Page 6 of Death Will Follow

Her hands encircled Nova’s throat, grip tightening like a vise. Nova clawed at her attacker’s forearms. Markings—coiling black snakes—slithered up her arms and under her sleeves then reappeared on the sides of her neck. Desperate, Nova jammed her thumb into the fresh wound on the female’s shoulder, but she didn’t flinch. Her face was entirely void of emotion, no malice, satisfaction, or fear reflected in the bottomless pits of her eyes.

A white mist gathered at the edge of Nova’s vision. All at once, she was a child in the schoolyard again, a sneering boy’s grubby fingers clasped tightly around her throat. She was pinned beneath the lycane, its massive paws crushing the air from her lungs. She grasped the murderous female by the shoulders, the sounds of her own struggle fading until only a droning, high-pitched tone remained. Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding white light, and her attacker flew from the bed, crashing into the vanity mirror before coming to rest on the floor.

The female lay motionless past the foot of the bed as Nova coughed and sputtered, chest heaving as she swallowed as much air as she could. Slowly, her hearing returned, and she registered Lucan and Nox standing in the doorway. Both had weapons drawn, but Lucan kept Nox tucked behind him, a protective arm thrown in front of his mate like a shield. Rushing forward, Lucan seized the female on the floor as Nox joined Nova on the bed, taking her face in his hands and checking her for injuries. Her gaze shot to the female, whose head lolled back as Lucan yanked her up, his fist twisted in the loose fabric of her tattered shirt.

To Nova’s surprise, she looked entirely different than she had only a moment before. Nova held up a hand to stop Lucan from hauling her away. Strands of stringy brown hair stuck to her high cheekbones. She wore a faded sage-green tunic and tattered brown breeches. She was shoeless, the soles of her feet filthy. The markings on her arms and neck weren’t snakes but delicate green vines twining like ivy. Blood stained her upper lip and shoulder.

The intruder came to slowly, eyelids fluttering as she muttered to herself.

“I’m . . . me. I’m me again.” Her eyes, a vibrant mix of brown and green, opened fully after a moment and focused on Nova. “You . . . you freed me.”

Squirming in Lucan’s grasp, the female hissed, taking notice of the wound on her shoulder for the first time. Fresh blood flowed out, the injury agitated by the movement, a blot of red blooming on the fabric of her worn tunic. Nova crawled to the edge of the bed and perched above her. Nox kept hold of Nova’s hand, as if wary of letting her get too close to the stranger.

“Who are you?” Nova asked, her voice a gravelly rasp.

“My name . . .” Her brows pinched together as though she had difficulty recalling her own name. “Is Bryn.”

“What are you doing here?” Lucan demanded, lifting her up by the collar of her shirt.

“Your father,” Bryn panted, ignoring Lucan and locking eyes with Nova. “He sent me here. Sent me to kill you.”

Four

“We must detain her,” Lucan snarled.

He tried to hoist Bryn up onto her feet, but her legs gave out and she fell forward onto her hands and knees. The faint knobs of her spine peeked through her threadbare shirt, her cheeks hollow.

“She’s not well,” Nova argued, sliding off the bed and crouching beside Bryn. “Here, help me get her up.”

Lucan scoffed. “This is ridiculous.” He looked to Nox, no doubt expecting to find agreement.

Nox considered for a brief moment before instructing Lucan to retrieve the stool that lay overturned in the doorway to the bathing chamber. Lucan reluctantly obeyed, slamming the seat down on the floor next to Bryn’s crumpled form.

Nova and her uncle each took an arm and lifted Bryn onto the stool. Lucan threw open the doors of the wardrobe, rummaging through the contents and yanking the sash off a silk robe. He crouched down and tossed his weapon on the floor with a clatter, then hastily gathered Bryn’s hands and pulled them behind her back.

“This isn’t necessary,” Nova protested as he bound Bryn’s wrists and tied them securely to the chair legs. Bryn’s head hung limply in front of her, looking as though a light breeze might topple her.

“Nova,” Lucan chided, his voice tinged with incredulous laughter. “She was trying to kill you. She said so herself.” He gestured wildly at Bryn before raking a hand through his hair.

“Well, she hardly seems capable of it now,” Nova reasoned, though it was mildly touching to see Lucan so concerned for her welfare.

Nox stood before Lucan, laying his hands on the commander’s shoulders. “Calm yourself.”

Lucan’s posture relaxed a degree, eased by Nox’s influence.

“Secure the perimeter of the room if it will make you feel better.”

Lucan jumped at the suggestion, rushing at once to the glass doors and onto the terrace.

“Now that he’s occupied, let’s see what can be done for her,” Nox whispered, lifting Bryn’s chin with one hand and dabbing gently at the blood on her upper lip with a silk handkerchief in the other.

Nova gathered Bryn’s hair and tucked it out of the way to tend to her shoulder. The blade had gone cleanly through the muscle. Though Bryn appeared to be Fae and would likely heal on her own, the wound might take longer to heal in her weakened condition.

Lucan burst back through the terrace doors, shutting them with a bang and closing the latch. He sidled up behind Nova, agitation radiating off of him.

“Do you always sleep with the doors open?” he asked.

“I never considered it might be dangerous,” she replied, annoyed. “There’s a shield around the Estate, for gods’ sakes.”