“You are mine.”
The words stop me.
I didn’t expect to hear the possessiveness in Iris’s tone. She always struck me as someone who valued freedom, especiallyfor others. However, she’s a necromancer, and I’ve heard their magic can change them, even if only for a while.
Kalix approaches her slowly, cautious not to startle her or the buck.
“Come, my little goddess,” he says gently. “You’ve done enough. Let’s go home.”
He offers his hand but she doesn’t take it. Doesn’t even look at it. Instead, she stares at him. Something fierce and unsettling swirls behind her eyes. Her hand continues to move, calmly petting the buck’s face, even as tension thickens between them, even as it heightens, spreading to where I stand.
Kalix keeps his hand extended. He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Come home,” he whispers like a soft plea. “Come back to me.”
He threads their fingers together. She lets him, but her hand stays limp. The rejection lingers in the space between them.
I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on something intimate. I turn away and head to my horse, slipping my foot into the stirrup.
Pain explodes through me as I’m thrown forward, slammed into the beast’s side. Rough fur meets my face before I hit the ground—hard. This is the third or fourth time today. I’ve lost count.
My horse rears. Hooves crash into the earth around me, quaking the ground like thunder. I curl inward, protecting my ribs to protect any of my vitals from being crushed.
Then, a familiar body wraps around mine.
The thrashing stops and the horse bolts, galloping off into the dark.
I lift my head to find Iris wrapped around me, shielding me with her own body.
“What the fuck is going on?” I rasp, breathless from my heart hammering in my chest.
“We need to move. Right now.Carnium Edax.”
She drags me to my feet and we break into a sprint. Her voice cuts through the dark.
“Fuck!” Iris shouts as her horse takes off.
I look back over my shoulder. Where the buck once lay, a monster now stands.
The Carnium Edax.
Shapeshifting predators that love fresh meat. They take the form of their last kill—luring in their next target under the guise of innocence.
The illusion never lasts, their true forms are gruesome.
The creature is massive, nearly the same size as the buck, but the resemblance ends there.
Its body is thick, built for speed and brute strength. No fur remains, in its place pale, slick skin stretches over bulging muscle, tapering into a grey-black hindquarter like rotting smoke.
It crouches on all fours, claws buried deep in the soil like roots of some ancient, cursed tree.
Its front limbs are worse: twisted cords of tendon wrapped over jagged bone, ending in talon-like points.
Its long neck swivels, sniffling the air through deep slits that stretch up its face.
No eyes, but it doesn’t need them. Everything about them is designed to hunt.
Its jaws open slowly, revealing a forest of needle-like fangs. A black serpent tongue flicks between them, tasting the air.
