She was starting to understand Leviathan, the story they were trying to spread. It was an unbridled fury directed at the Maravish royal family, as broken and chaotic as the remains of the wolf pendant.
This wasn’t about her; this was about Ellie’s family—and Lottie had to get out of here. She had to escape and figure out why Claude would do this. She had to find out the truth about the Wolfsons. And to do that she needed to cut herself free.
Lottie leaned forward, Ingrid’s hands still wrapped in her hair, pulling and twisting and screeching. She reached to awaken her sword. With one swift movement she swept upward, just missing the tips of Ingrid’s fingers, and sliced through her own hair.
Free.
Ingrid fell backward, losing her grip, wheat-colored hair slipping through her fingers. There was so much of it, Lottie’s golden coils, knots of memories and experiences, everything she thought she understood fluttering down to the ground. And then she ran.
She ran and the woodland flew past her. She ran and the world zipped out of view. She ran and did not look back, not for a second, not for anything. It was the fastest she’d ever moved in her life, and every step of the way she could hear the growling, screeching monster behind her. Exposed roots and slippery moss threatened to trip her, but her feet missed them, the branches and brambles swaying out of her way, a path unwinding in front of her.
Her chest began to ache, her wrist and cheek throbbing, but she kept thundering through the trees.
She was faster than Ingrid! The moment she saw light ahead, the thought that she really had escaped burst in her head, a wash of relief so powerful that it sent tears down her face. But she wasn’t clear yet; Ingrid was still on her tail, an erratic thrashing and cursing at her ankles.
Just a little farther.
The light through the trees was so close now, but there was something coming toward her: a person she knew so well. An angel come to save her.
Just a little farther.
Twigs snapped and the ground crunched as she gave one last furious push.
The familiar scent of cinnamon flooded her nose, and she barreled into the dark-clad figure, gentle arms wrapping around her.
Panting, she looked up into two golden eyes, stars on the top of a great mountain. Jamie’s eyes. Wonderful, miraculous Jamie.
“Get behind me,” he growled.
37
WHAT HAD LED HIM TO take his run in the Rose Wood? Jamie couldn’t say for sure.
It was an itching feeling that the school couldn’t contain him, that he needed to be somewhere wild, somewhere as chaotic as he felt.
He’d heard it before he saw it, a feral screeching, a terrible beast chasing its prey, and he knew that sound; he’d heard it before.
Lottie!
There was nothing else in his mind, every Partizan instinct taking over, making him take off like a charging bull. Only she didn’t need saving; she was coming directly to him. She’d already saved herself.
Lottie bolted through the woodland faster than he’d ever seen her run, her full force colliding with him, and a sword to rival Kou’s glowing in her hand, but that wasn’t the strangest thing of all.
Her hair was gone. Her golden tangle of locks had vanished. It was now a short crop that fell just above her jawline, a messy halo coiling at the ends like ribbon, practical but chaotic and clearly done with a blade. Jamie’s blood began to boil, and as Lottie moved behind him he felt his muscles twitching, that same deadly fury he’d felt on the rooftop in Tokyo crawling through him.
“Get behind me,” he growled, his voice barely recognizable.
Tearing toward them through the Rose Wood, quivering and panting, was a terrible monster.
Ingrid looked far worse than Lottie. Her skin was etched with purple welts and bruises; crusted blood smeared her face and loose bandages dangled from her wrists. And her eyes were cold and manic and capable of awful things.
He knew this fight would be easy. Ingrid was exhausted and unstable, and he should have simply subdued her, but one look back at Lottie, and Jamie found he wasn’t feeling so merciful.
But what he didn’t expect was for Lottie to make the first move, marching forward to hold the sword out beside him. She was holding it completely wrong, but he didn’t stop her.
“Together,” she whispered, her racked breathing taut with determination. “Ingrid,” she said. “This is not a fight you can win. Go back.”
Lottie took another step forward, holding Ingrid in place with her fiery eyes.
“Disgusting!” The noise that came out of Ingrid’s throat was more like gravel than a human voice. “If you knew anything at all, you’d both come with me.”
“Is it just you?” Jamie asked, attempting to step in front of Lottie again.
“I should damn well hope so,” Ingrid cackled.
She reached into her jacket for a knife, her movement slow and languid, chest rising and shrinking with the effort. Jamie decided it was time to put an end to this whole thing, the anger burning through him like lava.
“She’s not our enemy, Jamie,” Lottie beseeched him, tears stinging her eyes. “It’s not her we need to take down.”
Her hand clutched the wolf pendant, and even with her muddied clothes, the wounds Ingrid had given her and the loss of her hair, Lottie stood tall, unwavering and concerned. Not for herself but for him and probably Ingrid too, despite everything she’d done to her. And she was right. This was why he’d never be satisfied taking down Ingrid. This was why nothing made him feel better. Because she was just a pawn, and he needed to go after the leader.
Turning back to Ingrid, he felt like he truly saw her for the first time, how Lottie saw her—a scared, pathetic kid.
“You, keep your mouth shut!” Screaming, Ingrid held her knife up, preparing to
