Once again, I did not speak, and as the knife came free into my palm, it bit into my skin.
Fuck.
I flinched, and Ravena’s eyes shifted to my hand. A cruel smile spread across her face.
“Oh good,” she said. “You are armed. You’ll need it.”
I reared back and threw my blade. It cut through the air toward her, but just as it was about to hit its mark—the very center of her chest—she vanished, and in her place was a familiar face, a noblesse.
“Ciro,” I breathed his name in shock as the knife lodged in his chest. Where had he come from? I thought he was still in Zenovia, but I soon noticed something was wrong. The noblesse was disheveled and dirty, and his mouth, chin, and the front of his robes were covered in thick, crimson blood. He had been feeding.
“Ciro,” I said his name again as he stared, motionless, at the blade jutting from his chest.
My voice drew his gaze, and I wished I’d stayed silent.
As soon as his eyes met mine, I knew I was in trouble. He squatted on the ground and then lunged.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He had been possessed by the mist. I was certain of it.
I managed to dodge his attack, only to feel his clawed hands grip the back of my neck as he twisted to reach for me, and his touched burned. There was nothing I could do against his sheer strength. He lifted me up and tossed me. I landed on the ground, my back cracking against a tree.
I groaned, already feeling tears stain my cheeks. I’d never felt such pain, and yet I moved. I had no choice. I rolled onto my hands and knees, and as I got to my feet, Ciro gripped my throat, lifting me off the ground. Though his touch was like fire and my vision blurred, I still managed to shove my remaining blade into his neck. I tried to cut through the bone and sever his head, but he released me too soon, and I fell to the ground once more, choking and gagging.
I drew in ragged breaths and stood once more, shaking. I watched as Ciro now pulled the blade from his chest. I guess I’d taught whatever possessed him how to use a weapon, and as his dead eyes met mine, he lifted the knife, but before he could strike a fatal blow, something swooped down between us—a bird that transformed into a person.
“Sorin,” I breathed as the vampire manifested, his back to me. All I saw were his powerful muscles working as he swung his blade and beheaded the noblesse who had nearly killed me. As Ciro’s body fell to the ground, my legs gave out.
“No, you don’t,” Sorin said, catching me before I hit.
I stared up at his face, but the dizziness forced me to close my eyes.
I groaned.
“Please don’t tell me you can transform into an owl,” I said.
I heard him laugh, but it was a distant sound, as if he were in a cavern.
“Not an owl, my queen,” he answered quietly. “A falcon.”
I remembered nothing more after that.
*
I woke with my swollen face pressed into the cold, stone floor of a cell.
It took me several moments to gather the strength to lift myself into a sitting position, and even as I did, the ache in my jaw made me light-headed. I wanted to vomit but held it in; opening my mouth would just make everything worse.
I squinted into the darkness and made out the faint, crumpled outline of Adrian.
“No,” I whispered.
He lay on his stomach, hands bound behind his back. He was just out of reach within a cell beside my own. I crawled to him, body shaking, having no energy to expend for breath, much less movement. Still, I managed to reach the bars and used them to pull myself closer, slipping my hand between them. I brushed my fingers over a lock of his hair.
“Adrian.” I whispered his name, broken and full of the blood pooling in my mouth.
He did not wake for a long time, but I sat there and stroked the piece of hair I could reach, and when he finally stirred, I began to cry.
I tried to say his name again, but he stopped me.
“Shh,” he soothed. “I know, my sweet. You cannot help who you are, and I cannot help who I love.”
I jerked awake, inhaling a sharp breath as if I’d just come up for air. My skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making my shift stick to me. I threw off my blankets and then fell back into my pillow.
“I’m safe,” I told myself. “It was a dream. Just a dream.”
But it had felt so real—the cold, rough stone against my skin, the pain and the thick blood in my mouth, the feel of Adrian’s hair against my bruised fingers.
Even now I could feel the claws of guilt twisting in my chest, because though I did not know how, Adrian had been in that cell because of me.