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Darkness had fallen by the time she chained her scooter to a lamppost, the night balmy enough that she was grateful for Danika’s leather jacket keeping her warm as she stood on the dark dock and stared across the Istros.
Slowly, she sank to her knees, bowing her head. “It’s so fucked,” she whispered, hoping the words would carry across the water, to the tombs and mausoleums hidden behind the wall of mist. “It is all so, so fucked, Danika.”
She’d failed. Utterly and completely failed. And Hunt was … he was …
Bryce buried her face in her hands. For a while, the only sounds were the wind hissing through the palms and the lapping of the river against the dock.
“I wish you were here,” Bryce finally allowed herself to say. “Every day, I wish that, but today especially.”
The wind quieted, the palms going still. Even the river seemed to halt.
A chill crept toward her, through her. Every sense, Fae and human, went on alert. She scanned the mists, waiting, praying for a black boat. She was so busy looking that she didn’t see the attack coming.
Didn’t twist to see a kristallos demon leaping from the shadows, jaws open, before it tackled her into the eddying waters.
72
Claws and teeth were everywhere. Ripping at her, snatching her, dragging her down.
The river was pitch-black, and there was no one, no one at all, who’d seen or would know—
Something burned along her arm, and she screamed, water rushing down her throat.
Then the claws splayed. Loosened.
Bryce kicked, shoving blindly away, the surface somewhere—in any direction—oh gods, she was going to pick wrong—
Something grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her away, and she would have screamed if there had been any air left in her lungs—
Air broke around her face, open and fresh, and then there was a male voice at her ear saying, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
She might have sobbed, if she hadn’t spewed water, hadn’t launched into a coughing fit. Hunt had said those words to her, and now Hunt was gone, and the male voice at her ear—Declan Emmet.
Ruhn shouted from a few feet away, “It’s down.”
She thrashed, but Declan held her firm, murmuring, “It’s all right.”
It wasn’t fucking all right. Hunt should have been there. He should have been with her, he should have been freed, and she should have found a way to help him—
It took half a moment for Declan to heave her out of the water. Ruhn, his face grim, hauled her the rest of the way, cursing up a storm while she shuddered on the dock.
“What the fucking fuck,” Tristan Flynn was panting, rifle aimed at the black water, ready to unload a hail of bullets at the slightest ripple.
“Are you all right?” Declan asked, water streaming down his face, red hair plastered to his head.
Bryce drew back into herself enough to survey her body. A gash sliced down her arm, but it had been made with claws, not those venomous teeth. Other slices peppered her, but …
Declan didn’t wait before kneeling before her, hands wreathed in light as he held them over the gash in her arm. It was rare—the Fae healing gift. Not as powerful as the talent of a medwitch, but a valuable strength to possess. She’d never known Dec had the ability.
Ruhn asked, “Why the fuck were you standing on the Black Dock after sundown?”
“I was kneeling,” she muttered.
“Same fucking question.”
She met her brother’s gaze as her wounds healed shut. “I needed a breather.”
Flynn muttered something.
