..." and his expression fell in defeat and confusion. "But don't... Just don't..."

Keeping my slitted eyes on him, I let the dark power in my hands crackle and spark higher.

Swifting wind gathered around those things—the Children of Harbinger—and their physical form wavered in and out of the shadowy void before they swifted completely.

I didn't move a muscle. Didn't relax my lips.

Silas seemed resigned, and there was something else in his gaze I couldn't place. Couldn't understand at that moment, too caught up in protecting Graysen.

He inclined his head, a gentle gesture, then disappeared. Not swifting like his companions. No this was something altogether different than I'd ever seen before. He simply vanished.

I stayed still and tense and battle-ready for a little longer. When I was sure Silas and his warriors weren't coming back, I whirled around to crouch beside Graysen, taking hold of his arm. I rallied the very last drop of power in the well that had always seemed limitless and swifted him onto the only bed in a small room with unadorned walls, only bare chipboard.

Rushing away, I found a bowl in the kitchen and filled it with fresh water before snatching a washcloth from a linen cupboard, and returning to his side. Carefully unzipping his jacket, I winced at the stab wounds and the amount of blood coating his torso, but also relief eased my frantic heartbeat to see most of the flesh had knitted back together. I cleaned the blood away and found blankets. Tucking them over and around his body, I settled down beside him, a hand on his chest, counting his shallow breaths.

He was pale. Almost frost-white, with bloodless lips and a waxy sheen to his clammy skin.

Would they find us? His brothers? My father?

As the hours ticked by, the swelling and petaled bruises faded, color bloomed on his cheeks, and I listened to the soft crinkle as the last of his bones fused back together again. I took what felt, at the time, like my very first breath, and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

And still, he didn't wake, leaving me to the empty quiet house and my equally quiet mind.

I was a Wychthorn princess. I'd lived with servants my entire life who did everything for me. But I wasn't completely useless when it came to looking after myself. I gathered broken twigs and pine cones from outside and stuffed them inside the potbelly stove. The creature had burnt itself out entirely, falling into such deep slumber I couldn't prod it awake. Instead of flames dancing along my fingertips, I lit a match and carefully held it under screwed-up newspaper until the flames caught, igniting the kindling, and smoked. Heat radiated outward, filling the cottage with warmth. I dug around the tiny kitchen and found a dusty can of pumpkin soup in the pantry and heated it in a pot right on top of the potbelly fire. I ate it directly from the pot with a wooden spoon, not tasting a single mouthful, and though the warmth of the soup filled my belly it couldn't thaw the chill that resided in my heart.

As night descended I lit candles and Graysen slept on. And those lengthening shadows stained my mind with darkness and fear...and left me alone with my own dark thoughts...everything...everything finally caught up with me.