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I tightened my hold on Lyra’s hand, forcing my attention forward, and quickened our steps toward the back side of the palace.

Slats made of stained blackwood coated the rooftops. Points and peaks reached toward the dawn like gnarled teeth seeking to bite a piece of the sky. There were not as many turrets and towers as at Stonegate, but the walls were sturdy, made of thick beams and heavy rock.

When we reached the rear gates, a whistle broke over the shouts of those greeting the Dark Watch. A deliberate tune, one meant to be used for a certain command.

I held out an arm, blocking Lyra from continuing. Deep, raw snarls rolled down the stone steps beyond the gates, and rumbling growls came from the trees on all sides like echoes of a nightmare.

Gods, no. In one swift movement, I shoved Lyra behind me and yanked a dagger from the sheath on my thigh.

Her eyes widened when she peered over my shoulder. A line of gray, wiry fur raised over large forelegs, and the whip of swishing tails behind clawed haunches came into view.

The fara wolves tracking us in the trees surrounded us from the sides, and ahead two more emerged from behind the palace walls. No less than a dozen. Too many wolves to calm alone. Too many to slaughter with the blade in my hand.

I rolled the dagger in my grip, point down. I could fight long enough for Lyra to run. She was swift and might make it beyond the gates, back through the wood. She might even be able to hide in the ravines until she could find her way to the Night Ledges.

The lead wolf snapped its jaws. I returned a narrow glance. She would live, even if I did not.

I patted Lyra’s hip without turning around and gestured the word Run against her tunic.

She merely dug her fingernails deeper into my arms. “Roark, no.”

Stubborn, foolish woman. Jaw tight, I relented my command for a moment when the first wolf padded its heavy paw down the steps. The familiar prickle of frigid craft rippled over my skin. The taste of smoke and ash coated my tongue. In the corners of my eyes, layers of shadows took form around us.

Even with Skul Drek’s aid, I was not certain I could handle so many beasts before they attacked.

Lyra would run even if I had to shove her down the road myself. But as for me, this would be the final, brutal welcome of the banished Draven prince.

6

Lyra

Darkness cloaked my shoulders, caressing my skin with a cold, velvet touch. Skul Drek did not take shape, more like his essence bled from Roark’s body and encircled me.

Not himself.

The stubborn, relentless fool shoved me behind him, ensuring his darkness formed a strange barrier around me, then gripped his dagger with his other hand.

He was trying to force me to leave him, much the same as the first time the fara wolf came into the Phantom Forest.

One wolf was vastly different from twelve.

I crouched down and plucked a jagged stone from the ground. A pitiful weapon, but I’d lost any blade worth using. Instinct roared at me to run, to save my damn neck, but something deeper, something darker kept my stance planted at the side of Roark Ashwood.

If he fell, I fell.

The looming battle brightened his eyes to a fiery gold. A low growl rolled from his throat, but when he seemed to realize I was not moving, Roark whirled back to the line of wolves, blade out.

Fangs bared, fur raised, the pack prowled nearer, some drifting to the sides like the wolves were preparing to form a circle around us to trap us in. One beast snapped its jaws my way. I lifted the stone overhead, readying to throw, knowing in the back of my mind that my worthless weapon would offer me one potential shot against one damn wolf.

Roark could at least slash several before they tore out his throat. Perhaps he might even get away from it all. Unbidden, the thought drew a small grin. Perhaps he could find a way to finally be free.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I looked down. Roark had one palm on my hip. He kept tapping in threes, pausing, then beginning again. Mine. A final claim. Only then did I know that Roark could not see a way free from the wolves. He wanted me to feel that his last thoughts were of me.

No mistake, this had been his mother’s plan all along. Draw me beyond the gate, then tear me apart.

I didn’t believe she anticipated such a fate for her son, but because the bastard refused to leave my side, he would fall too.