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Our paws smell of dried blood. For a long time, we forgot how it felt to kill like this. We didn’t mean to end up like this but, somehow, stalking the woods to find demons at night has become something of a vocation in the past three weeks.

Perhaps because neither of us knows what else to do. Perhaps because this is the only thing we can do that feels like something instead of nothing.

When the ground opened up and hell bled into our dimension, Snow’s instinct was to run. Mine was too, but even if the S.D.B. and the Army didn’t have the town surrounded, I don’t think I could bring myself to leave Nova.

Whatever remains of her, it is here. The same way Layla is here, and my past is here.

I can’t leave the memory of Nova because, even though everything is different now, even though the worst happened and our darkest fears came true, this place still carries whispers of her.

We catch them on the breeze when we walk too close to the cabin or in our mind when we’re sleeping. We catch them when we veer toward the lake and hear the rush of the falls—not muted, despite what has happened to the town.

We catch them when we remember the caves and the cabin and everything else that happened. But we need to be alone; we learned this after Layla died. The only way we could cope was to be as far away from other people’s emotions as possible.

When we think of Nova, the heavy thud of our grief merges with what we felt when Layla left us. We remember our parents wailing and sobbing, and the heartbreak that seeped from their pores for so many years after.

We cannot bear to be around the boys like that. We cannot bear to see Kole so tormented by his craving for blood that he can barely think straight. We cannot bear to see Luther drinking himself into a stupor every night. We cannot bear to see Tanner sleeping all day because being awake is too painful. We also cannot bear to see the glimmer of hope that still flickers in Sam’s eyes.

We know this is what’s been happening because Rev told us. She found us where she found us the last time, but she promised she wouldn’t give us away. She promised, as long as we took care of ourselves and swore we would come back eventually, she would do her best to stop them looking for us.

So far, she has succeeded. Occasionally, we catch Sam’s scent, but he’s not yet strayed too close to the tunnels. He’s sticking to town, to the cabin, and to the lake because he thinks that’s where we will go. He thinks we want to be where Nova was. In fact, it’s the opposite.

It is easier out here on the edge of town. The only memory we have of this section of woods is the time we charged through the tunnel on the way to Redrock—when we realized where she was being held and went to rescue her from Ragnor.

Back then, we succeeded. Sadly, when it really counted, we did not.

The demons we have killed have been slow and clumsy—almost like zombies, if zombies existed. Half creatures with broken minds that crave human flesh. But now that the town has been sealed off, they’re being driven crazy by their lust for it. They’re turning on supers too. The ones that are left, at least.

No doubt The King is hatching a plan. It surprises me that he hasn’t already broken the barrier; I believe if he really wanted to, he would have. After all, he is the Devil, and nothing can stop the Devil when he is on Earth.

Last night, we caught a Hellhound. It was easier to kill than we imagined it would be. Having gone several days with no real food—because its brothers and its demon cousins have almost stripped the woods of prey—it was weak and slow. We broke its neck. We might have been tempted to eat it ourselves, because we were ravenously hungry too, but it tasted of acid, ash, and rotting flesh, so we did not.

Something catches our nostrils, the same smell. For a moment, we think we’re imagining it, but it grows stronger; another hell beast is in the forest.

We stand slowly and move through the trees. After several weeks alone out here in bear form instead of human form, our white fur is dirty and we are more easily disguised.

We creep up on the hound. It is standing alone in a small clearing, shaking from head to toe. Its head is close to the ground, and it is staring into the bushes ahead as if something is approaching it. Perhaps it is trying to hide itself from its prey—a deer or a rabbit.

Before it has a chance to pounce, we pounce first.

We pin it to the ground with a mighty paw. Our jaws are about to clamp down on its neck when we hear, “Snow, stop. Don’t.”

We look up. Sam is standing in front of us. He is disheveled, his hair and clothes crumpled, and he’s staring at the hellhound with wide eyes.

“It’s not a beast,” Sam stutters.

We unclench our jaws and sit back. The creature does not move, just presses its belly to the ground.

Sam meets Snow’s eyes. “I think it’s Nico.”

19

EVE

“Ragnor’s human pet must be turned.” The King’s voice slides through me like burned butter. Dark, and smooth, and bitter.

“He won’t like it.” I look up at the ceiling. It swirls with a dark red cloud. Only I’m not sure if what I’m seeing really is the ceiling or if the roof is no longer there and I’m looking at the sky.

“Do you think I care what Ragnor likes?” The King turns his inky eyes on me. His skin undulates as if an army of a thousand ants live beneath it.