A small group of men and women in formal dress—Deniaud soldiers—had rallied and were set deeper on the lawn, forming a pocket of defense against Jurgana's creatures. The Deniauds had never seen bloodshed. Never been in battle before. Their soldiers and guards were unskilled and untried.

Erratic pops exploded—

Gunfire.

Bullets that did nothing, simply passing through the savage dogs' bodies that looked like they'd crawled out of primeval swamps.

The enormous beasts kept coming for them, snapping and snarling—

The soldiers couldn't react in time—

Couldn't draw their blades in time—

Their screams were cut off as those creatures pounced, knocking the soldiers flat onto their backs, ripping their throats clean through.

Blood and gunk spraying—

Soldiers, falling, one by one—

And the pack of feral dogs charged forward, splitting apart to hunt those alone and vulnerable, but the main host headed straight toward the panic-stricken mob of people.

Jurgana kept her steady pace, marching toward us across the lawn. Her hunger for flesh thrummed through the night air. She was starved in her current state. She didn't know or care that we served her kind.

We were simply something to gorge on after seven years of slumber.

Nausea bubbled in the pit of my gut as I took in the bloodshed, those falling to the might of a half-dreaming Horned God. I trembled inside—an earth-shattering quake. Cold, tacky sweat broke out all over my body, and beads slithered from the nape of my neck down my spine.

The screaming and bloodshed—

I froze—

Couldn't move. Could barely pull in a breath.

A stream of terrified servants in dark suits and a rainbow of bright-silk dresses washed around me like thundering water. I was shoved and jostled as they swept past.

Everything surrounding me, encroaching on me, fell away. My sister, stumbling over my name—V-Varen?—was drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears.

The clashing sounds of terror and pain faded.

The growling and gnashing of fangs become muted and distant like sound did when blanketed by clouds of fog that rose from the damp, slippery moss deep within the heart of the Hemmlok Forest.

The snapping of wings blended into the staccato beat of my heart.

The myriad of names shouted in fear for loved ones was the wind whistling in my ears.

What am I to anyone?

I couldn't face an otherworldly creature and win.

And Jurgana was a Horned God, a Witch.

"V-Varen?!"

I'd proved that six months ago. And that thought speared me straight back to Gratian, how I'd failed him.

The crunch of bones and tearing of flesh, the slurping of blood...

I was no longer aware of anything happening in front of me, I'd snapped back in time to the savage depths of the Hemmlok Forest and that thing that loomed above Gratian. It's maw wide, and teeth—rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Cruel, ancient eyes, not a pair but many, staring at me, devoid of humanity. And that feeling of raw, hungry power that brushed against my bare bleeding skin, seeking me, wanting to taste me.

I had been unsure if it had been an otherworldly creature or something else entirely.

There'd been a moment, one brief moment, I could have done something. I could have saved my brother. Instead, I'd watched, paralyzed with shock at the suddenness of the deadly attack. And then the hot sticky spray of my brother's blood coated my face and dripped down my neck. I'd spun around and ran. I'd run because there was nothing I could do for my brother, it had been too late, too late...

"V-Varen?!"

I began to back away.

I can't...I can't...

Chaos and screaming—that's all I could hear and see.

Desperation and terror and no escape.

It was an orchestra warming up, the disharmonious sounds a requiem of despair.

Jurgana kept up her approach as if she were sleepwalking. Her immense power rolled before her like a raging tempest. Above, a nightmare scored across the sky, winging its way to the servants panicking in the middle of the lawn like a mob of frightened sheep. The Deniauds were without organization and shooting wildly in blind panic as Jurgana's beasts bore down. A few lost their nerve, spun around, and ran. Regular bullets and crossbow bolts weren't going to do anything to Jurgana's creatures. These creatures were formed from magic and needed to be met with fire.

The Horned God's dark power, that ancient language that gave birth to such creations that hungered for flesh...had my blood turning to ice. It felt as if the earth beneath me trembled in fear and I was tilted from side to side, my equilibrium gone. I was flotsam tossed about on a volatile sea.

Jurgana blew dust from her fingertips and the things that came out of her roiling power took a rudimentary shape like an artist molding their creation, feeling the clay take formation beneath their hands, as if even in the Horned God's dream world nothing was quite substantial. Out stalked more of her dogs, this time as big as small ponies and not quite right, as if they'd been born wrong.

Jurgana wove another spell, upending an opened leather pouch, and a thickish substance poured in a stream of ochre into her ebony power that swirled about her figure. The moment it struck, it was as if a cauldron had tipped over and spilled its foul potion onto the floor. A wave of thick soupy darkness rolled and undulated like a black wave. She released her bedmates. A living, moving carpet of grotesque limbed critters swarmed over the grass—scorpions, centipedes, and spiders.

I was frozen.

I couldn't even draw a breath.

I have to get out of here...

I was moving unconsciously, almost like I was watching myself from afar. I took an unsteady step back, then another—

One more—

Turned to spin around and run—

"V-Varen?"

My sister's voice sounded thin and reedy as if she called my name from across a field. "V-Varen!"

Suddenly Valarie was before me. She bunched a hand into my shirt and stopped me from running. Her eyes were wide with confusion, while mine were wide with terror. She didn't understand why I was suffocating, why my hands trembled.

We can't save ourselves from a Horned God.

Doesn't she realize this?

A cracking sound, flesh hitting flesh—

A moment of pause before delayed pain spiderwebbed across the nerves in my face.

Valarie struck again—right across the cheek with the flat of her palm. "V-Varen!" When I didn't respond she shook me violently. "VAREN!"

I blinked rapidly, coming too, and sucked in a deep breath as if I'd been shoved underwater and held down until my lungs screamed, and then thrashed upward to burst above a swelling angry sea, gasping down my very first breath.

With her free hand, Valarie hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "We n-need to stop this!"

Behind my sister, the Houses and servants were in complete disarray. I spotted hunters, enforcers, and soldiers I knew amongst the fleeing innocents. But my House, those that made up the Crowther Warband, though scattered, were rallying in small groups. I saw familiar faces and the flash of adamere as they drew their blades from wherever they had concealed them. Like me, they'd never attend the dance unarmed.

And for once, I was grateful to my father, Jeroen, for the endless, brutal drills we ran every single day, often ending with us hunched over, spitting phlegm, and puking our guts out—because he'd honed us into weapons.

Valarie's fingers twisted in my shirt. She dragged me closer to let me see the fire burning in her gaze. There was such power in her artist's limbs. She, like me, came from a lineage that was bred for strength and speed and warfare. But she'd never had her hands bloodied. She'd sparred with the rest of us every morning; knew weapons and how to wield them; however, her courage and skill on the battlefield were untested.

"Are you with m-me?"

"We—"

"We've g-got to bring down Jurgana's beasts," she snapped, cutting me off. "We d-do this together."

I swept my gaze over the bedlam. I took in the shrieking and panic surrounding me, the terrified bleating of children. The screams of death.

My sister was right. We had to do something—I had to do something.

Left as they were, the servants and Upper Ranks would be devoured by Jurgana and her beasts. I shoved back, hard, at the cowardice that had clammy sweat running down my spine.

I met my sister's gaze and leached her fire and courage until it warmed my own blood and eased the tremors racking my body. I grabbed her hand from my shirt and looped my fingers around hers. I squeezed—she squeezed back. I angled my chin toward where we were needed, right into the heart of the mess out there. "Together."

"Together," she replied, her mouth a determined line. We untangled fingers, and I surged forward—Valarie right beside me.

We tore toward the melee, darting and weaving through the slew of people running away, to the far edge of the dance where petrified servants were clustered as Jurgana's beasts advanced.

We needed to be rallied. We also needed all the magic-infused weapons I could get my hands on. I slammed to a halt beside a stack of straw bales piled high. I unsheathed my sword and swung it high. "CROWTHERS!" I roared above the noise of chaos.

Others, besides the Crowthers that heard my call, swung around—Lyons, Văduvas, Troelsens, and Estlores. Hunters. Soldiers. Bodyguards.

They made their way to me, pushing through the franticness.

Where the fuck is Sirro?

In the corner of my eye, I caught creepy-as-fuck Aldert Pelan standing nearby, enchanted with the devastation around him, unmindful that he could be the next one eaten alive. The gleam in his eyes as he took in Jurgana and the wrath of her creations—hungry—sent a chill shuddering down my spine. He looked like one of Jurgana's beasts, lustfully devouring the death before him. His beady eyes were trained on one of the soldiers as she backed up, firing.

A dog lunged. Its fangs sank into her forearm, and with a twist of its massive head, tore the limb clean off. Her agonizing scream was swallowed up in the sounds of terror rolling across the lawn. She fell to her knees, gripping her elbow as blood sprayed—

Her scream was cut short as the beast latched its razor-sharp teeth around her throat and—

I couldn't...couldn't look...

I jerked around, only to witness the perverse awe on Aldert's face before he slowly turned his gaze upward.

And it drew mine too.

Overhead, Jurgana's crows were a streak of black against the velvet night as they climbed higher and higher.

The birds...

Holy fuck, the birds...

A smaller flock of crows split from the main mess of birds and spiraled downwards, banked, and soared low to the ground toward a small group of soldiers firing bolts and emptying their magazines in a barrage of shots, blazing golden with firepower.

The ammunition passed through the birds as if they were water—

And the birds struck—

Their blade-like beaks sliced through the three guards. They blew through the soldiers' chests like bullets.

The corpses dropped like marionette dolls.

Then the obscenely big birds circled back and landed. They curled their talons around dead limbs, spread their wings wide, and beat the air. They lifted the dead and flew upwards. Against the morbid sky, the bodies of the soldiers draped like ragdolls.

In horror, I watched as they flew to Jurgana, and I caught the glint of ferocious hunger in her glazed eyes as she tipped her head skyward and raised her arms.

The dead were dropped one by one.

Jurgana's dark power billowed upward like a black dust storm. The nightmare tendrils swirled and whorled around her sleek figure. It was a frenzied flash of limbs and silver scales.

When her power settled to pool about her body, Jurgana swayed, still half-asleep, lazily chewing on the torn flesh, cartilage and tendons of a leg, sinew stretching like pasta. Blood dripped down her chin and speckled her body.

She tossed the limb away and marched on.

We needed Sirro.

Where the hells is he?

Without the Horned God, we couldn't bring a halt to Jurgana and her beasts.

My heart was a thunderous drumbeat in my ears, but it couldn't drown out the screams or the names being shrieked in mindless panic, the bursts of gunshots, thuds of crossbows, nor the unearthly snarls and snapping of fangs. The coppery smell of blood and the sulfur of gunfire stung my nostrils and rolled down my throat with every inhale.

The gigantic dogs were lumbering toward us, slower than the dark waves of crawling critters flowing over the grass. But the main pack of Jurgana's sleeker mutts were deadly with intent. They began to break apart as they headed toward us and swung wide.

Behind me, I was aware of the servants beginning to bunch up into a tight ball.

Hells-gate. Jurgana's beasts were going to flank and pincer us like a net swooping up a school of flopping fish.

Beside me, I overheard my sister shouting, swinging her sword high, rallying the Crowthers and other Houses.

I jerked around. Valarie gripped her sword with knuckles almost as white as her complexion. Her violet eyes were so round they seemed to swallow up the rest of her features. "What do we do?"

"Form a defensive line around everyone and get them inside the mansion!" I answered, shouting against the background noise to our Master-at-Arms who had a dagger in either hand. He'd already begun to gather our Warband and gave a curt nod back to me.

I swung my gaze back to the lawn in front of me. Between us and Jurgana's beasts, there were innocents out there. Amongst the carnage of Deniauds being torn to shreds, soldiers firing or running, my gaze picked out smaller figures. Children. Perhaps they'd gone out deeper, closer to the forest treeline to watch the fireworks, or had given their parents the slip to go and play. Who the fuck knew.

The youngest were toddlers. The eldest was around eight years old. Some of the older kids held the hands of the younger, tugging them along as they stumbled back to perceived safety, but slowly, so fucking slowly were they crossing the distance. Other children were huddled together in small groups, or alone, petrified and wailing for their parents.

Valarie's hand latched upon my shoulder, and without tearing my gaze away I listened as she shouted against the discordant sounds of terror, "We n-need to get the children!"

"Take the Estlores and Troelsons with you, head for those scattered around the eastern side! Keep together," I warned her. "Don't be reckless!"

In my periphery, I saw her quickly tip her chin up in reply before she called out to those hunters awaiting orders and led them out. I was going to take the Văduvas and head for the kids out on the western side of the lawn when my stomach pitched with nausea as soon as my gaze lit upon a boy with messy dark hair, maybe about four years old.

The boy ran across the grassy lawn slick with moisture, eyes wide in a face of terror. "Momma!"

A woman bolted past me, her long skirt billowing out behind her as she ran. She reached her arms out as if she could snatch her child up. "Wallace!" she screamed. "Wallace!"

The boy tripped over, fell, sprawling, letting loose an anguished sob.

"Wallace!"

She was too far away.

Everyone was too far away.