Like poetry in motion, she thought, grimacing at the trite but true comparison.
Mere minutes passed, and no one stood but the three of them—Val, Khent, and Onvyr.
“That was way too fast,” Onvyr complained as he whipped his blade away, flinging blood to the ground.
“And too easy,” Khent murmured, shifting on the balls of his feet as he turned all around. “Where are you, puppeteer? We’re waiting.”
Wait. What? Val had thought the battle challenging enough. The enemy had impressed her, despite the speed of the fight. Watching Onvyr and Khent move had been a thing of beauty.
Awash in the power of the fading souls on the mountaintop, she wasn’t prepared for the form that shimmered to life in the center of the clearing, stepping delicately between bodies.
The robed and hooded creature stood a few heads taller than Khent, slender, a clawed hand clutching a tall staff that had an ungodly glow at its end. A calling of sorts that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Val felt that thumping deep inside, but it couldn’t reach her the way it wanted to, the way it tried to steal back her dryads.
Khent smiled, and the threat in that expression had her flattening back against the tree, its limbs cracking down to wrap around her, dragging her high out of danger, protected by her dryads as well.
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Come to play, necromancer?”
It took her a moment to realize Khent didn’t mean her. But she hadn’t felt another of her kind nearby and still didn’t. The creature holding that staff wasn’t human.
What the hell was it?
It spoke. “Khent of the Night Bloode. Finally, we meet in person.” The creature pulled back its hood. A skeletal face, covered in taut black skin that cracked when it smiled, exposing the fire of life bleeding under those fractured lips.
As if a hint of lava threatened to pour from its mouth.
It had no ears or nose, just a mouth full of sharp teeth and four eyes, one pair on top of the other, no hint of anything but white sclera.
Val didn’t know what she was looking at, not at first. And then Khent spoiled it.
He laughed. “Demon, am I happy to see you. Now the true fun begins.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
As Khent studiedthe figure holding a staff, perhaps the same one stolen from the bazaar, he realized something odd about him.
Demons didn’t command the dead. They tortured and had fun with live prey. They didn’t pilot dead bodies. So why did the scent of necromancer linger?
And nothisnecromancer, but a foreign one.
A glance upward showed Valentine securely in the branches of a tree, protected by dead dryads. Her small flex of power warned him to beware. Valentine might look fragile, but she commanded fierce predators in addition to woodland fae, who could be difficult to control, alive or dead.
But he’d take care of his pretty human later. Right now, he had a demon to conquer. Perhaps a demon hiding a necromancer inside?
Hmm. Did that mean the demon was dead? Could necromancers direct demons? Or was there a simpler answer?
“Well, demon?” Khent asked. “Who is it that possesses the body of this creature? Because you are not some lowly four-eyes.”
He’d recognized the demon right off. Four-eyes—and no, demons didn’t have a lot of creativity in their naming systems—could be considered killing machines against humans and weaker magir. The toxins in their claws paralyzed, and they could sometimes mesmerize if one looked too long into their many eyes.
But against a reaper? Not even half a challenge. Yet, the magical signature riding it didn’t match the typical demon.
It laughed. “Smart. But then, of course you would be, Khent of the Night Bloode. We know of your skills.”
We?“Then you know you’re not welcome here. And that I can’t let you leave.”
