Page 27 of Devoured

She blinks sharply, her irises flickering back to life at once, shimmering bright as sapphires as she looks down at me. “Remember that I am sorry. When all this is over, remember that I did what I could, and I am sorry I lied.” From beneath her soaking-wet long sleeve, she rips out two daggers and whirls around with a growl. Whirls toward a looming presence, a hulking shadow with deep brown eyes and a monstrous set of fangs.

There is a wolf behind her.

There is a werewolf on the field, and I didn’t even notice.

I leap to my feet, forcing my claws to explode from my hands with pure, unfiltered rage, but—Lyra spins the daggers nimbly in her hand. She launches them straight at the werewolf’s chest. At their heart. Silver flashes in the darkness, lit up by another streak of lightning, and the werewolf can do nothing—nothing—as the daggers impale their flesh. The silver sizzles against their skin, and they yelp. A pathetic quiver of a sound before they drop to the earth.

Dead.

No. No no no. Evie and I worked so hard to keep Amethyst alive. Lyra just killed a wolf. One of Cora’s wolves. “Lyra, we… You can’t… She’ll know. Cora will know—”

“Cora already knows who stole her poisoned daggers. Do not worry, Vanessa Hart.” Lyra glances over her shoulder at me, a sly grin on her bleeding lips. “I haven’t implicated you in anything. You still have a chance.” She catches a droplet of rain on her tongue as shouts erupt from the castle doors. “You should run back to your room before they catch you with me.”

“What will they do to you?”

Her voice softens, and a sad exhale spills from her lips. “Run, Vanessa. You don’t want to see what comes next.” She blinks, and a single tear drips down her cheek. “I am so tired of seeing what comes next.”

As the shouting increases, as the rain washes away the scents of Lyra’s fear and pain, I turn my back on her. A few months ago, I would have stayed. I would have fought. I would have made everything so much worse.

Not anymore.

Now I listen, and I run.

I don’t look back, even when the sound of her screams pierces the western turret. Even when the stench of her blood permeates the rain-soaked field. I don’t look back, even when I can’t be sure if they’re torturing Lyra or killing her. All I know is that she screams—until suddenly, she stops.

By the time I return to my room, shivering and wet and enraged, I resolve myself to train. To become stronger, faster, and better than Cora’s werewolves. Better than Cora herself. Otherwise, there is no defeating her.

When I lie in bed, Lyra’s screams echo between my ears, and the stench of blood nauseates me. But I don’t fall asleep, and that’s enough. For now, it has to be enough.

11

CALIX SEVERI

SUNSET SPARKS ON THE CITY OF ST. AUGUSTINE, UNTIL the whole of it appears blazing like a wildfire.

Blazing, and doomed.

Twenty-one werewolves—Cora’s self-proclaimed infantry leaders—prowl through the historic downtown disguised as nothing more than mere mortals. In black pants and sweaters, our hair dripping rain from scattered clouds, we are still visible to the humans surrounding us. They can see us, and we can see them. Which means there will be witnesses, or even victims, to whatever destruction Cora’s current plan will reap. And she will reap it.

Wherever Cora walks—wherever Sin follows—destruction trails behind them like a slow-burning toxin.

Shielding the city as best I can, I stay directly on Cora’s and Sin’s heels. Behind them both, pacing our steps equally, not letting them move an inch away without me right there. It’s all I can do anymore. Just be right there. Just wait and hope I can stop them before they destroy the whole fucking world.

Slitting Cora’s throat would be the simple solution, but I can’t murder Cora without consequence. Regardless of Sin’s loyalty to his loathsome mother and my complicated feelings toward him, I am surrounded by enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to take her place once she’s gone. Cora is both the disease and a symptom of it. I need a proper cure, not a Band-Aid fix.

My knuckles crack as I snarl under my breath. This all started with Sin. His lies. His betrayal.

His fault.

He glances back at me now, brow arched, burgundy eyes darkening on my face. I meet his gaze, unflinching. I will not cower from him, even as he winces away from me.

Sin and I used to share everything.

He used to try to frighten me with ghost stories on stormy nights, always scaring himself instead. So badly that he would sleep at the foot of my bed and beg me to walk him to the bathroom in the darkness.

He used to steal food from the kitchen and sneak us out of the castle so we could gaze at the stars and dream in private. He used to tell me he hated this place, he hated his mother, he hated everything that wasn’t me.

He used to say we would find a way to make this court different, to make it better, together.