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Another howl rang out, followed by a snarl that had the hair on my arms standing on end. The moans of the infected escalated, and a few fey shouted out a moment before a dark shape bolted into the mass of rotting corpses.
My eyes rounded at the sight of a hellhound in daylight. That wasn’t supposed to happen. They avoided light at all costs. I’d been told that it hurt them, which appeared to be true based on the smoke curling from its black, decaying skin.
It spun around to face the house when it reached the front lawn. Its glowing red gaze whipped up to the roof and fixated on me. A long string of saliva dripped from its pulled-back lips.
Before I could comprehend the hound’s intentions, it launched itself toward us.
Toward me.
Turik pivoted to place himself between me and the hell demon.
“Stop the hound!” Turik yelled, sprinting across the roof at the same time the nearby fey moved to intercept it.
He jumped, and I looked over his shoulder. Two of the fey followed us while the rest held back the monster. The hound’s focus never wavered from me as it thrashed to escape their collective holds.
The melee disappeared from sight as Turik leapt down from the roof. He never paused running when he hit the ground. Infected were everywhere. Two new fey flanked us. An infected rushed at our group, and at the squelching head removal, I pressed my face to Turik’s chest to shield myself from the spatter.
“I trust you,” I said, holding onto him.
Another howl rang out, followed by a round of vicious snarling that abruptly cut off.
“It’s dead!” someone yelled.
Turik jumped again, but as soon as he landed, he stood me on the roof. His fingers pinched my chin and forced my head back. His gaze swept wildly over my face before he began tugging up my sleeves to look at my skin.
Understanding hit me.
“Turik, I’m fine. I wasn’t bitten.”
Rather than speak, he simply tugged me into his arms and held me close.
“Stay there,” another fey called from below. “We will check the rest of the homes.”
Turik continued to hold me with his arms locked tightly around my shoulders.
“Hey,” I said gently, lifting my hands to his waist. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. My hands landed on too much wetness, and I didn’t need to look to know it was blood. If he was that coated…
I stepped back in his hold and looked down at myself. My upper body, shielded by him, wasn’t bad. My shoes and jeans up to mid-calf were a mess, though.
Comprehending the seriousness of the situation, I twisted to look down at the fey.
“Was anyone hurt?” I asked.
“Gyrik and Vorx were, but not as badly as Uan. They will heal,” one of the fey said from below.
“Vorx?” I asked in shock.
Turik’s arm locked around my waist when I tried moving closer to the edge.
“I am here,” a tired voice called. My gaze swept the carnage below until I spotted Vorx sitting on a patch of dead lawn a few houses away. His ripped shirt glistened wetly over his ribs.
I cringed twice over–the first time when I saw the blood and the second time when I saw no one was helping him. Not that I knew how, either. I could slap a Band-Aid on a scrape, and that was about it.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“I will heal.”
