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“You won’t attempt to take my grimoire from me, will you, sweetheart?”

My heart kicks in my chest, and I give him my most sincere smile, looking up at him from beneath my lashes.

“Of course not.”

His own smile is a dark threat. He doesn’t believe me. “Men would kill to possess you,” he murmurs. “Who could resist that face? That…mouth?” His eyes heat, and my breath shudders from my lungs.

I just stare back at him. If it seems Calysian will become a threat to this world, I’ll take his grimoire without a second thought.

When he turns to lead Fox back toward the main trail, I make my way to Hope, checking her girth myself as I force my racing heart to slow.

Eamonn lands on Calysian’s shoulder, pointedly angling his body away from me. Calysian glances between us and I shake my head.

“Any signs of Vicana’s soldiers?” he asks.

“Yes.” Eamonn’s voice is low.

“And?”

“You’ll see.” He shoots up into the sky, flying toward the murky swamp.

We backtrack to the trail we traveled yesterday, neither of us speaking. Calysian’s expression is oddly distant, as if he can also hear the grimoire calling to him.

By the time we make it back to the trail, I’m already cursing the mud squelching over my boots.

“I’m sorry. I swear I’ll never bring you back to this place,” I mutter to Hope, stroking her nose when she nudges at me.

Calysian stops walking, and I almost run into Fox. I peer around him, and it takes a moment for my mind to comprehend what I’m looking at.

Unlike us, Vicana’s soldiers were unable to find fresh water. Instead, they camped just footspans from the trail, directly next to the swamp.

Now, all that remains are…bones. They’re stacked together in neat piles, dotted across the camp. Strewn amongst them are weapons, food, and clothes. But the bones are bleached white, as if they’ve been sucked clean.

I force myself to walk closer, surveying the piles. “This should be impossible.”

It’s as if something has eaten these men and left no trace behind. It’s impossible to know how many of them were here, but from the sheer number of bones, I’m guessing at least twenty.

Calysian steps up next to me, the solid warmth of his body a comfort. When he moves forward, crouching next to a pile of bones, I have to fight the urge to yank him away.

Slowly, he reaches out a hand, touching what might be a rib.

It crumbles into dust.

I’m instantly next to Calysian, pulling him away from the bones. He allows it, stepping backwards as I place myself between him and the bones.

“Madinia.” His voice is gentle as he leans close, murmuring into my ear. “I was in no danger.”

“I don’t like it.”

I can feel him studying me, and I don’t meet his gaze, too perturbed by my own strange reaction.

“What could have killed them?” I murmur. There’s no sign of any predators, no tracks. It’s as if their muscle and flesh and blood melted away into nothing, leaving nothing but bone behind.

“Whatever it is, it’s still out there,” Eamonn says from above our heads. “I suggest you stay alert.”

He flaps away, and Calysian leans over, pressing a soft kiss to my neck. “You were worried about me.” There’s no smug satisfaction in his voice. Just a strange tenderness.

Iwasworried about him. And that’s unacceptable.