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“Elsewhere.” She dodged his next punch.
Fear filled him at the thought of the raven-faery’s troops going to the Dark King’s home while the Hunt was out.
Go back to the house, he told the Hunt. Protect the Dark King.
He’d never found her easy to fight, but never had her punches and kicks caused him to stagger as they did now. He’d understood that she was growing increasingly powerful, but as she struck him now, he realized that War had become even stronger than she had been when she’d stabbed Irial mere days ago.
I’m sorry, Che. He sent his message through the Hunt. Privacy wasn’t a big concern among them. Protect the Winter Queen. Protect Niall.
Then, he focused all of his attention on the fight he was not winning. He deflected as many blows as connected, but Bananach’s punches were fierce. More bones shattered inside his body.
His own strikes against her were less sure, in part because he still carried bruises from their last encounter, while she seemed untouched by that fight.
He thought they might reach an impasse as they had so many times before—but then Bananach’s talons drove into his chest and ravaged the flesh there. The wet of the injury soaked his shirt. In some distant part of his mind, it occurred to him that this was the sort of injury that could result in bad things.
He stumbled backward.
“The Hunt must be led by a strong Hound,” Bananach crooned.
“I lead.” He forced the words out without allowing a growl of pain to escape as well.
Bananach gouged his stomach, tore it open so that he instinctively covered the wound with one hand. “You did lead, Gabriel-no-more.”
“Che . . . next . . .”
“Fine,” Bananach said. “I’ll kill her next.”
“Not what . . .” Gabriel shook his head to clear away the darkness that threatened. “Not mean . . . that. Chela leads Hunt if I fall.”
Bananach watched as he dropped to his knees. He didn’t collapse completely to the ground. With one hand, he drew a knife from his boot. The other hand covered his bleeding stomach.
He slashed the knife toward her, but she stayed out of reach.
“You used to be a worthy opponent.” She turned her back and walked away, leaving him on the ground, not bothering to give him the dignity of a killing blow. Instead, she turned her back as if he were already dead.
Still on his knees, Gabriel moved toward her, pursuing her as best he could. She didn’t pause.
Hate doing this.
Gabriel let himself slip into that other form, becoming an animal as he so rarely did, sacrificing the part of himself that thought. His body shifted into something that resembled the monstrous offspring of a saber-toothed tiger and an oversized dire wolf. As he did so, he could no longer remember who the bird was, why she mattered, but as he moved he felt his wounds and knew she had made them.
The Gabriel launched himself at her, tasted feather-hair-flesh in his mouth. His claws sank into her shoulder and shredded one of her wings.
The raven-faery screamed.
And the Gabriel pushed her body to the ground. She rolled so that she could strike at him with both beak and talons.
With one paw, he slammed her face to the side, but the necks of bird-things didn’t snap easily that way.
She slashed blindly at his throat with her talons and at the same time drove her other hand into his chest.
The Hound’s eyes closed as he roared, and they did not open again.
Chapter 26
On the other side of Huntsdale, the Dark King looked up as Keenan walked into the warehouse. The Dark King appeared haggard and, for some reason, was wearing only a pair of tattered jeans. His shirt and boots were missing. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Despite his state of dishevelment, he sat quietly smoking a cigarette and staring up at a metal cage.
“I expected the other one,” he said.
