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The chill that had started on Darien’s neck spread down his spine, a peculiar feeling that made him hesitant to even blink. Did you kill her?
The water rippled again. I helped her cross.
By killing her. There was another ghostly chuckle, this one so quiet, he barely heard it. Did you believe you were helping her?
All souls, whether lost or found, must cross the River when it is their time. How lucky it is that another has come to me tonight. And you are lost, aren’t you, Monster Hunter? So very lost.
His stomach churned at the meaning in the creature’s words—the barely concealed threat.
The creature crooned, Tell me, Monster Hunter. Where is this monster that you’ve come to end?
I’m not certain I’ve found it yet. He kept his tone playful, taunting the creature, as it was taunting him. Are you a monster?
If I answered yes, would you have to kill me?
That depends. Come out. Let me look upon the creature who managed to kill a Crossroads witch.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” The sound reverberated from deep in the gullet of the tunnel—a sentence spoken aloud this time, the voice hoarse and high-pitched.
Darien turned toward the voice, hand drifting toward his gun.
He didn’t even have a chance to pull it out of the holster before the thing was bursting out of the water and launching him into the wall.
—
Darien was thrown into the wall so hard the air was crushed from his lungs. Soil fell from the roof of the tunnel and stung his eyes.
With his chest screaming in agony, it was a miracle he managed to land on his feet in a crouching position. The shift of bones under his boots nearly caused him to lose his footing, but he leaned into the movement, one hand pressed against his aching chest while the other worked at maintaining his balance, fingers splayed in the air at his side.
Years had passed since he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Years, but the memory of how it felt had never left him—the tight burning in his chest that was like razor blades shredding the muscles into a pulp, the battle to draw a single wisp of air as his diaphragm was rendered useless, the way his lungs refused to inflate. Rarely did anyone get the better of him like this. His shock alone was enough to incapacitate him, never mind his sudden inability to breathe.
Bandit was nudging him, silently asking for instructions, but Darien couldn’t even form a reply in his thoughts, nor did he want to. If he had to use Bandit as a form of attack, it would be best if the creature remained unaware of his existence until then.
Another few seconds passed before he was able to suck in a lungful of air. Precious oxygen flooded his airways, easing the burning ache in his chest and throat. He took another breath, chest expanding, and blew it out through his mouth.
Able to focus at last, he drew a pistol from where it was strapped to his thigh and stared into the dark tunnel, watching for any sign of movement.
Where the hell did she go? Using his Sight, he scanned the area as he straightened out of his crouch, bones clacking underfoot, and took the safety off the gun.
The pool of water was still rippling, and the tree roots were still glowing, brighter now than before. They pulsed, shining and then dimming, shining and then dimming.
A shadowy blur came at him from his left, and he dodged the attack right in the nick of time.
But another attack came—this one from behind him—and the gun was knocked out of his grasp. Pain bloomed through his wrist where the monster had struck.
He pulled another gun out of his belt and fired. His aim was precise as ever, but none of the bullets struck true. The thing dodged every round he emptied from three pistols, one after the other. The sound of her screeching and maniacal laughter clawed at his eardrums and rattled his brain in his skull.
As she swept from side to side, leathery wings tearing up a storm that sent debris flying, he managed to catalogue her appearance, sifting through his memory for a breed that fit.
The skin covering her slender form was papery and translucent, her veins and organs visible through it. Her eyes were black, the skin around them webbed with dark lines, a small stone that looked like an onyx stud embedded in the skin of her forehead. Her ears were pointed, her sharp teeth as plentiful as an eel’s. While she looked somewhat like a vampire in hunting form, the spikes protruding from the length of her spine, along with the lack of hair on her head, confirmed she was something different.
She canted her head, her eyes turning wholly white as she assessed him. “Death,” she uttered. Her voice was metallic and distant, and it vibrated through the air like a struck bell. “Death and the dark aura.”
What the fuck? Darien thought.
And then she vanished. There one moment and gone the next, as if she could turn invisible.
That explained how she managed to keep sneaking up on him.
