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In the darkness, thicker, more solid shadows took form. Shapes that drifted forward.

Definitely not Craven.

They glided out from the trees, draped in black. Their very thin layer of skin had the ghastly, waxy pallor of death. Although these things had some semblance of a face—dark eyes, two holes for a nose, and a mouth—it was all kinds of wrong, stretched so far into the cheeks it was as if a permanent smile had been carved into their faces and then stitched closed. The entire mouth. But they were more skeleton than flesh.

“Aw, hell,” Casteel muttered.

I knew what they were. So did he.

Gyrms.

Chapter 42

“Great,” Emil muttered as Vonetta groaned. “These fuckers again.”

But their stitched mouths…

I would definitely have nightmares about this later.

“Don’t,” Reaver warned Rune, who prowled toward the mouth of the tunnel. “Don’t bite them. What’s in them is not blood. It’s poison.”

Casteel’s gaze cut to the draken. “They’ve attacked Gyrms before.”

“Not this kind.” Reaver lifted his sword. “These are Sentries. They’re like Hunters. Neither type you would’ve encountered before.”

The corners of Casteel’s lips turned down. “I’m going to have to take your word for it.”

“You’d better,” Reaver replied. “Or the junk that’s in them will eat the insides out of the wolven.”

My eyes widened. “Don’t engage with them,” I ordered the wolven. “Guard Malik.”

None of them looked happy about that, especially Delano, but they backed off, circling an even-less-thrilled Atlantian Prince.

“Maybe you should use your fire then,” Kieran suggested. “Especially since you’re all about burning shit.”

“The fire will not work on them,” Reaver said. “They are already dead.”

“What?” Casteel mouthed, and I had so many questions—all that would have to wait. Eather pulsed in my chest as I gripped the wolven dagger. These looked like a creepy combination of the ones the Unseen had conjured in Saion’s Cove and what had been guarding Iliseeum. I shuddered. The Primal essence had worked on the Gyrms and the skeletons before, but did that mean it would work on this type?

“We do this the old-fashioned way.” Casteel shifted his sword to his other hand.

The Gyrms had exited the tunnel and stopped moving, their arms at their sides. All of them. Well over a dozen.

“Do you think they have hands?” Casteel asked.

My gaze flicked down. The sleeves of the robes were too long to tell. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re looking at.”

Kieran glanced at me. “What are you looking at?”

“Did you see their mouths?”

“Of course,” Casteel murmured.

“I can’t stop staring at them.”

Kieran sent me a sharp look. “Really?”

“Their mouths are stitched closed. It’s creepy, but I guess it’s a good thing,” I said.

Casteel looked over at me. “And why do you think that’s a good thing?”

“Because that means there can’t be—” I quieted as one of the Gyrms cocked its head to the side. A low, breathy moan came from its sealed mouth.

“That’s…well, disturbing,” Emil noted.

Vonetta shook her head as she palmed her blades. “You are the king—”

“Of good looks and charm?” he suggested.

“Of understatements.”

My grin froze as the Gyrms moved in unison—and they were fast. Long, slender blades descended from both sleeves—blades that glinted like polished onyx in the slivers of sunlight. “Shadowstone,” I muttered as Naill inched around a blood tree.

One of the Gyrms’ heads snapped in his direction. Its hairless head tilted. The creature moved, its robe billowing out from behind it like a stream of shadow. Perry spun, his blade meeting the Gyrm’s, a clash of crimson and night.

The remaining Gyrms streamed forward, moving in a precise vee. I shot forward as Casteel’s sword arced through the air, cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders as the Gyrm grabbed for me.

“All right, these aren’t like the skeletons in Iliseeum,” Casteel announced. “Head or heart seems to do the trick.”

“Thank the gods.” Emil spun, slicing off a Gyrm’s head.

I moved under another’s outstretched arm. In the back of my mind, I noticed that the Gyrm hadn’t swung on me, which was notably odd. I popped up behind the creature as it turned, slamming the dagger into its chest. The Gyrm shuddered and then collapsed into itself, reminding me of what happened to Ascended when struck down by bloodstone. But this creature didn’t crack. Instead, it shriveled as if all moisture had been drained from its body in one breath and then shattered into nothing. All of it, including the shadowstone sword, leaving only the smell of lilacs behind—stale lilacs.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, bony fingers pressing through my cloak, jerking me back. I twisted at the waist, bringing my arm down on the Gyrm’s with a hard enough blow to knock the grip loose. Casteel leapt through the air, slamming into the Gyrm, spinning it around. I whirled, thrusting the dagger into its chest as Casteel shot me a wild grin before turning to meet another.

Delano’s thoughts brushed against mine in a wave of springy-fresh air as I stepped back. These Gyrms aren’t attacking you.