“He led them into a trap,” he bit out.
Randal and his men… That meant Darien had given them the location of Blackgate Manor because he knew something about this house that no one else did.
Something lived inside it. Something evil.
Something hungry.
With the headset in Max’s hand, Loren could just make out Lace’s voice through the earpiece. “We can barely hear you, Max,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Stand down!”Max’s voice broke. “Lace, do you copy? You need to get out of there. You hear me?” He was breathing hard, eyes alit with terror. “Darien didn’t intend for you guys to follow him. It’s a trap, you hear me?!Darien led them into a trap!”
—
Darien blocked out every thought, every emotion, as he led Randal and his men deeper into Blackgate Manor, through corridors that were black as pitch. The rotted wood floors beneath their feet groaned and flexed with every step.
It had been a long time since he’d set foot in this house. He used to come here as a teenager, back when he had grown so desperate to learn how to use the Sight that he was willing to risk his own life to get his father off his case. To stop Randal from beating his mother into oblivion in the dead of night because of the failures she’d given birth to.
Back before his mother had taken Darien’s training into her own hands and shown him another way. A path of light, not darkness.
Calanthe and her bodyguards had parted ways with them in the Angelthene Underbelly to search for Loren, so only Randal and six of his men were present.
It would be enough. Ithadto be enough.
The shadows were as thick as he remembered them. The darkness wasn’t normal; it was something tangible—somethingother. The shadows belonged to the ancient creature that lived here; the evil spirit that took its time feasting upon a person’s fear before it devoured the body from the inside out. It was not a creature of a Crossroads.
It was something worse. It wasn’t a wish-granter.
It was a death-dealer.
It started with the blood, then the bone. And it finished with the muscle and the tendons and the skin. It was meticulous in the way it ate, for meals were everything to it—the one thing it looked forward to. It was very thorough—and it left nothing behind.
The first guttural roar had Randal’s men slowing to a shuffle.
“What was that?” Randal snapped. Darien could smell his fear; it permeated the air and set his aura to a flickering and muddied glow.
Perfect.
Darien’s voice betrayed nothing as he said simply, “Just a little further now.” His words rippled far and wide down the empty hallways.
They started walking again, the men herding him forward, the muzzles of their guns constantly nudging his back. The deeper they walked, the less those guns prodded him. And as the seconds passed, and the shadows beckoned them deeper into the heart of the house, the scuff of their boots on the floor became hesitant.
A hollow clatter sounded.
The tactical lights mounted upon the guns of Randal and his men swiveled. One of them swore as the light fell upon the floor at their feet, illuminating the horror spread upon it.
Every inch of it was filthy, but not with the blood and bone a person might expect upon stumbling into the lair of a beast.
Instead, the floorboards were littered with clothes and personal belongings—watches and wallets; wedding rings; staves. And hair—lots of hair. The one taste the demon didn’t like.
The shadows wolfed down the glow of the tactical lights, and the room plunged into a darkness that was petrifying and impenetrable. The air was so cold, Darien knew that if he could see his breath, it would be fogging before him.
The first snap of bone cleaved the silence, and the men began to scream.
Darien stood completely still as he stared and stared into that darkness. He did not balk; he did not blink. And he did not flinch—not once.
Not even as his father began begging. Not even as the wet crunch of teeth ripping into flesh swept through the house, and droplets misted the side of his face.
Not even as the towering, horned creature materialized out of the gloom.
