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The grass.
I looked down. The grass was gray like…like the Rot but soft. I inhaled deeply, recognizing the stale scent of lilacs. My gaze rose, traveling over the thin, wispy weeds that ran along the floor of the Red Woods. The memory of the trees I’d seen when I first entered the Shadowlands formed in my mind. The Dying Woods. Their branches had been gnarled and leafless, and the bark was also gray, a deeper shade of steel, just like these.
Just like those in Lasania infected by the Rot.
“Shit,” I whispered.
How had I not noticed that until now? Was this the Rot? A possible consequence of the deal not being fulfilled? Or was this something else?
A twig snapped, and immediately, I knew it wasn’t Ash or any of his guards. None of them would’ve made a sound. Another crack came, and the smell of stale flowers intensified.
My hand went to where the dagger was sheathed to my thigh as I pushed off the ground and turned around.
The space between the red-leafed trees didn’t look right. I squinted. The shadows there…they were thicker, and they moved forward into the fractured beams of starlight. Dark pants. Waxy skin. Bare skulls and mouths stretched too wide yet stitched closed.
I recognized them immediately.
Hunters.
Chapter 29
My stomach lurched as I darted under a low-hanging, thickly leafed branch. I remained under the limb, hoping they hadn’t seen me, and quickly counted. Five of them. Gods. I stayed completely still as they drifted forward in a vee formation.
What were they doing in the Shadowlands?
Ash had insinuated that they’d been in the mortal realm looking for him. Were they searching for him again? Obviously, they’d found him, but why would they be here?
I made sure I made no sound as I unsheathed the shadowstone dagger. I didn’t want to draw their attention since I never wanted to see their mouths split open ever again.
Reminding myself that Ash had struck against them first, there was a good chance they would keep going even if they had seen me. Not even daring to take a too-deep breath, I watched them move closer. Keep going. Just keep on creepily walking—
The closest Hunter’s head snapped in my direction. The others stopped in unison and turned toward me.
“Shit,” I whispered, straightening. The Hunter who stopped first tilted its head. “Hi…?”
The other four cocked their heads.
“I’m just out for a…stroll,” I continued, grip tightening on the branch. “That’s all. You do whatever it is that you all are doing and—”
The first Hunter stepped forward, reaching for the hilt of the sword strapped across his back. Dammit.
I yanked the limb back and then let go. The branch snapped forward, smacking the Hunter in the face. Staggering back, the creature let out a muffled grunt. I didn’t waste a second. Not after knowing what could come out of the thing’s mouth. I recalled Ash’s instructions. Head or heart. I went for the heart because I didn’t want to be anywhere near that mouth. I darted out from under the branches. Or tried to. My foot snagged on something—an exposed root or rock.
“Dammit!” I stumbled, losing my balance. Throwing out my hand, I planted my palm against the Hunter’s chest to steady myself. His skin felt cold and bloodless, like modeling clay. I shuddered. My touch seemed to affect the creature. His eyes flared wide, and a muffled moan reverberated from him. The others made that same sound as I slammed the dagger deep into the Hunter’s chest. It jerked, making no sound this time. Yanking the dagger free, I turned to the others as the first began to shrivel, collapsing into a fine layer of dust that smelled of stale lilacs.
Four more Hunters. The odds didn’t look great, but I didn’t let panic take hold as I thrust the dagger into the next Hunter’s chest. I whipped around, muscles tensing. None of the creatures reached for their swords now, but they did come at me, and a wild feeling swept through me as adrenaline surged, welcoming the fight. The expenditure of energy. Maybe even the killing. I didn’t know.
But I smiled. “Come on.”
Two advanced, and I shot between them. Twisting, I kicked out, catching one in the chest. The Hunter stumbled as I turned, shoving the dagger into its chest. A cold hand clamped down on my arm. Cringing at the feel of it, I spun sharply, stepping into the Hunter. Its surprisingly sharp fingernails cut into the skin of my arm, drawing blood. I hissed through the sting and slammed my elbow into its chin, knocking its head back. The creature let go, and I stabbed it through the chest extra hard.
As it exploded, I spared my arm a quick glance. Small welts rose from where it had scratched me, beading tiny drops of blood.
“Bastard,” I spat.
