Scorched

The captain’s usually spotless clothes were torn and blotted with blood.

Perhaps most cruel of all, he was conscious. “My own men did this.” Reynard’s expression hovered somewhere between a grimace and a rueful smile. “You look shocked, demon.”

“I served as a kind of guardsman in my old life. This is shocking.”

“They claimed I let you escape.”

“Yeah, well, just be glad I got away, because I’m here now.” Mac pressed the gold disk against the lock. It flared with light. The mechanism ground with a shrill squeal, and then a clank. The light winked out. He yanked the door open. It came away in a cloud of stone dust, the raw ends of the bars scraping the rocks.

Reynard moved to crawl out, but his limbs refused to obey.

“Hang on.” Mac reached in, grabbing the man’s hip and arm and dragging him forward. Reynard collapsed to his hands and knees, his limbs too stiff and weak to stand. Mac steadied him with one hand. The landing at the top of the stairs was small. A false step would take the captain a long, long way down to the courtyard below.

“Where is the incubus now?” Mac demanded.

Reynard shook his head. “Gone. The others took him to the black lake.”

Damn. They had guessed wrong, come to the wrong place. “When?”

“Not an hour ago.” Reynard grasped the top of the cell door and determinedly got his feet under him.

Mac grabbed the captain’s jacket with one hand and hauled him to a standing position. Reynard wobbled dangerously. He hunched, holding one arm across his stomach.

“I’ll help you stop them if I can.” Reynard said. “Anything to stop Bran.”

“Can you walk?”

“Of course. Just give me a moment.”

Mac kept one hand on Reynard’s shoulder, steadying him. “Do you know where the sorcerer is?”

“Atreus? They took him as well.”

Mac glanced across the courtyard to see Connie, leaning on the rail and watching. It was going to be a slog to get Reynard across the courtyard to join her. Or not. “Hold still.”

“What?”

They rematerialized on the other side of the courtyard. Reynard grabbed the railing with white knuckles. “God’s teeth!”

“Shortcut,” Mac said with a grin, but his smile wilted.

He’d been fooled by the guardsman’s bravado. Connie grabbed Reynard’s arm as he started to slowly collapse. Mac helped her ease him to a sitting position. Connie crouched in front of the captain, then drew back sharply.

She could smell the blood, Mac realized, as he saw her eyes flash silver. Even guardsmen’s blood would catch the notice of a fledgling, and they hadn’t been in the Castle long enough for her hunger to be entirely subdued.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked, one hand over her nose and mouth.

Reynard gave a hollow smile. “I simply need to stretch my legs.”

He said it as casually as a country gentleman about to take a stroll around his estate. The only trace of strain he showed was a deepening of the lines in his face. He barely let the discomfort reach his eyes, but then he pressed his hand to his stomach. Blood seeped over his fingers, making tiny rivulets over his skin.

“On second thought, perhaps you should leave me,” Reynard said.

“If I leave you here, you’ll be dead meat,” Mac said, frowning down at him. With short, efficient movements, he bent and pulled open the captain’s jacket, then tore open the fine cotton shirt beneath. Mac caught his breath. “Sword wound?”

“Bran’s ax.”

Mac felt his gorge rising for the second time that morning. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of rock, paper, scissors?”

Chapter 26

What in Hades? The smell was the first thing Alessandro noticed. A stink like melting rubber, cloying to the nose and bitter as it reached the back of the tongue.

He crept down the hall, the dark arch of the stonework growing inky with shadow as he navigated the curve of the corridor. It took him a moment to place what was wrong.

The ever-burning torches were dead. That can’t be good.

Without light, the stench seemed thicker. Or maybe the smell was simply growing worse. He approached the darkness step by step, using his ears and the feel of the air against his face to navigate. His right sleeve brushed against the stones of the wall, giving him one boundary of the corridor. If he kept the wall within reach, he could reverse his path if needed. The black, lightless space ahead seemed to pulse against his skin. Nerves prickled across his shoulders, down the backs of his arms.

If the torches are extinguished, then the Castle’s magic is dead here. Or else there is something so powerful that it has overwhelmed the light.

He froze, reacting to a noise before he realized he’d heard it. The echo of his boots faded to silence. Faint as a whispered oath, something scraped, a long, slow drag over the stones. Statue-still, he listened, waiting. It was a full minute before he heard it again.

Alessandro tried to put an image to what his senses were telling him, but failed. The impenetrable blackness ahead gave no clues. The foul smell gusted on a waft of hot air that felt unpleasantly like an exhaled breath.

Whatever waits ahead is far too close.

He heard another noise, this time behind him. Trapped! Alessandro pressed his back to the stone wall, his sword raised. To his right was the unseen menace; to his left was a thin wash of light from where the torches still burned, barely enough for even his predator’s eyes. The bend in the corridor obscured whatever lay beyond the curve. He was caught between two unknowns.

Wonderful.

An indistinct shape detached itself from the mottled shadows, sliding like oil into the middle of the corridor. He recognized the silhouette by the size and posture. Ashe. Is she taking advantage of the confusion to finish her execution job? He saw her pause, felt her scrutiny.

There was no way he would make this easy for her. He shifted his hands on the sword hilt and waited, letting her come to him. His flexed his knees, his weight ready to lend force to a quick sweep of the blade. It was a technique he’d used time and again as the queen’s executioner. A swift blow to separate the head from the body —merciful and final.

At the same time, he heard the scrape from the darkness to his right. Tension crawled up his skin, a live current. The stink clogged the corridor, nearly making him gag.

Ashe ghosted forward. She moved nearly as silently as he did, making it almost accidental that he heard her. Stopping outside the reach of his blade, she reached out, her hand bracing against the wall, her shoulders oddly hunched. She’s still in pain from her battle with the sorcerer.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, taking a quick glance toward the darkness.

“There’s something down there,” she said. “Something big.”

“I know. It’s blocking the way out.”

“The hounds are trapped back there?” she asked.

“They’re females and children.”

“I know. Kids. Puppies. Whatever.”

“What are you doing here, Ashe?”

“I’ve been scouting for Lore. I came down this way because I thought it would be safer. There’re guardsmen galore due west of here. I can’t get past.”

She took a few steps forward. His sword twitched, and she froze.