Page 98

Gods. I was jolting at every damn noise. I chuckled, a tremble of nerves, but I released the pack and leaned against a tree, one palm to my brow.

Another twig snapped.

This time, before I had a chance to wheel around, a hood fell over my head and sturdy arms caught me around the waist.

I thrashed and kicked and screamed. One of my heels caught my attacker in what felt like the shin.

“Dammit,” he bit out. “Hurry with it.”

“I’m trying,” a woman hissed, low and muffled, like she spoke through a door.

I screamed behind his hand, my fists pounding over his skin, desperate to find a scratch, anything, to meld his damn fingers together.

In the next moment his hand lifted, only to return again, now scented like smoke and vinegar.

I coughed and choked against the fumes. Little by little, my body grew heavy. As though a wave of fatigue dug into my bones, I could hardly move my foot to kick anymore.

“There,” he said against my ear. “We’ve got you. No more worries, Lyra. All will be well now.”

The voice held a touch of smugness. Almost familiar.

I did not catch sight of my attacker before my mind fell to cold mists of nothing.

31

Roark

The pain began in my skull. An annoyance, but in a matter of moments, the heat of the ache dug into my center. Fierce enough I pounded a fist over my chest, drawing Yanson’s furrowed brow.

“All right?”

Something was wrong. A tumult of emotion rolled through my thoughts, my heart. To my damn cruel soul. Rage. Fear. Betrayal.

I staggered to the window, leaning over the pane, brow to the cold glass. No one in the courtyard seemed amiss. Folk went about their days, avoiding the additional Dark Watch on guard, but no horns sounded danger.

Nothing.

Lyra.

The moment her name filled my thoughts, ice coated every thread of the unseen bond tethering us as one. Like a shrill cry of fear, soul to soul, I knew something had happened to my wife.

I tore from the room, Yanson shouting my name, his hurried steps scrambling over the floorboards. Skin burned along my scar. Hot rage boiled beneath the surface, and the violence of a nature I fought to tame pounded within me, clawing to be free.

When I shoved through the substantial doors near the front of the palace, I gave in to the darkness.

“Dammit. Would you give me some warning?” Yanson stumbled backward. He was a sturdy man, taller than me and even Gunter, but his pale eyes widened at the sight of the monstrous shadows.

It felt as though the rush of bloodlust, larger than was typical, billowed around the deledan soul until my cruelest desires filled the whole of the courtyard.

Folk screamed when Skul Drek strode through the trees and shrubs five paces ahead of me. In the wake of us both, layers of dark mists coated the blooms until they were painted in black deep enough that the sunlight died.

I did not need to command anything; the most wretched edges of my heart knew what it wanted. To find her.

The form of Skul Drek faded and split. Ribbons of darkness curled over the grounds like dark serpents, scouring the edges of the kingdom, searching for the brightness of her soul.

I shoved through the doors of the wolf keep, the heavy iron on the latches pounded against the walls. Wolves in their pens snarled save one—Kyrre stood on his haunches, his tail swishing side to side, but as though the beast sensed the violence rolling in my veins, his lips curled.

“Roark?” Emi peeked around one of the posts. She sat on the fence watching Brynn and Auki teach a group of young ones how to calm a fara.