Page 9 of A Blade of Blood and Shadow (The Ravaged Kingdom #1)

Chapter

Six

W hen I finally succumbed to a fitful sleep, I dreamed of fire and wings.

In my nightmare, twelve faces wavered in and out of the dancing flames, which seared my skin with their otherworldly heat.

Pain . I was in so much pain. But through my haze of agony, I saw the outline of huge dark wings.

The moment they appeared, my tormentors scattered, but a fresh slice of terror ripped through me as the figure drew nearer.

Iridescent black wings wrapped around me, smothering the flames.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders, and I looked up into a pair of fathomless gray eyes that swirled with fury and vengeance.

In the low light of the deserted alleyway, Kaden looked even more beautiful than I remembered — almost like an avenging angel. Choppy raven locks set off chiseled, sun-kissed cheeks, and those full lips parted as he beheld me.

But then the flames flickered, throwing shadows over my rescuer. Kaden’s mouth turned up in a menacing smirk, and he narrowed his eyes. His gentle touch tightened to an iron grip, and I remembered that Kaden wasn’t an angel. He was fae.

Jerking out of Kaden’s grasp, I reached for my daggers, but my sheaths were empty. I looked up, and Kaden flashed a wicked grin as he held my witchwood blade by the tip.

I lunged, but Kaden merely laughed as flames danced in my periphery. Magic wrapped around my arms and legs — invisible manacles that took me to the ground.

I was helpless once again — completely at his mercy. It was somehow worse than having that demon take control of my body, because I knew I couldn’t fight this.

Kaden tossed my dagger in the air and caught it again, sidling over to where I lay pinned to the ground.

“Clever little huntress,” he crooned, bending over me and pressing the tip of my dagger into the divot between my collarbones just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. I sucked in a breath, and Kaden’s eyes darkened as he dragged the blade over the neck of my leathers, down between my breasts.

I awoke thrashing on Imogen’s couch, a high-pitched scream ringing in my ears. Warm hands gripped my shoulders, and it took me a moment to realize that the scream belonged to me.

“Lyra!”

I jerked awake to find Imogen hovering over me, her warm brown eyes wide with concern. A tatty old quilt was twisted around my legs, and the tank top I’d gone to sleep in was completely soaked with sweat.

“Come back,” said Imogen. “You were having a dream. ”

A sigh whooshed out of me as I sat up, dragging a shaky hand through my hair. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips to my eyelids, trying to banish the image of Kaden sneering down at me.

Just a dream , I told myself. It was just a dream .

Kaden wasn’t trying to kill me. At least, I didn’t think so. I wasn’t trapped in that ring of hellfire at his mercy. I wasn’t that weak, helpless girl.

But those demons had been real enough. They shouldn’t have been able to cross into the mortal realm, and yet . . .

“We’re going to see Adelaide,” said Imogen, sitting back on her heels. “Get dressed.”

Adelaide. Shit . Not as bad as a horde of demons, but the old witch was a close second.

Still shaking, I planted my feet on the floor and stood. The old wooden boards creaked and groaned as I donned the extra set of leathers I’d packed and stepped into my weapons holster.

I caught Imogen watching me as I pulled up the leather loops and buckled it around my waist. Out of habit, I checked that all of my mundane daggers were in their sheaths before slipping a hand under the crocheted throw pillow I’d been using and withdrawing the witchwood blade.

“Wow,” said Imogen, lifting her brows. “You really do sleep with a knife under your pillow.”

“Wish I could say it’s never come in handy.”

Her face blanched as I slid the blade into the topmost sheath along my right thigh where I could reach it easily. What had once been a redundant dagger I kept mostly for sentimental reasons now felt like the most valuable weapon in my arsenal.

The sun was just beginning to set as Imogen and I emerged from her apartment building and drove to Adelaide’s house. We passed through a run-down neighborhood that reminded me of Silas’s street, populated by lesser supernaturals and mortals who worked in the Quarter.

Dogs barked from derelict yards as we passed, and the broken windows of beat-up old cars leered at us through the dark. After a few blocks, though, some of that old charm returned, and the rusted chain-link fences gave way to wrought iron and wood.

The houses looked cheerier here — less beat down by the bloodshed and debauchery of the Quarter.

Tiny craftsman bungalows lined the cracked sidewalk, and Imogen pulled up in front of a brightly colored house whose siding was painted a garish coral.

Plum shutters fanned out from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and wrought-iron bars had been fashioned over the glass panels of the faded mustard door.

Imogen hadn’t said a word the entire drive over.

She kept chewing on her bottom lip, as if her every instinct rebelled against bringing me here.

She wore a flowing cotton dress with a flowery scarf tied around her head.

The contrast to my all-black attire would have been comical if my outfit hadn’t been designed for fighting and killing.

Climbing out of her beat-up car, I glanced up and down the deserted street. There was no tang of blood and death here — just the steady thrum of magic emanating from the little coral house.

I could hear Imogen’s heart beat faster as she approached the front door and knocked. I stood behind her on the top step, keeping my hands close to my weapons.

After a long while, I heard the slow shuffling of footsteps inside the house, and the door opened a crack. A gnarled brown hand wrapped around the door, and a pair of eerie white eyes appeared.

Adelaide was blind, but I could practically feel her reaching out with her senses — including her magical ones.

“Imogen? What are you doing here?”

“I . . . need your help,” said Imogen quietly, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “May we come in?”

The old witch stiffened, and I felt the pulse of her magic wash over me. She hadn’t opened the door all the way.

I waited, hardly daring to breathe, as she extended her long neck to peer at me with those sightless eyes that nevertheless seemed to strip me bare.

Her nostrils flared as if she’d caught my scent, and I saw the instant she realized who — realized what — I was.

“What is she doing here?” Adelaide hissed, rounding on Imogen. “Why have you brought her here , to my home?”

“Lyra is an old friend,” said Imogen softly. “And she’s . . . she’s in trouble.”

“I’ve got plenty of troubles of my own, girl. Don’ need to borrow anyone else’s.”

“Adelaide, please .” Imogen twisted her hands in front of her, and I saw what it was costing her to bring me into her world. To expose her coven and every witch in it just to help me . “I trust her.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Her words hit me like a slap across the face, but I didn’t contradict her .

Imogen was all I had left in this world — the closest thing I had to family. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her, but I knew I was putting her at risk.

If Silas learned what she was to me . . .

But I couldn’t think about that now.

There was a long pause as Adelaide stared at Imogen, those white eyes narrowed and unblinking. Then she tossed another glare at me before stepping back and opening the door.

But as I made to walk across the threshold of the old witch’s home, I met an invisible wall of resistance.

I took a step back, staring through the open door.

It felt as though I were trying to walk through a curtain of water, but I couldn’t see anything blocking my path.

I reached out with my hand and felt that impenetrable air.

Warded. Adelaide’s house was warded against hunters — even half-hunters like me. But, after a moment, the invisible barrier melted away, and I took a cautious step forward.

The instant I crossed the threshold into Adelaide’s home, the scent of sage and tea and musty old books filled my nostrils. The hardwood floors were bowed and stained, and they groaned loudly under my weight as I followed the witches into a sitting room.

The furniture was old and worn but still inviting.

Gothic-style bookcases covered nearly every inch of wall space, and more books trailed along the floor in teetering stacks.

Their pages were frayed and yellowed, and most had colorful scraps of paper sticking out like bookmarks.

Mixed with Adelaide’s collection were stubs of candles, empty clay pots, oddly shaped rocks, and little bouquets of what appeared to be dried herbs .

“Sit,” said Adelaide, gesturing to the sagging antique settee beside the window. Outside, it had started to rain, and fat drops pelted the glass panes.

Imogen and I sat, and the cushion beneath us seemed to sink nearly all the way to the floor.

I’d never met the leader of Imogen’s coven before, and I was momentarily taken aback by how frail Adelaide looked.

Her hair was a soft downy gray and long enough to form a cloud around her head, though the tight curls had abandoned the round expanse at the front of her skull long ago.

The meager flesh of her arms seemed to hang off her bones, and the liver-spotted calves visible beneath her purple dress were wasted with age.

And yet, despite her age, the way she stood reminded me of a warrior. Those opaque white eyes seemed to pierce right through me, and the magic that hummed beneath that paper-thin skin was . . .

I shuddered. Perhaps I was not the most dangerous female in the room.

“I just put the kettle on for tea,” said Adelaide, taking slow shuffling steps to the chair across from us and easing down into it.

We were silent as she settled in, looking me up and down as if she really could see.