Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(68)

“How about the time he broke his ankle playing some ball game with Simeon? I never understood how that happened, but you were there, weren’t you?”

I wish I’d known sooner how easy it would be, talking about Evander together. Dredging up these memories doesn’t sting nearly as much when sharing them with someone who knows exactly what I’ve been through. Someone who lost their love, too. Jax and I spent most of our time in bed trying not to mention Evander, but it feels right here, now, with Meredy.

“Oh! His ankle? That’s a funny story.” Meredy’s voice draws me back to her. “The healers mended the break, but he woke up thinking he was still in the field with the ball, and tried to—”

Meredy’s words are cut off when a shriek splits the night air. Sharp. Unrestrained. Eager.

Meredy and I exchange a glance. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.

A Shade is on the hunt, and we’re the prey.





XXII




As the wagon comes to a sudden halt, I reach for my sword and strain my ears to detect what’s happening over the horses’ frightened whinnies and Lysander’s hair-raising roar. Master Cymbre yells something I can’t quite make out. Her cry is abruptly cut short, and a cold weight settles in my chest as I imagine why.

Something crashes into the wagon hold, making Meredy and me jump as the wagon rocks violently from side to side.

I dive toward the crate where we’ve carefully nestled several glass vials of liquid fire potion for the journey to Elsinor. Without those precious vials, we can’t kill any Shades. The crate’s lid is ajar, and I hurry to push it back into place. Meredy puts a hand on the crate’s side to steady it as the wagon continues to shake.

Another shriek nearly deafens me. The monster must be right on top of us.

I draw my sword and stagger to my feet as a long, bony arm shreds the wagon’s canvas covering and smashes the crate of fire potions. The wood splinters under Meredy’s hands, and she cries out. The vials scatter everywhere, some shattering, others rolling across the floor. The ones that break erupt into flames, and just like that, the wagon is done for.

I drop my blade, trying to save as many of the potions as I can before the blaze in the wagon forces me out. The Shade knocks the few vials I managed to gather out of my hands; its sharp, bare-boned fingers tangle in my hair as the vials hit the ground and burst into flames. Quick as lightning, the Shade pulls me toward the huge hole it’s created in the canvas. I dig my nails into its flesh, hoping it’ll drop me. Instead, its grip tightens, its free hand closing around my neck.

I can’t breathe. My body shakes, and I start to panic as my vision blurs.

“Let her go!” Meredy shrieks, jabbing my sword into the fleshiest part of the monster’s rotting arm, looking pale but not the least bit afraid despite the flames licking at her feet and the shimmering curtain of smoke filling the wagon.

The Shade’s howl deafens me as it drops me. I push myself upright in time to see Lysander attack the monster from behind in a fury of claws and teeth.

Quickly, I scan the mess of glass and tar-like potion burning on the wagon floor. All the vials are shattered, but we can still stop this Shade. I’ve pushed one into a bonfire before, which means I can do it again—this time, with the aid of bigger, rapidly spreading flames.

“Cymbre?” I shout over the monster’s screeches and Lysander’s roars. “Cymbre!”

There’s no answer. She must be hurt somewhere, at the mercy of the monster and the blaze. Before I deal with the Shade, I need to get her away from the fire.

Meredy and I jump from the burning wagon together, our boots crunching as they touch down on the rocky mountainside. She offers me my sword, and I give her a nod of thanks.

“You have to run. Find a cave or somewhere you can hide, just in case . . .” My words are lost to a fit of coughing.

“What about you?” she demands, eyes narrowed against the smoke. “It’s my job to protect you, remember?”

“I have to find Cymbre. Then I’m going to stop this Shade.”

“Odessa—”

A burst of noise from the wagon cuts her off as the last of its canvas top collapses, sending up a shower of sparks that fleck our hair and arms, sharp as bee stings.

“There’s no time to argue,” I growl, edging farther away from the blaze. “Just go!”

Meredy calls out to Lysander—who’s still in battle from the sound of things—as I dash to the front of the wagon, sweat already beading on my brow. The horses have fled, their tethers torn and trampled. Master Cymbre slumps across the driver’s seat, firelight dancing along a deep gash down the side of her face.

At least her pulse is still strong.

“Master Cymbre.” I gently shake her shoulders. “You have to hide. Our potions are gone, and I’ve got one nasty Shade to shove into a fire.” I shake her harder, and when that does nothing, I realize I’m going to have to carry her out of harm’s way. I hang my sword at my side and slide my hands carefully under Cymbre’s back.

With any luck, Lysander will force the Shade into the flames while I’m struggling to lift a woman who weighs more than me.

But the Shade must have tired of the bear—or worse. The monster plucks me off the ground, forcing me to drop Master Cymbre. An arm, skeletal but strong, snaps off my belt as I reach for my sword, then lifts me toward its mouth as it unhinges its jaw. Even with my heart sticking in my throat, I manage to kick the Shade in the spot where its eye should be, hoping to make it stagger backward toward the fire. But all my kick does is make the monster gnash its teeth in what appears to be excitement.