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The chain around her neck whipped back and she flew in the opposite direction of the guard on the floor, the collar choking her. She stumbled back and slammed into a hard torso.

Silas.

Large hands swung up around her throat and she tried to kick back, to gain release, but the guard’s legs were widely spread behind her. She tried to throw an elbow backwards, but he had her in a position of submission. Yanking forward, seeing it was her only choice, her neck strained, and he followed her.

She tugged again, the metal piercing into her skin, and she could feel a warm wetness starting to drip down her neck. Struggling, she bucked like an animal trying to flee a trap, and they both crashed into the vanity. His body weight was so crushing on top of her that she couldn’t even think straight. Her face flattened against the marble as he pushed his weight on top of her, her cheek shattering as it crushed against the cold surface. She opened her mouth to scream, but she made no noise.

She had just made the wrong move. There was no way she would be able to get his brute mass of muscle off her now, not without her magic.

“This was an interesting little wrestle. Who knew a witch could fight with a spear?” He gripped her hair, yanking her neck back. Emara clenched her teeth to stop the scream from building in her throat; she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. “I just wish Blacksteel was here to see his empress forced into submission.”

She still didn’t let out a cry of fear. “I hope he takes his time killing you.”

Silas fisted her hair tighter.

The pain was sickening. Silas smiled into the mirror as he watched himself tug on her hair.

She closed her eyes to cope.

“Finish it,” Easton growled from across the room, trying to force his nose back into place. “We don’t have time to play around with her.”

Silas gripped her hair, yanked her head back, and then slammed her head into the mirror.

“Nothing,” Artem spat, his arms folded. “Not a single demon.” He huffed. “No wings, no red eyes, no claws, no rotten flesh. Not even a trace of sulphur.” He let out an even bigger breath. “You have no idea what I left behind for this.”

Torin shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips.

It had been two hours since he had left to hunt, and they had seen nothing. It was like they had just vanished.

How could a small army of demons just vanish from a mountain?

There were no footsteps in the fresh ice, no animals slaughtered in the woods below.

Not a trace.

Torin heard a crunch of gravel, and both hunters went to their weapon belts. His youngest brother came around the side of the rock which blocked his view of the pathway.

“Nothing?” Kellen’s brow creased as he placed his sword back in its sheath. His face was pale, very pale.

“Nope.” Artem looked around himself like he couldn’t fathom where this small army of demons had gone.

“The wolves can’t even pick up a scent,” Kellen said. “They are at the base of the mountain now. Murk is baffled, utterly baffled.”

Just at that, Gideon and Marcus appeared, faces grave and mystified like Kellen’s.

“Not a single trace?” Gideon questioned all who stood there.

Torin shook his head. “There doesn’t seem to be.”

Torin cast his eyes further down the mountain as he watched his brethren spread out, taking watch points to keep a lookout on the valley below.

“It’s strange,” Artem admitted, “they normally leave something.”

“The packs that are patrolling are going to keep going further into the forest below to see if there is something they can find for us to work with, a dead body or wildlife or something. Maybe we should send Kellen back to the palace with word of our findings to the other guards.”

Torin considered it. “It’s impossible for them to have been here and not to have left a scent for the wolves to trace,” he theorised.

And it was.