“About two hours. I’m waiting until I hear back from Demitrovic. Why do you ask?” Commander Ka inquired.
“I overheard some of Rorick’s men chattering about another disturbance in the Wyldwoods. I may head out for a bit and make sure nothing is amiss.”
“Could just be a touch of paranoia,” my commander reminded me. “Some of those rangers are still young and got real spooked by the attack. That Leshy was the first daemon some of ’em had ever seen. But yes, at the very least, you should debrief with whoever’s on patrol right now.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “Will do.”
The rangers on patrol had nothing of interest to report. They were light on coverage, though, and only running circuits within the first fifteen kilometers or so from the Eastern Gate, considering there were no scheduled lectures in the woods today. It made sense, not to spread themselves too thin. That said, Arken and I had been much further into the forest that night when we encountered the Leshy, and I had this morbid, gnawing feeling in the back of my mind…
Despite the fact that protocolsclearly statedthat any venture into dangerous territory required us to move in groups unless otherwise authorized, I decided to take a stroll towards the heart of the Wyldwoods. Alone.
And I didn’t have to go very far to realize that something was very,verywrong.
I could sense it within minutes—a low, pulsating wave of dark aether, a tear between worlds that hadn’t been properly closed. The tenebrous energy of the void, leaching out into the atmosphere. The hair on the back of my neck rose.
Shit.
Hackles immediately raised, I whipped my head around furiously looking for the source, seeing nothing among the trees that could possibly explain that ripple of power that I felt, both foreign and familiar.That wasn’t a daemonic disturbance. That wasblood magick…And not of the native variety.
Where are you?My subconscious hissed as I continued to scan the surrounding area, walking further and further into the woods. Following that pulse.Who are you, and why the fuck are you here?
It didn’t make any sense. The emissary wasn’t due for at least another several months. They had no reason to be here. Whythe fuck could I sense Scáthic magick being used inAemos? And here, of all places? And why in the name of the godsdamned Sourceweren’t they closing their rifts?
Finally, I saw something—a hooded figure in the distance, stepping into a small clearing. I recognized the cloak and immediately knew I had found my target, fury seething in my veins. They hadn’t noticed me yet, so I continued to slink closer and closer—and that was a mistake. They scented me first.
Their head whipped around so quickly that the hood dropped, exposing a mane of silver-white hair pulled back in braids—and pale, familiar eyes filled with a hatred so searing, it almost reminded me of my sire.
That wasn’t just a member of the Scáthic royal guard. That was aRavenhound. One of Prince Caen’spersonal guards. Extremely well-trained, extremely sadistic, andextremelyfar from home.
Berith Apollyon and I locked eyes, the Ravenhound baring his fangs with a low hiss before disappearing into Shadow.
Shit.
Though I immediately gave chase, there were too many routes of escape through these woods, and there was only one way I was going to be able to find the Ravenhound at this rate. Dodging branches and brambles, I sprinted towards the clearing and bit down on my palm hard enough to draw blood.
Still moving, I drew the sigil on the other palm, pulling as much aether towards me as possible, allowing it to fill my lungs like smoke. The power I normally kept buried deep within exploded in my veins, heightening my senses to an extreme degree. I could hear every heartbeat, scent every person wandering within a fifty kilometer radius, blood thrumming in my ears. But there was only one heartbeat, one scent that I was looking for… and I would fucking find it.
Northeast.
My body knew where to go before my mind did, but I quickly caught up. The Ravenhound had fled towards the darkest parts of the wood—the most dangerous.Of course.Shoving my sleeve up my forearm, I drew another sigil with the blood that was still trickling from my palm, took a deep breath, and cut my own rift between worlds.
Following Berith’s scent, it took a total of three excruciating strides through the void to pass through from one point in the Wyldwoods to another. As I exited the rift, I managed to appear right behind the bastard, who froze in place as soon as he sensed my presence.
Gotcha.
“Well, hello there, Berith. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Kieran,” he replied evenly.
I snorted at the intentional informality. The disrespect that would’ve been a crime worthy of death where he was from. Where hebelonged. I cast out my Shadows in thick ropes of binding aether, and within an instant they were crawling up his legs, keeping him in place. Binding him the same way I had kept that damned daemon bound.
The man remained silent, his own Shadows rippling off the dark silver, chitinous looking armor he wore beneath his cloaks. He was attempting to wrest free from mine, but I was stronger.
“Why are youhere, Berith?” I repeated. “An emissary isn’t due for several months, and you sure as Hel aren’t who they’d send tome.”
“That’s none of your business, traitorous filth,” the Ravenhound replied, malice glittering in his eyes.
“It sure the fuck is my business. What bullshit is Caen up to now? And did Dagon sanction it, or is he acting on his own accord?”