Theora drops her eyes, flushing. I know she’s attracted to me, but it’s pretty obvious this Blood Mate connection we have is more on my side than hers. Of all the people in the world to form a connection with, my stupid Darkling heart chose a hybrid Lupine, who can’t properly form it back.
“It doesn’t mean what you’re feeling for me isn’t real, Edmund,” Theora says quietly, taking my hand. “And maybe when we’ve gotten to know each other better, I’ll develop those feelings for you too. I just need time, okay?”
I nod. In truth, I need the chance to digest all this too. It’s a lot to take in. But I’m grateful for what’s happened. I’ve spent my whole life wanting to make a connection with someone; I thought it would be with Catherine, but I was wrong. I glance at Theora and she smiles. Maybe in time . . .
The bedroom door opens and Alaric enters the room. He nods at me.
“The League’s agreed to let your grandfather stay with us,” he says, and relief washes through me. “Now all we need to do is get a rescue team together.”
“I’m going,” Theora immediately says, squeezing my hand.
“And me,” Kieran says, throwing off his blanket.
Ulrika leaps up and shoves him down on the bed. “No you’re not! You’re injured.”
“I’m fine,” he says, then looks at Alaric. “I want to go, Uncle. Annora’s my friend.”
Alaric nods. I admire how the teenagers here are treated as equals. There’s no question about their ability to handle themselves.
“Well, if you’re going, numbskull, then I’m coming too,” Ulrika mumbles.
“Then that’s settled,” Alaric says. “We leave tonight.”
• • •
As soon as night falls, we head to Amber Hills to rescue my grandfather and Annora. Kieran grits his teeth as we hurry through the forest, trying not to let his pain show in front of Alaric and Ulrika. Even though it’s dark, we’re able to navigate the woods—Lucinda and I have good night vision, while the Lupines follow their old scent trails from their previous visits to the town. Theora takes my hand as we weave through the trees, her anxious eyes flitting up to meet mine. I give her a reassuring smile, although I’m nervous too. I glance over my shoulder, getting the feeling we’re being followed, but there’s no one there. It’s probably just my imagination playing tricks on me.
After a few hours the woodlands thin out and we reach the meadow separating the forest from the Boundary Wall that surrounds Amber Hills. I always took comfort in the sight of that wall, but from this vantage point I realize how ridiculous it is. The people of Amber Hills have spent their whole lives imprisoned within the confines of that wall to protect themselves from the Darklings. Now I realize it would’ve made more sense to trap the Darklings inside the compound while we roamed free.
Guarding the top of the wall are Mr. Kent and three new Watchmen. They haven’t seen us yet, as we’re still hidden in the tree line. Mr. Kent is on the side of the Boundary Wall nearest to us. He silently paces up and down, holding a rifle. From somewhere in the town, a girl wails in pain. Annora. Lucinda rushes forward, but Ulrika grabs her and drags her into the tree line just as Mr. Kent turns to look in our direction. He lifts his gun and aims it at the forest. No one makes a sound as Mr. Kent stares in our direction. I hold my breath. Eventually, he lowers his gun and moves on. I exhale.
“We have two minutes before he’ll come back,” I whisper, recalling the Watchman’s patrol route.
Alaric waves at us to follow him. We rush across the meadow and scramble up the wall. The Lupines have no trouble getting up—they’ve done this a few times in recent weeks—but Lucinda and I struggle to find the handholds. She misjudges a hold and the brick crumbles in her fingers. “Oh!” she gasps as she skids down the wall a few inches before catching herself. Her boot kicks me in the face and I grunt in pain. “Sorry,” she whispers. Alaric and Theora reach down for us and pull us up the rest of the way. We drop down the other side just as Mr. Kent turns. He doesn’t see us.
The town is silent as we stalk through the cobbled streets. Even so, I scan the alleyways around us, unable to shake the feeling we’re being watched, but there’s nothing there except shadows dancing in the moonlight.
“Where do you think they’ll be?” Lucinda asks.
“The town square,” I say, thinking about the wooden cross. “Mr. Langdon will want them on display for everyone to see.”
The six of us hurry down the dark alleyways, passing Mrs. Hope’s cottage along the way. The flowers on her porch have died and withered. It’s after curfew, so I’m not expecting to bump into anyone, but even so, I’m on the alert as we enter the town square.
Everything is the same as it always was: the church dominates the west side of the plaza, the spire casting a dagger-shaped shadow across the moonlit square. Opposite the church is Langdon’s General Store, and to the left of the building is the curiosity shop. The taxidermy animals in the shop window watch us with their beady glass eyes. Beside them are the jars of Darkling hearts. I can almost hear them beating: ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
In the center of the town square is the wooden cross. Theora’s hand tightens around mine. My grandfather is bound to one side of the cross with silver chains, his body stripped bare. His pale skin is covered in deep purple bruises. Crudely carved into his chest are two words: RACE TRAITOR.
Tied to the other side of the cross is Annora. She’s naked, and her thin body is wrapped in silver chains. Like Lupines, Darklings are severely allergic to the silver, and the metal has seared her sensitive skin, which is already red-raw and flaking from being exposed to the sun all day. There’s a gruesome hole in her shoulder where Drew shot her. She lets out a wail of pain, her cracked lips splitting over her fangs. It’s obvious Mr. Langdon’s put them up here as bait, but we sprint over to them anyway.
Lucinda, Kieran and Ulrika tug at the chains holding up Annora while Theora helps me remove the silver chains around my grandfather’s ankles, fury and tears blinding me. The chains sting my bare skin as I peel them off his flesh.
“Edmund . . . ?” he whispers, struggling to get the word out through his dry lips.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” I say.
“Go . . . ,” he says. “Not safe . . .”
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” I say firmly.
He groans as I remove the last of the chains and he falls heavily into my arms. We crash to the ground. Oooph. All the air leaves my lungs as my grandfather’s head slumps against my chest. He shakily struggles upright and notices Alaric.
“What are you doing here?” Grandfather asks, confused.
“You’re coming back with us,” Alaric replies. “Edmund’s agreed to—”
His words are cut off as the door opens to Langdon’s General Store. Patrick appears at the doorway, holding a rifle.
“Well, well, well, the nipper’s returned,” he says loudly.
He steps out of the building, followed by Harriet and Drew. As if on cue, the doors open in the buildings around us and the townsfolk spill out into the plaza. They must have been waiting for us, listening for Patrick’s signal. They look furious, their eyes cruel slits, their lips snarled. Leading the mob are the Guild members: Eric’s father, Mr. Cranfield; Mr. O’Malley; and Mr. Langdon. His wife lingers behind him, his constant shadow dressed in black, her brown hair braided and tied with a blue ribbon, like the one Catherine used to wear.
I edge closer to Theora, and Alaric and Ulrika protectively surround Kieran. Lucinda cradles Annora, who is kneeling on the cobbled ground, weeping with fear. Grandfather attempts to straighten up, his chin lifting as Mr. Langdon approaches us. It’s hard to look defiant when you’re naked, but somehow he manages it.
“I hoped the boy would return for you,” Mr. Langdon says to Grandfather. “I wanted you to watch him die. Then maybe you’d understand my pain.”
Mrs. Langdon sniffs, dabbing her puffy, tear-stained eyes.
“Edmund had nothing to do with Catherine’s death,” Grandfather says. “He’s innocent.”
“Innocent?” Patrick yells. “He’s a fragging nipper!”
The townspeople all murmur, agitated, angry. I hear the names Catherine, Eric, Mrs. Hope, Mr. Smyth spread through the crowd, like a war cry. They start to converge around us. I sling my arm around Grandfather’s waist, while Alaric helps Lucinda drag Annora onto her feet. We frantically look about for a way to escape, but it’s no good. Everywhere we turn, neighbors crowd the side streets, blocking our escape routes. They close in around us, backing us up against the curiosity shop on the east side of the plaza.
Someone throws a rock and it misses my head by a hair’s breadth, smashing into the shop window. Theora presses her face against my chest as the glass rains down on us, nicking our skin. The rock crashes into the table holding the jars of Darkling hearts, and they tumble down. A few shatter, splashing the putrid fluid everywhere. The glistening hearts lie on the ground like dead fish. One jar remains on the table, unbroken.
Right then, there’s a bloodcurdling scream from the east corner of the town, then another from the west, followed by several pops of gunfire from the south. Everyone looks about, confused, wondering what’s going on.
“Darklings!” Mr. Kent cries from the north end of the wall. There’s more gunfire, and then a man’s scream, followed by something hitting the ground with a crunch.
People start running in a blind panic, bumping into each other, not knowing where to go, reminding me of the time a bull escaped the paddocks on the outskirts of town. Then I see them—dozens of shadows spilling from the alleyways and over the rooftops slowly take form as they step into the moonlight: pale skin, glittering eyes, hair like black fire.
I realize now we were being followed earlier, but not by Patrick and the others. It was by the Darklings. They must have been out looking for Lucinda and Annora and saw Lucinda with me, and followed us here. The townsfolk scurry out of the way as a tall Darkling stalks through the crowd. He’s dressed all in black, the tails of his frock coat fluttering behind him.
His dark, penetrating eyes slide over Patrick as he passes by. The boy stiffens, his hand tightening around the rifle, but he’s too scared to use it. Harriet and Drew keep their knives held out in front of them, but they too are frozen in fear as the Darkling approaches us.
“Icarus,” Grandfather exhales, his voice shaking.
“Hello, Hector,” Icarus drawls, turning his black eyes on me. “So . . . this is my son.”
I flush but hold his gaze. Around us, shadows move about the rooftops, closing in on the townsfolk. A few of them silently drop down into the plaza. There must be fifty Darklings, if not more. One approaches us. He looks similar to Icarus—narrow face, sharp cheekbones and thick brows over ebony eyes—so much so that I’m guessing they’re brothers.
“Girls!” he cries out, ushering Lucinda and Annora over to him.
“Dad!” Lucinda replies, a look of relief entering her pretty, elfish face. She shrugs off her jacket, gently wrapping it around her sister’s skinny body, and helps her over to their father. Kieran makes a move to follow them, but Ulrika grabs his arm and shakes her head.
Nearby, Mrs. Langdon angrily tugs on her husband’s arm. “Do something, Christopher.”
Mr. Langdon steps forward and nervously clears his throat. “You’re breaking the terms of our treaty. I must insist that you leave, or—”
Icarus turns, a terrifying darkness entering his eyes, silencing Mr. Langdon.
“Or what?” he says softly. “You broke the treaty when you captured my niece Annora. That makes our deal null and void. We’re perfectly within our rights to seek retribution.”
“Father!” Patrick yells.
We all whip around. A male Darkling has grabbed Patrick. Two more have Harriet and Drew. They snap the O’Malley siblings’ necks in one swift movement, and Harriet and Drew crash to the ground, the light in their blue eyes extinguished. From somewhere in the crowd their father, Mr. O’Malley, screams, a guttural, animalistic sound.
The two Darkling girls, Annora and Lucinda, look on, horrified. There’s a big difference between feeding on a human and killing one. It’s a fine line, but it’s one I wasn’t willing to cross with Catherine. The Darkling holding Patrick yanks his head to one side, baring his fangs, about to plunge them into the boy’s neck.
“No!” Mr. Langdon cries out. “Not my son! Please!”
Icarus flicks his hand. “That’ll do. We’ve made our point.”
The Darkling closes his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of Patrick.
Icarus takes a few paces toward Mr. Langdon, his eyes narrowing. “Haven’t we met before?” The Darkling studies him for a moment, and then a smile spreads across his pale lips. “Yes, I remember. You were Cassie’s boyfriend. And if memory serves, one of my best customers too.”
There are stunned gasps from around the plaza. Mr. Langdon was a Hazer?
“Christopher?” Mrs. Langdon says quietly, her brow puckering.
“It’s not true,” he replies.
“Yes it is,” my grandfather says, leaning against me, clearly struggling to stand. “You, Cassie and these two”—he gestures toward Mr. Cranfield and Mr. O’Malley—“frequently went into the forests to meet with these demons.” He practically spits the last word. “And then Cassie went and got herself pregnant. Why do you think we had to force the Darklings out of the forest eighteen years ago? Your parents and I did it to protect you from them.”
