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I felt my way to the wall behind me, pressing my back into the wood. Holding tight to the shears. I told myself not to panic. There was no reason the monster would have gone into the barn. The laboratory was more likely, where it could smell the caged animals, or the kitchen with its mix of odd scents.

Get the rifles, I told myself. I’d been in the barn enough to know where the tack room and gun rack were, even in the darkness. I’d never fired a rifle, but I understood the interlocking parts, the burst of gunpowder. Odds were Montgomery kept them loaded. I would aim and pull the trigger. Even if I missed, it might scare the monster away.

But my feet wouldn’t take me to the tack room. The wall against my back was safe. Standing still was safe. I had an overwhelming premonition that if I moved, I’d be dead.

I would count to five. Five breaths to return to reason.

One.

I gritted my teeth. Listened to the sound of my own breath.

Two.

Beneath the familiar smell of hay, I detected a pungent odor. And yet it, too, seemed familiar. I’d smelled that lingering scent before, recently even, though I couldn’t place it.

Three.

A rustle in the darkness. My breath quickened. I told myself the barn must be full of mice. But I knew better. My hand tightened on the shears. The tracks hadn’t led to the barn, I was sure of it. Wasn’t I? I’d been so frightened that I’d barely been able to process what I’d seen. But there was that smell, stronger now, as if its source was closer. With a gasp, I recognized it.

Damp fur.

Four.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Something crept closer. I heard it in the sigh of the rafters. The shifting straw on the ground. It was too late for guns, I realized. There was something in the barn with me. Something big. Its presence melted into the darkness as if it belonged there. Fear clutched the soft parts of my throat. I told myself there was a logical way to go about this. The chest would be the largest target in the dark. Thrust the shears low, below the rib cage, where they would do the most damage. Duck low to avoid claws and teeth.

Something brushed my hand, something hard but gentle, shocking me so much that I dropped the shears. They clattered into the darkness.

Five.

I leapt for the tack room. I hadn’t a choice. It was instinct now, not logic. I felt a rush of air behind me, like something running. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of my own heart. I found the doorway and stumbled inside, feeling blindly along the walls for the smooth metal row of gun barrels. My hand found only wood. Empty holsters.

They’d taken all of the guns.

My hip collided with the corner of the worktable and I winced. I could hear my fear deep in my throat, a panicked whine like a dog’s. I ran my hand over the table, looking for a knife, a hoof pick, anything. My hand settled on a box of matches. I fumbled to strike one against the rough side, and with a spark it burst to life.

I held it high, fingers shaking, eyes searching wildly in the dim light for my pursuer.

Nothing.

I was alone, with only the smell of the match’s burning sulfur and the lingering scent of wet fur.

Thirty-two

I TOLD ALICE, WHEN I returned to the room, that I had found the beast and it was nothing more than an unusually large squirrel. Eventually she managed to fall asleep, but my eyes wouldn’t close for a minute. We both lay on my bed, the monster’s broken claw hidden in the curve of my palm. I put my arm around her, brushing her hair gently like my mother had done for me when I’d been frightened.

Hounds bayed in the distance. The men were returning.

I sat up, easing Alice’s head off my lap, and tiptoed to the door. I’d lit every lantern I could find to chase away the darkness. I squeezed the broken claw to reassure myself the terror of the night hadn’t been my imagination.

Outside, the front gate groaned open. I peeked into the courtyard. The men came in, muddy, exhausted, not even noticing the blazing lanterns. For a moment I felt a bit exposed in only a nightdress, with the storm raging and men returning, but I had bigger concerns. I glanced back to make sure Alice hadn’t woken, and slipped outside the door.

Balthasar brought in Duke with the wagon, the back gate hanging open. One cadaver, swathed in muddy white. Which meant they hadn’t found Jaguar, only another victim. Montgomery and Father struggled to unload the body, but Edward saw me. His gaze was as unreadable as the night stars.

He crossed the courtyard, shielding his eyes from the bright light coming from my doorway. A streak of mud ran down the side of his face, alongside the scar.

“Why are you awake?” he asked. “Why are the lanterns lit?”

I clutched the claw to give me strength. “Something happened while you were gone.”

He could tell by the falter in my voice that it was serious. He pulled me into the room, where we had some privacy. He glanced fleetingly at Alice asleep on the bed.

“Your face is white.”

I fingered the claw’s broken ridge. Remembering the hand at the window, the tiles sliding off the roof. The certainty that I wasn’t alone in the barn. “Something tried to attack us. At the window . . .” Something broke inside me, and words didn’t come out. Fear did, instead, in a rush. I squeezed the claw.

“Sh, you’re safe now.” Edward pulled me to him, barely glancing at the claw. I supposed he’d seen enough of the carnage it had wrought. He ran a hand over my hair like he’d done behind the waterfall when I’d pretended to be asleep. It was a soothing gesture that had the opposite effect. Being so close to him agitated me, as if the dream might become real and I’d find myself with him instead of Montgomery. It wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed my mind. Father wanted us matched. Edward clearly felt affection for me. Yet I couldn’t be with Edward. He was running from something. He had secrets that he hid so well I sometimes forgot they were there. I wasn’t sure he’d let me peel back the layers, even if I wanted to.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he said. “I knew it was dangerous. I thought it might be safer for me to be out there . . .”—his fingers tangled the ends of my hair—“hunting whatever demons your father created.”

His whispering lips grazed my ear. It was like an unexpected bolt of electricity. I pulled back, but he didn’t let go, lips parted to tell me something. His arms around me no longer felt safe at all. They felt dangerous, as if he might try to kiss me at any moment. I pressed my thumb against the claw’s point, the bite of pain keeping me grounded. I knew he cared about me. But so did Montgomery. Oh, Montgomery . . . Being around Edward only confused me.