“You shouldn’t have come here, Krys.” The man who speaks is large and broad and hairy. His eyes glimmer malevolently as he takes a step closer. “I warned you what would happen if you showed up unannounced.”
Krys laughs, though this one is dry and acerbic. “And I warned you what would happen if you crossed me.”
Krys reaches for his back—the way Krystian did during the battle with the hellhounds—and a bow materializes out ofseemingly thin air. He notches a pitch-black arrow and aims it at the man’s chest.
Krystian’s arrows are white, I realize belatedly.
Of course, it’s hard to focus on anything but the shock rooting my feet to the ground.
“Krys,” I whisper, fear sluicing in my stomach.
“Stay behind me,” Krys warns, his tone grave.
Then he lets loose the arrow.
It hits the man square in the chest, causing him to fall back with a cry. Almost immediately, black squiggly lines erupt from the puncture wound and extend in all directions. Screams escape the man’s mouth as his flesh sizzles, turning the color of pitch.
“What the…?” I gawk in disbelief.
“Poisoned arrows,” Krys explains, flashing me a wink over his shoulder. “Not as cool as Krystian’s flesh-eating ones but just as effective.”
A few things happen very, very quickly.
First, the man collapses, his torso and arms completely black, his gaze distant and unseeing, though his chest continues to rise and fall steadily.
Second, someone screams.
Third, one hundred pissed off supernaturals charge at us.
Krys shoots off arrow after arrow, each one hitting its target with expert efficiency.
“Holy fuck.” I back away until I’m flush against the wall, my stomach in knots.
Krys simply laughs, spins out of the way of an approaching vampire, and shoots off another arrow. He seems to have an infinite supply.
With Krys preoccupied with the supernaturals attacking him from the front, he misses the shifter sneaking up behind him, glee lighting up his grotesque, scarred face. The shifter lifts hishand, and the knife he holds catches in the artificial lighting, already stained with blood.
“No!” I scream, lunging forward before my brain can catch up with my body.
The shifter moves at the last second, and instead of hitting his heart like I intended, my dagger lands in his shoulder. He whirls around instantly, his fangs bared and dripping with saliva. I wince, tugging my dagger free.
“Um…oops?” I flash him a sweet smile.
The bastard backhands me across the face, sending me flying.
Pain ricochets through me, and tears burn my eyes.
It occurs to me then that I never felt pain before. Not really. The stones and twigs that scraped my feet in the forest are nothing compared to this. Even Everett’s sword against my throat didn’t hurt this badly.
The shifter advances on me, danger and violence emanating from his golden eyes, and a sliver of fear embeds itself in my heart.
All of the people I’ve stabbed over the years have been incorporeal souls with no way of fighting back. I’m skilled with my dagger, but can I fight off a two-hundred-pound shifter?
I’ll certainly try.
Tightening my grip on my blade, I stagger to my feet, trying to ignore the pain reverberating from my bruised cheek.
Before I can even take a step forward, someone moves in front of me, his body vibrating with barely contained fury.
