The Keeper of Night (The Keeper of Night #1)(16)

But even more unsettling than the starkness of morning was the feeling of being hunted. I couldn’t see the grim anymore, but I could sense it in the nervous shifting of the trees and the way the shadows wavered, as if someone had disturbed them.

As we crested a small hill, the main gates of the cemetery came into view. Neven’s stride mimicked the confident gait of High Reapers, but his eyes spun colors like carnival lights and gave away his fear.

The cat made a rumbling sound of displeasure and bared his fangs.

“Oliver?” Neven said, hitching the cat higher against his chest.

Oliver hissed and tried to climb Neven’s torso like a tree, his front claws hooking into Neven’s lips.

“Ow! Oliver, stop—”

The cat launched away from Neven in a desperate bid to escape and landed on my shoulder, claws caught in my cloak and scratching at my neck with its hind paws.

“Neven, get your damned cat off of me!” I said, dropping my suitcase and yanking the cat away with both hands, then casting it to the ground.

The air to my right whistled as if something had slashed it in half, then a grim sank its teeth into the cat’s spine and crunched hard. Grims might have been dumb dogs, but they were the fastest creatures I’d ever seen.

“Oliver!” Neven said, rushing forward as the grim shook the cat before tossing it to the side, still crunching on its bones, jowls dripping with blood.

The grim would do the same to Neven, and though it wouldn’t kill him, it would hurt.

I’d dropped my clock somewhere in the dirt to peel the cat away, and though it was still chained to my clothing, I didn’t have time to search for it in the dim light. Instead, I threw myself in front of Neven as the grim spun and launched toward us, its hairy human legs kicking off the ground.

Its teeth sank into my right forearm and sent me crashing back onto Neven, his head smashing into the dirt and my spine crushing into his neck. The pain set in belatedly, dulled by the adrenaline but still sharp and white-hot. The teeth tore through the tendons in my wrist and sank into the bone, leaving my fingers limp and unresponsive.

I felt around for my clock’s silver chain, the fingers on my left hand alarmingly cold and numb as they closed around the thick metal links and pulled hard, tossing my clock into the air above me.

The grim’s eyes caught the sudden blaze of silver and gold in the moonlight, its jaw unhinging with long strands of yellow drool, finally releasing me. That was when my arm started to hurt, blood boiling hot against my chilled skin and tendons screaming as they tried to twist themselves back into place, wriggling like worms deep in my flesh.

The grim opened its mouth to catch my clock, but before it could clamp it between its teeth, I reached out with my left hand and snatched the clock from the air.

The sounds of the cemetery went silent and the grim froze, jaws wide and unbreathing just inches from my face, three rows of jagged teeth and a forked tongue on display.

I felt behind me for Neven, just in case he hadn’t been touching my skin during the time freeze, but he was already rolling out from under me, breathing hard and scrambling for his clock. My right arm was throbbing deadweight pulling at my shoulder socket as I rose to my feet. I kicked the grim’s flank and he tipped over, legs sticking out rigidly.

“Oliver!” Neven said, his voice cracking as he knelt by the cat’s remains. He reached out as if to pet him, but his hand shook and his eyes watered at all the blood spilling in the soil.

“Neven, don’t look,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

He turned to me, his eyes a stormy blue, then his gaze fell to the blood slowly dripping down my arm.

“Ren!” he said, crawling the few feet between us and rolling up my sleeve.

“It’s fine,” I said before I’d even looked at it. I could tell, because the pain was ebbing away. Blood had soaked the white sleeve of my inner shirt, but the tooth marks were already shrinking, sealing themselves up. Grims, no matter their speed, were still inferior creatures, after all. They couldn’t do much lasting damage. Luckily, my dark coat could hide the blood stains.

“I’m sorry, Ren,” Neven said, clutching my sleeve. “I didn’t help you.”

“You are helping me,” I said, cutting off some of the soaked fabric with my pocketknife. He had no idea just how much he was helping me. “Besides, it’s done. We’re fine.”

Neven bit his lip and turned to the chewed-up remains of the cat a few feet away from us. He took a shuddering breath, then turned away and picked up his suitcase.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, this time staring at his shoes, speckled dark with my blood. “Ren, I’m really sorry.”

“Neven, stop.”

“Father said—”

“Stop,” I said, taking Neven’s scared face in my hands, even though I was smearing blood into his cheek. In that moment I hated Ambrose even more for reducing Neven to this. He’s a coward who runs from shadows, Ambrose had said, as if Neven needed a reminder of how little Ambrose thought of him. Ambrose’s opinion no longer mattered to me, but to Neven it surely did.

“You’re helping me,” I said again, staring hard into Neven’s mournful blue eyes so he would know it was true. He swallowed and nodded, even as my hands fell away. I used my clean sleeve to scrub away the blood on his cheek.