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Briar looked up hopefully. The amulet was glowing faintly on the other side of him.

Wick’s head turned. One eye was burned shut. But the other one fixed on her, pained and confused.

“Briar,” he croaked. “Did I… Did I hurt…?”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Briar said, her voice choked with useless tears. “I’m okay, everything’s fine.”

She ran toward him.

Wick spasmed, a horrifying noise ripping out of his throat. “STOP!”

Briar stopped, clutching her fur robe. “What?”

Wick writhed. In pain or against the blood frenzy, she wasn’t sure.

“It is not working,” he managed. “You have to… hurt me.”

“Void take you,” Briar said with a terrified laugh. “I don’t have to do anything. You just need the amulet. It’s right over there!”

She took another step toward it.

Wick screamed, the noise turning thick and feral halfway through. He jerked against his bonds, snapping a rope over his leg.

“I cannot hold myself back,” he cried, agonized. “You must, youmust. Before I break free. I can feel it burning inside?—”

He cut off. His cry was so pained that Briar flinched with him.

“Please,” he whispered.

That fiery eye fixed on hers. Then the flame shivered and blew into a wildfire, burning so huge it took over the black.

Briar stumbled to the other side of the ravine, facing away from the town. Their flowers were clustered at the top, rustling merrily in the cold breeze.

Briar stared up at the steep rocks. There were enough handholds to get down, which meant there were enough to get back up. If she just had enough time?—

Wick screamed. It was not a pained scream. It washungry.

Another rope snapped on his net.

“Fuck,” Briar burst, her voice cracking. She didn’t have enough time. If she started climbing, he would just fly after her. Unless…

Briar turned back toward him, numb.

She had done so many loathsome things in her life that she had lost count. But walking toward Wick felt like the worst.

Wick twisted and snapped as she approached. But he was pinned to the rock, helpless to do anything but roar and twist as she walked up behind him and pressed her blade to the base of his left wing.

Sixteen

Wick woke up in more pain than he had ever known.

One of his eyes would only open halfway. It felt strange and swollen, throbbing with the same unbearable heat as so much of his body.

He groaned, struggling to sit up. He had an arrow in his shoulder, and the last shards of net twisted around his horns. Burns coated his body, thick stripes sinking into the bone.

It was dark. He was lying at the bottom of a ravine. Dim memories ran through his mind: the bounty hunter Renault, stinking of lipseed as he shot an arrow into Wick’s shoulder. A net of Malblosom, making him blister. Mortal skin opening under his claws. A neck parting under his fangs. Telling a bloodied Briar to run while tears dripped down her cheeks. She was with him here, at the bottom of the ravine.

He could not remember watching her escape.