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“It will make my success that much sweeter when I deliver my Mistress’s prize along with your head,” the cursed one snarled, his voice less sure than it had been before. Gwendolyn whimpered in pain as he pressed the dagger further against her neck, working himself up for what was about to come.
Sirus didn’t want Gwendolyn to witness what was to unfold, but he wouldn’t refrain. His blood ran hot with anticipation, with the need to spill another’s. This was who he truly was. This was when his hunger was meant to be let free. His teeth ground. His eyes fell to her for a second. The taste of her skin lingered on his tongue, and he didn’t wish it away. He used it to goad his hunger further.
Sirus’s pulse quickened. “If you want my head,” he said coolly, his eyes shifting back to his enemy. “Come and fetch it.”
Aldor flashed a determined grin. “Gladly.”
* * *
The clattering swords, mixed with the hum of whispers, were so loud Gwen’s head spun. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the ground to her hands and knees. A trickle of blood fell down her forehead. She’d hit her head when she’d been shoved out of the way.
There was a growl of pain behind her. With panic, she spun around to see who it had come from. Their movements were fast in the hazy darkness. Swords flashed and clanged in the dim light. She couldn’t tell who was winning. What was happening.
Gwen’s head throbbed as she tried to focus. The voices were so loud—she didn’t know what they were or where they came from. She could feel their eagerness. They were eating this whole thing up.
She tried to think. She needed to do something. To help Sirus.
A sound she could only guess was metal slicing through skin echoed through the round room, followed by a loud snarl of pain. She winced as something sprayed across her face. Gwen wiped her cheek, and her chest fell hollow. Blood smeared the tips of her fingers.
All the sounds cascaded over her like a tidal wave. She felt weak as she stood. Like she’d been drained of her energy. But she had to do something—anything.
This was all her fault.
Gwen ran to Levian’s mirror as Sirus pushed Aldor further into the shadows, away from her. Only her dull, panicked, blood-splattered reflection stared back at her. She rubbed the blood away with the sleeve of her jacket and touched the mirror, hoping it would work again. “Wake up,” she begged. “Please, wake up!”
Nothing.
A sharp growl caused her to spin around. Sirus slid backward out of the shadows and into the center of the room. His eyes were no longer frosted silver but pitch-black. Gwen’s heart lurched into her throat. He looked utterly terrifying.
Sirus’s black eyes were focused solely on Aldor when he reached down, sword still in hand. Dread pooled in her stomach when she saw what he was reaching for. Sirus yanked at the dagger lodged in his gut and dropped the black blade with a clatter onto the stone floor.
Horrified, Gwen watched Aldor stumble out from the darkness with harsh grunts of pain. He was coated in blood and gingerly holding his left arm, which was sliced open. He seemed unfazed by his injuries as he stalked toward Sirus. His eyes shifted to her, and she felt chilled. She’d not seen his eyes until then. They were silvery. Like mirrors.
The voices chattered excitedly as the two men squared off again.
“Feeling well?” Aldor asked Sirus with a small, grunted laugh.
Sirus didn’t appear injured at all, even though she had just watched him pull a dagger out of his stomach. He stood ready, his swords dripping with blood. On the surface, it looked like Sirus was winning, but the cascading voices told her something was wrong.
Aldor stumbled a few steps closer to the far wall, near the intact mirror.
“Tricks won’t save you,” Sirus growled with such dark chill Gwen shuddered.
Her attacker laughed, a trickle of blood spreading over his lips. “They don’t need to save me. They only need to kill you.” He stepped sideways and vanished into the solid, dull mirror.
Sirus snarled, then spun to face her.
Gwen realized she was still standing next to Levian’s mirror a moment too late. Aldor snatched her by the hair and yanked her to him. She shrieked from the sudden pain and cold metal pressed against her throat once again.
Aldor’s hot, panting breaths fell across the top of her head. He stunk of blood and sweat.
“Stay where you are,” Aldor ordered Sirus as he sunk the sword further against her throat. Gwen stifled her cry as the blade cut into her skin.
“She is your prize,” Sirus reminded him. “A prize your mistress desires intact.” The black of his eyes and the dark way he spoke gave her goosebumps. As if he wasn’t himself but something—other.
“Nestra may want her whole, but she will settle for alive—and alive is all I need to get what I want.”
Gwen whimpered as the blade dug deeper. Sirus’s eyes narrowed. He was calculating, she realized. Looking for an opportunity to strike. There wouldn’t be one if she didn’t do something. And there was only one thing she could think to do. She braced herself, threw her hands up, sliding her palms beneath the edge of the blade, and pushed as hard as she could. She screamed under the searing hot pain as his sword sliced into her palms.
