Page 113 of Lucifer's Mirror

Fury lets out a low growl, and Thanouq raises a brow. I force Fury down, but he’s livid, raging. There’s no way I can wait here. “You might be faster, but if there are just the two of them, it will be easier to track them from the ground.”

He gives me a long look, but something convinces him—maybe Fury peering out of my eyes. “Go,” he says. “Find her. Kill him.”

“I will.” Anything else is not an option.

Without another word, I shift and race off. I head in the direction the shadowguard came from. Something tells me Trystan leaving and the attack are connected. Maybe he thought to buy himself time by bringing the wards down.

I pick up their scent close to the wards, both Trystan’s and Amber’s. And blood. Luckily, it’s Trystan’s. There’s evidence of some sort of fight. Then outside the ward, I find Nightfall, Amber’s sword, stuck in the ground. Fury throws back his head and howls.

But there’s no time to waste. They’ve got a big head start.

Nose down, I find the trail. Fury whines. The telltale stench of shadowguard mingles with Amber and Trystan’s.

There’s not a moment to lose.

I leap forward and race into the night.

Chapter 53

Holy Freaking Hell No

“Ouch.”

I try to sit up, and agony flashes through my skull, followed by a searing pain in my throat.

I’m not dead. That much is clear, but not much else.

Why aren’t I dead?

I collapse back to the ground, count to ten in my head, and the pain fades to a dull ache. It comes back to me. The argument with Khaosti, though perhaps "argument" isn’t the right word. Running away. Trystan, the idiotic asshole, pushing us outside the wards.

I blink open my eyes. To darkness. Night has fallen completely while I’ve been unconscious. I’m lying on my side on the ground, my cheek pressed against the bare dirt.

“Good. You’re awake. About fucking time.”

I turn my head slightly and spit out the dirt that has somehow found its way into my mouth. Trystan—very much alive by the look of him—is seated on the ground, his back against a broad tree trunk, long legs stretched out in front of him.

Did he fight off the shadowguard and save me? But somehow I can’t make that explanation gel in my head. Apart from the cut on his shoulder from Nightfall, there’s not a mark on him. Maybe something made the shadowguard run off and leave me alive, if not entirely unharmed. Everything hurts.

I struggle upright, which is hard because my hands are tied in front of me, my wrists bound tightly together with rough brown rope. Another rope is tied around my ankles with enough slack to allow me to walk.

We’re in a small copse of trees. They smell like pines. As I stare at them, I make out the gleam of crimson eyes all around us. Shock punches me in the gut. And dread uncurls in my belly. Why the hell is Trystan sitting, looking seemingly relaxed, and very smug, while we’re surrounded by the stuff of nightmares?

My mouth floods with saliva, and I swallow and lick my lips. I presumed Trystan was taking me to Khaosti’s father. Now that seems unlikely.

Hatred rushes through me.

Bastard.

“Why?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Khaosti wasn’t going to leave that place or you. You’ve bewitched him, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“I don’t think much of your new friends,” I croak.

He gives another shrug but doesn’t answer.

I go over in my head what I know of the shadowguard. They’re guardians who have given their loyalty to Lucifer in exchange for immortality. Which likely means that Trystan is working for Lucifer.