Page 84

I shuddered. “Probably especially for blightborn.” I pictured highbloods rioting as they realized that first of all, the blightborn population was strangely shrinking and secondly, they really did get more power from when they slaughtered us like animals.

“We can’t stay here,” Blake said at last. “But where do we go? Did you get any ideas from what you were reading about where Florence could be?”

“No,” I said, my voice small. “But you’re right. I can’t just go to sleep and do nothing.”

At any other time, resting my head on Blake’s chest and enjoying a moment of peace with him would have been more than enough. But with Florence in danger, I couldn’t rest. I didn’t deserve a moment of peace. Not while she …

There was a knock at the door. Blake stiffened instantly.

“I’ll get it.” I was already standing. I crossed the room and opened the door. A highblood man stood in the hall. He was dressed simply and looked to be in his midthirties, but with highbloods looks were always deceiving. He wasn’t a student. And while there was an air of authority to the man, I knew he wasn’t a professor. I’d never seen him at Bloodwing before.

Then I noticed his eyes, a rich golden amber. I’d only seen eyes like that once before. I gripped the doorframe.

The man smiled faintly, like he knew exactly what I must be thinking. “I was hoping it would be you who answered. May I come in? We need to talk.”

Chapter 28

KAGE

Viktor Drakharrow might have been the most powerful high-blood in the land. He was certainly the longest-lived. But that didn’t mean he was the wisest or the most intelligent. Power must rot the mind as surely as it preserved the body. For instance, he’d been foolish enough to take Regan with him. And he’d been stupid enough not to strengthen the fortress he was hiding her in—it was minimally guarded. The outer gates had fallen almost immediately. A handful of guards easily overtaken, poorly prepared, obviously not expecting an attack. Certainly not one from a pack of wolves. They’d had just enough time to scream before the wild pack I’d brought with me tore out their throats. The pack had answered my call without question, their minds brushing against mine like faint sparks. I’d sent half of them into the main building, while the others followed Lysander and me along the exterior.

We’d found a healer and nurse crossing the courtyard. They’d frozen at the sight of us, mouths agape in terror. It hadn’t taken much persuading to get them to tell us where Regan was being kept; the truth had poured out of them like blood.

Now Lysander crouched beside me on the parapet, his coat snapping in the wind. Usually, he smelled calm, but right now I could sense his excitement was barely leashed. Ahead of us stretched a row of tall glass doors. We had a clear view into the room that lay beyond. I caught sight of the flames, and so did the wolves around us. Their hackles rose as they saw the fire and smelled the smoke. Fire meant pain and panic. I spoke to them, mind to mind, trying to quell their fear.

“There,” Lysander said quietly.

Regan was in the midst of the fire. Her feet were bare, her face was pale. Her skin seemed stretched far too tight over her slender bones. She had an arm around a smaller dark-haired woman, helping her rise from a long metal table. Leather straps dangled loose behind them. They turned toward the windows and I saw who Regan was helping: Florence Shen. Behind them, Viktor Drakharrow stood, bellowing orders to guards who were tramping into the room. Everyone seemed focused on the fire and in their haste to put it out had become distracted—everyone but Regan. She moved steadily toward the parapet, propping Florence up at her side. Her jaw was set. But a wall of flames blocked the women’s path.

“Let’s go.” Lysander rose to his feet, pulling out his blade as the wolves growled. They hated fire, but I knew they would do what had to be done.

We crashed through the windows into the room, sending shards of glass flying. The fire barred Lysander’s path, but a wolf could go where he could not. As Lysander and the wild wolves moved around the edge of the fire toward Viktor and the guards, I bolted forward. Glass crunched under my pads as I leaped over the wall of flame. I landed hard on the other side, paws scrabbling, in front of the two fleeing women. In an instant, I’d taken in Regan’s appearance. Her wrists were still bound in heavy chains. The iron had dug deep into the skin, rubbing it raw and leaving it chafed and bloody. She was otherwise clean; Viktor’s underlings had tried to scrub their violations from her skin. But I could see the scars and barely healed cuts peeking from beneath the short white gown she wore. Fresh blood trickled down her forehead. Her lips were split, her cheeks bruised and swollen. I sniffed the air, smelling the scent of charred flesh—she’d been burned as well. She smelled of old blood and new, of fear and fire, and underneath it all, the sickening scent of him.

Behind the two women, I caught the flash of Lysander’s blade and heard a guard scream as he fell. The wolves were tearing the other guards apart in a storm of fur and snapping teeth and bones. I heard Viktor roar with fury as he caught sight of the women through the flames. Then Lysander was on him. Metal flashed.

“Fuck,” I heard Regan say. I looked and saw Florence had sagged against her.

Regan looked at me, then at the flames. I stared back at her, hoping she understood what she had to do. She nodded and moved to lift Florence onto my back. But before she could shift the other girl’s weight, someone else was there. A woman had pushed through the blaze, her skin blistering, eyes wild. Now she shrieked and grabbed at Florence. I glanced at Regan. What the fuck was Professor Wispwood doing here?

It didn’t matter. I growled and leaped, catching her by the shoulders as she tried to pull Florence away. My jaws closed and I shook her—hard. Then I let go. Wispwood flew through the air, hitting the base of a stone arch that sat in one corner of the room, her body making a wet, squelching sound as it landed. In a heartbeat, Regan climbed onto my back and half lifted, half dragged Florence up beside her. A moment later I was running toward the flames.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Regan muttered as I gathered myself. I felt her hunch down, pulling Florence’s prone body with her.

I jumped over the wall of fire. Heat tore at my fur as we cleared the flames. I landed, skidding on broken glass, then bounding through the shattered windows and onto the parapet outside. As Regan slid down with Florence, I turned back. More guards had arrived; Lysander was surrounded. Almost all of the wolves who had entered with him were down. I could make out their broken, bloody shapes. Some burned. Only one remained—a she-wolf, the leader of the pack. She snarled and snapped, guarding Lysander’s side. I growled low as I watched a guard plunge a sword into the wolf’s flank. She let out a high-pitched whimper and sank to the floor.

“You have to go back for him,” Regan whispered.

I turned to her.

She nodded. “Go.” She crouched beside Florence, holding the girl’s head in her lap.

I growled again, hoping she understood the sound for what it was—a vow that I would return quickly—then I headed back to the burning fortress. I raced into the room, skirting the ring of flames. Lysander’s blade flashed. His left arm was wounded, and he held it stiffly at his side. I snarled and leaped, catching the guard whose steel was about to fall against Lysander’s sword before it could come down, ripping him apart before flinging his body against the wall. Two more came at me, blades glinting.

“Kage!” Lysander shouted.

I looked to see Viktor Drakharrow slipping across the room. There was no hesitation. I slashed the two guards with my claws, then sprang, launching across the burning floor, glass and embers tearing at the pads of my paws. Viktor sensed me a fraction too late. He turned, one hand coming up, as I hit him like a ballista bolt. My weight drove him down, and we crashed to the floor together. My jaws clamped down around the back of his skull, teeth biting through skin and hair. Old blood flooded my mouth, corrupted and wrong. I gagged.

Viktor went slack beneath me. Every instinct was screaming for me to finish it. To crush and tear and rend while I had the chance. But Lysander screamed my name, and I looked up.