Page 53

The threat in the otherwise harmless word was loud and clear. Removed—killed. I pinched my eyes shut and rubbed my temples as she left. My head was starting to pound when Irving returned with another goblet of blood. This time, I didn’t drink slowly, and I found myself racing for to the bathroom to regurgitate it all.

Upon inspection of my alchemy belt, I found that a few of the vials had cracked. My head was pounding, so I took a pain draft and discarded the useless items from my belt. My side table drawers were still closed, the latches on my potion cases locked. I peered inside to see if my mother had taken anything, but nothing was missing. Not the lycan repel. Not the truth serum.

I injected myself with the draft and checked on Nidhogg. I also poured another goblet of blood, but I abandoned it and dragged myself into bed.

The fevers still came that night. And with it were dreams of writhing bodies and intoxicating smells. Golden eyes and adept fingers drew out pleasurable sounds from me, pulling me right from my sleep. I was again a mess of bodily fluids when I awoke. I forced myself into a cool bath, paced my room naked, and fell asleep on the floor.

27

ANTIVENOM

SYLVAN

A scream pierced my dreamless sleep. I scrambled to my feet as it continued. Panicked, incoherent wailing. Blinking, I rushed to the curtains, yanking them back and pulling the window open. I squinted, eyesight sharpening on the street below, landing on a body lying on the ground. I couldn’t tell if they were breathing, but there was blood seeping into the sidewalk, and I was certain flesh was torn. I stepped back, stomach roiling. A lycan attack? Again?

A newcomer joined the shrieking bystander, shouting something about the authorities before running off.

The memories rushed in, leaving me dizzy. My brother’s glowing eyes, his clenched jaw, froth and venom dripping from his maw. There was no getting through to him. Not when the disease had taken over.

He’d chased Clover into the forest the night I’d put him—and her—out of his misery. By sheer luck, I’d managed to distract him, to trick him into turning on me instead, at the cost of his life. I could still feel his blood on my hands, his hot saliva on my face. I could still remember his heart slowing until it stopped altogether.

I hadn’t registered the pain from his claws until I’d returned home, bleeding and limping. The pack was aware of Antoine’s deteriorating state, though I’d tried to hide it until I couldn’t anymore. Still, in the aftermath of his death, it was Clover tending to me through her sobs. Her emotions must’ve been held together by a single thread, because the moment she stepped out of my room, the anguish cleaved through her with visceral strength, her cries barely muffled by the door between us.

There’s no worse sound than the keening of a lycan who’s lost their mate.

It sinks into your very soul and tears it apart.

The wailing on the street below was nothing compared to the sound of that, but it was blood curdling. I remained at the window, hidden in the shadows while my fingers dug into the pane. A crowd slowly gathered, talks of rabid monsters, of beasts, and out of control lycans.

Eventually the authorities arrived, and I hoped to all the gods they wouldn’t search the rooms. I feared they would find me, a lycan, and I would be to blame for simply being.

By the time the scene below cleared, I was trembling. I sank to the ground and wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to calm my nerves. No one had come looking for me. I wasn’t in danger. My brother wasn’t dying all over again.

The rest of the night, I remained awake in the very same position until the room started to brighten. Pulling myself up, I peered up at the pink splashes of color in the dark sky—the beginning of dawn.

In the bathroom, I washed away the horrors of my mind and reminded myself that the past was in the past. I needed to get answers and get the hells back to Sublune Creek.

It was brighter than I would’ve liked it to be by the time I was knocking on Aura’s office door. Moving across the city today with more authorities than usual was daunting, but I’d made it.

“Enter,” Aura called out. There was something in her voice. Something heavy I couldn’t put my finger on. Until I opened the door and she lifted her head.

Her hair was pulled up into a bun as it usually was, but soft waves framed her face. They did nothing to hide the yellowish bruise against her cheek or the speckled blotches like sunburn across her face and down her neck. Her face dropped back to her desk as she dipped her quill into ink and scribbled something furiously in the notebook opened in front of her.

My knees felt like they’d been kicked in, a hot flush driving me toward her in just a few large steps. I set the book I’d brought for her on her desk. “Aura, look at me,” I said.

“I’m busy.”

“Aura.”

She dropped her quill and leaned back in her chair, eyes on me again, and heat thrummed through my veins.

“What happened? Who did this?” I reached out and lightly gripped her chin. She wrenched her face away, her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hardened, and one briefly flickering to gold. Her gaze dropped back to the table, to her fingernails lengthening into claws. She pulled her hands back and hid them from my sight with a panicked look on her face.

I inhaled, reeling in my own blistering anger. “Don’t fear it,” I told her.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She was out of her chair so quickly it fell over. She picked it up and set it down so hard I was surprised the legs didn’t splinter. “It’s too early for this shit. We have work to do.”

“What happened to your face?”