“And then what?”
My mind races to conjure whatever might fit in with Viera’s theories. "Injections," I say quickly. "Different concentrations of auric compounds. They... they test how much it takes to achieve different levels of paralysis."
The words taste like poison in my mouth, even as lies. But the hooded figures around the fire lean in closer, hanging on every fabricated detail.
I launch into an elaborate description of fictional protocols rooted in the basic tenets of alchemy. The latter at least, I can talk about forever. Though this is the first time I have an attentive audience for the details. At least at first. I’ve just gotten to the importance of proportions and temperature when Viera puts out her hand to stop me.
"What security measures does the mountain have?”
I open my mouth to spin more horseshit, but my mind blanks. I stare at her, panic rising. “The temperature,” I insist stupidly. “It’s important. Vital.”
"She's stalling," one of the hooded figures says. "Put her under again."
Hands seize my shoulders, ready to force me back into the water. I thrash weakly, my strength nearly spent.
"Wait!" I gasp. "The northern entrance has fewer guards. They rotate shifts at dawn and?—”
Before I can muster another creative thought, shouts erupt from the edge of the tree line, followed by the crash of bodies slamming through the underbrush.
The ritual circle fractures as hooded figures scatter, reaching for weapons. They barely have time to draw swords from beneath billowing ceremonial robes before a contingent of armored guards steps into the firelight.
"By order of Prince Theron," Talyn bellows, his voice cutting through the chaos, "stand down immediately!"
For a moment, everyone freezes and there is just the hiss and crackle of the bonfire, spitting embers into the confusion. Viera’s attention darts from Talyn to me to the two contingents of weapon ready warriors. It only takes her an instant to weigh her options. To make her decision.
"Kill the alchemist," Viera orders, her eyes blazing with calculated resolve. "Don't let them take her alive."
Across the clearing, Logan disappears into thin air.
Chapter 16
Rowan
The hooded figures surge toward me with renewed purpose, no longer concerned with interrogation or answers. A curved dagger flashes in the front male’s grip, the tip aimed straight at my heart and promising a very permanent end to my recent streak of barely surviving impossible situations.
My exhausted body rallies what strength it can, muscles coiling to throw myself sideways. I pitch backward instead, my bare feet slipping on the damp earth. I'm going to die here, I realize. In this clearing, surrounded by flames and fanatics, wearing a torn silk dress and no shoes.
I throw my hands up in a futile gesture to deflect steel with my palms. I can’t.
But apparently, I don't need to.
A blur of motion explodes from my left, black fur and gleaming fangs moving faster than I can track. Logan’s wolf is a battering ram wrapped in fury, slamming into the hooded figure with enough force to send the dagger spinning to the ground—a pair of fingers still gripping the handle.
The beast lands and shoves off the ground, shifting mid-leap back to his fae form. Logan’s powerful arms wrap around mywaist, hauling me against his chest as he rolls us both away from where the other attackers are now converging.
"Stay down little rabbit," he says against my ear, his body a solid wall of protection curved around me. His heart hammers against my back.
"Stop!” Talyn shouts again. “By order of Prince Theron -”
“- Oh shut your mouth.” Viera snaps back. “We are helping Theron you bloody idiot. This is what he wants but can’t order.”
“Be that as it may, the Prince’s orders stand,” Talyn insists, not that Viera’s people are listening to him. Hells, he doesn’t seem to want to listen to himself either. “Lay down your weapons!”
Talyn’s patrol moves in to attack Viera’s cabal of hooded fanatics with grim determination and practiced lethality. Viera snarls something distinctly uncomplimentary about Talyn's parentage, and throws her arms wide, her voice rising in a harsh, guttural chant that makes the air shimmer with malevolent energy.
The ritual fire responds instantly, the flames leaping higher, shifting from orange to a blue-white that burns my eyes to look at.
“What is she?” I ask Logan.
