It almost looks like this place has a red aura.
Henry presses one finger to my lips in the signal to be quiet. I stare into the darkened forest to our right.
Henry sniffs the air, and his whole body goes rigid as a low hiss rises from somewhere deep in the underbrush.
“Go!” he shouts.
Carter and Bryce lead the way, taking off at a full gallop, no longer concerned about making noise. The time for caution is gone. Now we’re riding for our lives from some invisible force in the forest.
My heart pounds. I pull off my gloves and shove them in my pocket. My hands itch for a weapon, but I’m too afraid to drop my dagger in my nervousness. Henry fumbles in his pocket and then shoves a glass vial into my hand.
“Hold this.”
Henry yanks off his gloves and shoves them in his pockets. He unsheathes a vicious-looking sword and slows the horse. “Uncork it and pour it over the blade.”
I do as he says, with considerable difficulty at our pace, dribbling the liquid haphazardly over the blade. “What is it?”
“Well water,” he says, urging the horse on faster.
Our mount is steadier than I expected, but I place a hand on his neck anyway.
“Hold on,” Henry says.
I’ve learned about our history and the magic of the Drained Wood since I was a child, but reading a story in a book or hearing it around a campfire doesn’t do justice to the horror of hearing the deafening rush of the current of blood mist.
In the pub tales I’ve heard, it’s a magical current that flows throughthe Drained Wood in a seemingly random pattern, always with a horde of Drained coming just behind it. In reality, the mist rushes in like a furious river, giving me no time to orient to the path ahead before the red haze blocks out everything.
The air smells like iron and salt. I lean back into Henry, fighting against the suffocating smell of blood.
“Just breathe. We just need to stay on the horse and keep riding. But fear attracts them and your heart is pounding. Just take a breath,” Henry says.
“How do you?—”
He shifts, and I realize I’ve grabbed his hand. “I can feel your heart in your hand.”
A startled laugh bubbles out of me at the thought of ever offering my heart to a man so freely. The laugh is cut short when something barrels into me from the right.
Henry curls around me, taking the brunt of the impact as we crash to the forest floor. I roll off of him and press up to a seat.
He’s on his feet in a second, turning in a slow circle with his sword at the ready. I stand and reach for my dagger. The moment my fingers brush the cool metal hilt, sharp claws curl around my wrist, and I’m dragged toward my bloody death.
14
HENRY
All sense of strategy flies out the window the moment Harlow yelps and gets dragged into the mist. I follow the sound of her struggle.
I hate that I could track her by scent alone—hate that I can smell the hint of my laundry soap mixed in with her floral perfume. Mostly, I hate that I’m following her more out of a sense of possessiveness than duty.
I should be thinking about what they’ll say back at home if I can’t even protect my fiancée on one trip through the Drained Wood. Instead, I’m thinking about one of those things touching her—and it’s making me furious.
I run faster through the mist. “Harlow?”
There’s a grunt and then the snap of teeth, and my blood runs cold. I sprint toward the sound and nearly stumble over Harlow.
She’s splayed on the ground, blood sprayed across her face and neck. Panic twists in my throat as the gray-skinned beast above her snaps its teeth in her face, right as she plunges her dagger up through its chin. The beast shudders and collapses on top of her. Harlow rolls it off of her.
I look her over as she rises to her feet.
