Page 38 of Death Will Follow

As if in a trance, Nova reached down and took the shard in her hand. Searing pain pierced her palm, the force of it throwing her onto her back. Gritting her teeth, she fought to open the pouch at her hip. Finally tearing open the flap, Nova shoved her hand inside, still holding the length of broken blade. But the damn thing wouldn’t come loose, as if it were fused to her hand. An extension of her body. Her heartbeat surged, and after a brief struggle, Nova managed to rip her hand free and close the pouch with the shard secured inside. Her chest heaved as she lay on the lake floor for a time, flexing her fingers and waiting for the burning pain to subside.

A sudden gust of wind whipped past her, and she hoisted herself to her feet. Nova spun in the center of the lake, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. The walls of water had begun to close in on her, the pathway back to shore narrowed to less than the width of her shoulders. Before she could react, they collapsed all together, water rushing in to fill the corridor and trapping her in a tunnel roughly five paces wide. Nova tipped her head, staring up through the rushing channel of water surrounding her. Small, dark blots darted like gnats across the round patch of clear sky visible through the opening, but Bryn was nowhere to be found.

The next instant, the water closed in even tighter, the outer rim of the circle only slightly wider than her outstretched arms. Something large cut through the water, a flash of green and black, circling her. She spun to find Mara floating on the other side of the wall of water, watching her.

Up close, the creature’s skin was a mottled green of decay with strips of flesh missing and bone showing through. Long black hair billowed out around her face, revealing a sneer curled on a bloodred mouth and dark, empty sockets where her eyes should be. A rusty crimson stained the creases around her broken fingernails. Mara stabbed a hand through the wall of water, snatching for Nova, but she twisted out of the creature’s reach, gasping as cool water soaked her back and shoulder. The tunnel had shrunken even further.

Mara’s bony fingers seized Nova’s left arm and yanked her forward, her grip cold and clammy through Nova’s sleeve. Swiftly drawing her dagger, she slashed at the creature’s forearm. Mara released her and jerked her hand back through the wall of water, flashing a mouthful of jagged teeth. Before the creature could grab her again, the water swirling tight around Nova froze, creating a narrow shaft of ice leading to the surface.

Switching her dagger to her left hand, she reached into her pouch and grabbed hold of the Kinslayer shard. She cried out as the scorching pain ignited in her hand once more, quickly spreading to her wrist. Plunging both blades into the walls of the frozen tunnel, Nova braced her boots against either side. She pushed past the pain and repeated the process over and over, slowly climbing toward her freedom: the opening at the surface of the lake.

Sixteen

Callan flexed his fingers uselessly once Nova and the others disappeared from view, muttering a curse under his breath. Eager to busy his mind, he checked over Shade and the other two horses, which he’d tethered to a tree. Frost had been left free to wander as he pleased, and the stallion had vanished into the thick jungle. After pacing back and forth for a time and doing a fine job of upsetting the horses, Callan finally squatted down at the base of the tree, leaning back and knocking his head against its solid trunk a few times.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Being separated from Nova when he knew she was traipsing straight into a potentially dangerous situation was a special kind of torture. The uneasy flicker of his intuition spread to his limbs, urging him to take action. He sprang up from the ground, drawing startled snorts from the mounts, and tied his hair back as he strode to the center of the clearing. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Callan drew his sword from the sheath at his back. Exhaling through his mouth, he began to move. As he focused his attention on the precision of his movements, flowing through a series of strikes and blocks, his mind finally quieted. Before he realized it, roughly an hour had passed, the sun having shifted slightly from its apex in the sky.

He completed the final sequence and stood in the clearing, wiping sweat from his brow brought on more by the humidity than the exertion. The horses whinnied nervously and pulled against their leads. Callan glanced around the clearing, noticing then that the songbirds and buzzing insects had gone quiet. He whirled in the direction of the lake, where a swarm of ravens—hundreds of them—circled and dove, dipping below the treetops in the distance.

He thrust his sword into its sheath and whistled sharply, the sudden noise sending a handful of colorful birds scattering into the sky. Frost charged out of the trees, slowing only for an instant as Callan grabbed hold of the saddle and mounted up. They rode hard through the dense forest toward the lake, leaping over roots and dodging hanging limbs.

Frost ground to a halt when they entered the clearing, and Callan slid from the saddle, taking off running as soon as his boots hit the ground. Samira knelt at the lake’s edge, struggling to maintain control of the water as the ravens swarmed her, diving down and pelting her like hailstones. Bryn swooped through the sky, slaying the smaller birds with her talons and dropping their limp bodies into the water.

Callan raised his hands in front of him, a current of frigid air flowing forth toward the water’s edge. A sheet of ice formed at the shoreline, spreading rapidly across the surface of the lake until it reached the center.

“Samira!” Callan shouted over the din of croaking birds. “Help Bryn!”

Relinquishing her hold on the water, Samira conjured a tempest, gathering the remaining ravens with swirling winds and casting them southward until they resembled a faint, dark cloud on the horizon. Callan sprinted across the frozen trail on the surface of the water and threw himself down on his stomach when he reached the center. Peering over the edge, he found Nova scaling the walls of ice, a blade gripped in each fist.

Grasping her under her arms, he hauled her up onto the ice beside him. Her jaw was clamped shut, beads of sweat dripping down her brow. Callan took her face in his hands, searching her for injuries. The muscles in her right arm appeared to be contracted painfully, a fragment of black metal clutched in her hand.

“The shard,” she ground out. “I can’t let it go.”

Without hesitation, he reached for it.

“Don’t touch it—” The warning burst from her lips just as he took hold of the blade.

As gently as he could, Callan peeled her fingers off the weapon one by one until he was able to pull it free. Feeling nothing, he dropped it onto the ice and resumed his inspection of his mate.

Nova cradled her right hand against her chest, breathing heavily and flexing her fingers.

Though her glove was ruined, no wounds marred her skin. Callan retrieved the black blade and stowed it in the pouch at his hip. He shot a glance at the southern horizon. The flock of ravens had vanished; Samira must have succeeded in casting the birds out to sea.

“Let’s get you off the ice,” Callan said, pulling Nova onto her feet. He draped her arm over his shoulder and walked her along the rapidly melting ice bridge to shore.

“You shouldn’t . . . be here,” she said when they reached dry land, her voice a gravelly rasp as she clutched her hand to her chest. Callan nodded, biting back a smile at her decision to scold him given the circumstances. Bryn shifted back to her Fae form and landed on the ground beside Samira, who stood a short distance away.

Callan whistled sharply and Frost trotted to his side. He made to bend down to help Nova mount, but, all at once, a strange sensation flooded his mind. An overwhelming urge.

He straightened to attention, his hands falling to his sides as he turned back to the lake. From the depths of the water, a haunting voice floated on the air, echoing in his head and filling him with an intoxicating mix of urgency and unbridled desire. He managed two stumbling steps toward the water’s edge before a stunning female rose through the surface at the center of the lake, shimmering rivulets cascading down her naked body. She fixed her dark eyes on him, an enticing pout on plump red lips. Long black hair, wet and shining, clung to her curves, the dark strands barely hiding her breasts from view.

Callan couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Her lips parted and she reached for him, beckoning, her voice a haunting lilt stoking the intense, aching need burning within him.

Without hesitation, Callan rushed into the water.

Nova couldn’t mount the horse on her own, not with her hand still burning as if she clutched a live ember in her fist. She’d lifted her foot to settle it into the stirrup, but Callan was suddenly gone from her, facing the water, his head cocked to the side as if he’d heard something.

Nova eyed him warily. “Callan?”