EMRYS

"A MOUNTAIN LION?"

The woman stared at Emrys, eyes piercing his soul even while cloaked by her hood's shadow. As she approached the library steps, the overhanging moon created a pale cast across her body, illuminating a scowl so unamused that Emrys was surprised it didn't wilt the nearby pots of hibiscus.

He suddenly wished he hadn't called the meeting.

Clad in black from head to toe, save for the silver and blue pendant grazing her neck, the woman became one with the shadows once she moved under the stone canopy to sit beside him on the top step. She never missed the opportunity to make the most of their meet-ups by dressing as though she had just completed an assassination.

On any other occasion, Emrys would have followed suit to appease her. That night, however, he remained in the casual clothing he had donned the entire day, with the only new addition being a hoodie to protect him from the chilly midnight breeze.

Heaven forbid we meet when the sun is out, he thought, pulling the jacket tighter around him.

Even when he looked away, entranced by ghastly shadows snaking along the street, he felt the woman's gaze burn through him.

"I thought you took care of the problem," she said.

Emrys curled his fingers into a loose fist. "You and I both. That dog was the only creature in sight, and it was feeding off the man's carcass in that coffee shop. How could I have suspected—"

"The police statement said that there have been sightings of a large cat in the woods for months." The woman's tone was colder than the breeze slipping under the canopy. "I know you're still learning about Earth, but one Google search will tell you that mountain lions haven't been seen on the East coast in years. Do you know how much suspicion this will raise?"

"I'm aware of that now."

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. If they were to remain anonymous on Earth, an Astraelan Dreadfiend—and a Corrupted one, nonetheless—was the last thing they needed prowling the streets.

"Find it."

"Oh, really?" said Emrys. "And what do you expect me to do if I can't use my powers? A tranquilizer gun didn't do shit. Our safest bet is to—"

"You will find a way. We've gone in enough circles over this." The woman's words darkened the closer she leaned in.

Emrys pulled away, but when her hand clenched into a tight fist, an unseen force kept him in place. Cold, invisible fingers cinched his neck, making him gasp for air until warm fog billowed from his mouth. A dull glow emanated from his eyes. Steam rose from his pores as he upped his body temperature in a weak attempt at burning through her bitter grasp, but it was too strong.

Or he was too weak.

"In case you've forgotten," the woman hissed, "I was tasked with keeping your sorry ass alive, and I don't intend to break those orders. If it comes down to it, I'll take matters into my own hands and kill the damned thing myself."

Emrys could hardly feel his throat through the numbing cold, but managed to force strangled words from his mouth. "It would be a suicide mission."

"And yours isn't? Keep using your power like this and you won't make it back to Astraela."

The woman opened her hand, and the icy fingers removed their vice grip on Emrys' neck. He gulped in breaths, throwing his head between his knees as colored sparks assaulted his vision. Suddenly, the chilly breeze didn't seem so bad—it almost felt warm in comparison when it grazed the thick ring of frostbite that encircled his neck.

"I can sense it, Emrys," said the woman. "Earth may be slowing your progression, but every time you use your powers, even just to hold your other form, you grow weaker." She placed her hand on his shoulder. "We'll find a way to protect these people. You focus on—"

"Protecting her."

The woman nodded. She stood, making her way back down the library steps before turning once more to face him. The moonlight gave her skin an even paler hue and brought an eerie glow to her dusty blue irises until they nearly blended into the whites.

"Keep your eyes peeled," she said, "and don't get yourself killed."

With her final words—which were less concerned and more demanding—the woman turned and walked down the street in the direction she'd come. She sauntered past three storefronts before turning down a shadowed alleyway.

Emrys threw his head back with a groan. He raised a trembling hand to rub his neck's bitter gooseflesh. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on bringing warmth to his fingertips.

A lamppost across the street flickered in protest. He ignored it as he pressed his fingers further into his neck, feeling the first flames light his skin. Fire wrapped around his neck, hungrily lapping at the frostbite. Its warmth was soothing—the healing effects even better. But the heat soon faded from his skin. He pulled his fingers away with a huff, shaking out his hand as if it would give his powers better circulation.

Emrys closed his eyes and fought to bring his flames forward. His hand trembled until he could feel warmth pulsing through his veins. Embers crackled from his fingertips, begging to release their full power as he gripped his neck again.

Even within the darkness of his eyelids, Emrys could see faint flashing from somewhere nearby. The street lamp was not happy with him, but he couldn't stop now.

If anything, he had to focus harder on keeping the hellfire on his skin; his touch had already begun to cool with every passing second. His arm shook violently, and he grit his teeth, struggling to maintain the energy needed for healing. The street lamp buzzed angrily in his ears, resisting the magic's pulse.

As his skin cooled at a faster rate than he could heal, Emrys forced his power the hardest he had in months. The golden glow of his eyes radiated so bright that the insides of his lids turned brighter than the afternoon sun. Pressure built in his ears, roaring until he could hear nothing but the boiling of his own blood.

It was too much.

Emrys collapsed backward, his head cracking against the cement. Bursts of color shot across his vision. Above his ringing ears, he could hardly make out a crash from nearby, and he forced himself to sit up.

Darkness filled his vision, only broken by beams of moonlight that cast elongated shadows down the street. Minuscule shards of glass glistened for yards around the shattered street lamp.

He had to get out of there. Fast.

When he stood, a wave of nausea overcame him. His vision blurred and crossed, nearly sending him back to the ground. Regaining his balance, he ambled unsteadily down the street in the opposite direction from his counterpart. He couldn't move nearly as fast as he wished, but the quicker he walked, the more he staggered—and the last thing he needed was to nosedive.

It took the longest three blocks of his life to reach the gated northern entrance of Havenwood Park. The world swayed beneath his feet as he leaned against the iron archway. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, placing his head between raised knees.

He sat there, cursing himself and hating his circumstance, when rustling foliage pulled his attention.

Emrys turned his head to inspect the park. Off in the distance, a wide beam of light emanated from the phone of a shadowed figure. They moved hastily in the dark, long hair whipping in every direction as they continuously glanced over their shoulder.

As the figure crossed under one of the lamps that lit the winding stone path, the breath hitched in Emrys' throat. It wasn't just any night wanderer. She was unmistakable—a mid-twenties woman with auburn hair, wide eyes, and purpose in her step.

Perhaps it was the fogginess of his brain that made him slow to perceive her actions, but it wasn't until she was halfway to the park's center that Emrys realized where she was headed.

The Guardian.

Emrys scrambled to his feet, and the vertigo nearly sent him crashing back to the pavement. He latched onto the archway for dear life.

Rustling leaves broke the midnight silence. His gaze wandered to the western end of the park, where a four-legged shadow stalked through the rose of sharon bushes just beyond the fence.

Before he could react, the animal burst forth in a splay of leaves and petals: a massive, cat-like creature—nearly six feet on all fours—with splotches of black and red marring its tan fur.

The Dreadfiend.

And it was headed for the woman he was meant to protect.

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