E’s voice cuts through the silence. “Max.”
I keep my gaze riveted on my ex-fiancé and catch the curl of his upper lip, the tremors in his hands. He doesn’t look sad but downright terrified of me. Disgusted, even.
He never loved me—not really—and right now, I’m not sure I ever loved him. If that’s what archers do with their flimsy love arrows, it’s a cruel trick indeed.
“Max,” E insists.
My attention slips away from Lachlan.
E’s bright reflection blurs as mist curls along the edges of the mirror. At first, a thin sheen of moisture clings to the far side of the glass, droplets settling like dew behind it. Then they begin to slide down, gathering momentum and weight as they seep through to my side.
“Fuck.”
A cloud of mist flumes down the frame and spills across the tile floor. The smell of cold earth and rot assaults my nostrils. The air thins, making each new inhale harder than the last. The cramped fitting room closes in around me like a coffin steadily filling with smoke.
A claw glides out of the mirror. Hooked. Bone-white. Searching.
Another follows it, then an impossibly long arm, the skin stretched tight over protruding tendons. The emaciated frame steps through, its faceless head sweeping the room to sniff out its prey.
A sickening wave rolls through my stomach. Monsters are never far behind when I’m involved. I dragged these innocent people into a nightmare because I wanted to see myself in a wedding dress I ended up burning to dust. Bridal shops are meant for happy tears and champagne, not bloodshed.
“Run, little fox,” E orders.
Lachlan stands stock-still, eyes wide, mouth parted in a silent cry that never forms. The creature doesn’t even look at him. It steps forward with a predatory tilt of its head, focused entirely on me.
It wants me. Only me.
Chapter 17
Phantom
MAX
Iburst from the changing room into the shop floor, and the boutique windows fog in an instant. White plumes roll across the glass, swallowing the cozy street beyond until the outside world vanishes. Mist spills from the mirrors at the far end of the bridal shop as a reaver climbs out of the sceawere near the register. Then another. And another.
Fog gathers above the glittering white dresses and mannequins, sweeping over the glossy ceramic tiles and skimming the trains of the gowns along the walls.
The clerks and brides who were chattering moments ago now lie scattered across the carpet, curled on their sides. Their chests rise and fall peacefully, so I figure they’re not dead—just sleeping, or otherwise unconscious.
I’m glad they won’t suffer the consequences of my foolery or witness my death. Memories of that fateful night—when Kerri died, when my life shifted for good—come rushing back. One brutal blow to the stomach, and she went down. There was so much blood.
My pulse swirls as I dig my heels into the ground, scanning for an exit—for a way out. They’re not that fast. I’ve outrun them once before. I might be able to do it again.
The faceless creatures form a circle around me, leaving a few feet between us but cutting off every escape path. Mist drifts past their cachectic limbs, billowing closer and closer until it skims my skin with a sharp hiss. My flames crawl out to meet it with a silent roar.
Out of instinct, I send a lash of fire forward. Droplets of water evaporate on contact, but the dent I made in the wall of fog is quickly smoothed over by another wave.
The reavers all take one step forward, closing the circle. I join my hands together and retaliate with a stronger burst of flames. The paper-thin skin of the two reavers standing directly in front of me catches fire. For a moment, it looks as though their dehydrated bodies, brittle and dry as kindling, are about to burst into flames, but the mist thickens behind them and snuffs out the fire.
I’d have to summon the heat of an inferno to harm them in a meaningful way.
They’re close enough now that I can see the pores of their grimy skin. A small, sunken dip remains where their eye socket should be. Their throats cave inward, hollow and papery, revealing the bones underneath. Their mummified hands hang from thin wrists, their knuckles swollen, and their claws cracked and yellowed.
The one in front of me lunges forward with its claws out. I grit my teeth, bracing for impact, but the reaver’s hand slams into an invisible wall.It stops cold, its wrist hanging at an unnatural angle, every single one of its fingers bent and broken.
I hold my breath as an orb of light blooms on either side of me. It’s almost translucent, yet a rainbow of colors still shimmers across it from the impact.
The reavers skitter forward, their claws clicking against the surface as they test my new shield with quick, sharp taps. The orb doesn’t even flicker this time, the bubble of warmth and sunlight holding the faceless men at bay.
