A thunder of footsteps sounded in the hallway behind them as the mammoth guard from earlier sprinted toward them.
“The house is breached, my lady,” he reported. His voice was steady, though Aelin heard the hint of fear in its tone. “We need to get you upstairs. Now.”
He grabbed Breila by the arm, dragging her up the stairs. Aelin leapt after him as the madam struggled to keep her feet on the ground.
The shattering sound of glass crackled from above. The sounds of panic, alarm and war cries of rage were much closer. Aelin heard the splash of blood on the walls. He cringed at the slapping of flesh upon the floor.
The screams from the exterior and the first floor quieted, though the sound of steel striking something hard registered that her guards still battled on.
A frantic scream of agony ripped from the upper floor. There was a clanging of metal as a blade bounced off the floor.
Without warning, the shredded body of a guard slammed into the wall at the top of the stairs. Blood sprayed outward as the desiccated corpse slid to the floor. A stream of thick crimson oozed down the stairs, forming a small waterfall and a muffled splatter as if poured from the step, soaking into the thick carpeting.
Tarik stopped Breila, growling as he stalked up the stairs. The steady click and scrape of claws across the tile floor increased in volume as it moved toward the stairwell. Aelin squeezed next to Breila, her presence a comfort to the fear that threatened to paralyze him. The guard advanced up another step, his approach muffled by the soft shag of the stairs.
The clicking neared the corner of the stairs. Tarik bounded up the last few steps, ducking as he led with a vicious swing of his sword. He jumped back a step, bringing the blade back in defense.
His actions, though valiant, were futile. A black shape streaked around his side. It moved so quickly, he could muster no defense. It grabbed a hold of his head, its razor-sharp claws digging in as they spun his body toward the stairs. The snap of his neck was sickening. The demon bit down onto the dead man’s neck, tearing a jagged hunk of flesh off with its mouth. A fountain of red blood pulsed out.
The creature paused for an instant, glaring over the ravaged neck of their would-be protector. Its wide jaws hung open, showing off a mouth full of jagged teeth stained red with fresh blood. A chunk of flesh hung from the corner. Its skin, so deep red it was nearly black, was covered in a sheen of gore. Its presence brought a waft of putrid stench that filled the air. The hatred that poured from its body swelled, though Aelin could sense its anticipation. It growled as its beady eyes appraised its prey.
Aelin grabbed Breila by the hand, pulling her back down the stairs. Only death remained where they stood. The hallway and stairs were lost. Reaching the bedroom where he awoke was their only chance. The roar from the beast at the top of the stairs was deafening.
Sheer panic spurred him onward. Every step came with a dread that filled his body, weighing him down. Risking a glance, he turned his head, assured that his doom was upon him.
He cried in warning, though it was too late. The beast had tossed the corpse of Tarik toward its fleeing prey. In life, the guard, roughly the size of Zed, had been a giant. Aelin did his best to brace himself, to shield Breila from the force of the weight. There was little he could do.
The body fell on him, carrying his strong but small frame backward into Breila. She screamed as the dead weight toppled them, pinning their bodies to the ground. Aelin was on his back, the chest of the corpse, the bulk of its weight, resting squarely on his chest. His arms struggled to free themselves from under his solid frame. He felt the warm blood soak into his clothes as the pool grew around him.
At his side, Breila struggled against the weight. Her lithe figure could do little to move herself from under the man who’d died valiantly protecting her. Ironically, his failed protection would now seal their doom.
The beast gnashed its teeth together as it slurped the last of the flesh into its mouth. Two steps at a time, it descended the stairs. The razor-sharp claws on its feet tore long strips in the soft carpet.
A scream echoed from the hall behind them, ending in a wet gurgle.
Silence followed.
The Horde leapt down the last few steps, landing awkwardly on the tile floor. Its clawed feet slipped, squealing as they cut deep gouges into the slick, polished stone. It fell forward, catching itself with a hand. Its weight landed squarely on the back of the dead guard pinning them to the ground. Breila whimpered at his side.
The pressure robbed the breath from his lungs. Aelin gasped as he struggled for air. The heft of the dead body and the added pressure from the demon was too much for him.
The beast leaned its head forward, inching closer. The mouth opened wide, nearly splitting its head in half. Row upon row of jagged, pointed teeth greeted him. Aelin fought the bile that threatened to escape his stomach as the putrid odor assailed his senses.
The vile stench of rotting flesh and death mingled with the metallic tang of fresh blood. A line of thick, black, pungent drool slapped on his cheek from the beast above.
Aelin knew his life was over. His abbreviated existence had culminated with cycles of pain. He grinned as he recalled the words Ryl had said. He would die a free man. He had mourned the loss of his friend to the early Harvest. He had celebrated his triumphant return.
Now he was to die without ever seeing him again. He chided himself for not listening. He
