Lyssa flew through a vast darkness dotted with golden stars.
Each star is a shifter, whispered the dragon. There are not many stars, but that could yet change.
How?
Time, replied the dragon. And those like your mate, who are their allies.
He is not my mate.
You will have babies with him.
Focus, she growled, and the dragon laughed with a sibilant hiss, before her voice dropped again to a whisper.
We cannot shield all these shifters from the Cruor Venator, but we can hide you.
That wasn’t good enough. No one could be allowed to suffer.
Then you will kill her, said the dragon, sensing her thought. And no one will suffer.
Lyssa ignored her, focusing on her own light. How do I shield myself?
Like this, it murmured, and spread its wings around her.
Darkness fell down. She fell with it.
And heard, on the other side of those wings, a pounding fist. It had to be the Cruor Venator. The witch knew she had lost the link and was trying to find her again.
Fear laced through Lyssa’s heart but lasted only long enough for her anger to consume it.
I want to see her, she told the dragon, and without a word of argument, warning, or caution, those wings pulled back — and let the Cruor Venator in.
Lyssa was ready for her, and attacked.
It was like trying to tangle with the breeze off a garbage dump. The witch’s spirit smelled like it was rotting. Except Lyssa was the wind, too, made of claws and fire, and she wrapped around that unclean spirit with a power born from grief, fury.
The Cruor Venator snarled, but before the witch could react, Lyssa bit her soul — and tasted a different kind of blood.
She drank, and a maelstrom blasted through her like dynamite exploding. Images flashed, forests and mountains, men in Nazi uniforms, a strange woman with black eyes and blood on her teeth. . Lyssa’s mother, except younger, much younger. .
Lyssa didn’t want to see any more. She tried to wrench herself away, but the Cruor Venator held tight with frightening resolve.
Your mother was so very pretty, whispered the witch, with satisfaction.As are you, I’m sure. After all these years, Lyssa. . what took us so long to find one another?
Go to hell, she snarled, but her heart was thundering, and hearing that smug voice reminded her too much of that night in the woods, when the witch had murdered her parents. Snow and moonlight flashed, the forest in a blur—
Suddenly, unexpectedly, she heard another voice inside her mind.
This voice was stronger than the Cruor Venator. . and surrounded her in a burst of fire and blazing light that cracked the shell of darkness.
Eddie.
Lyssa, she heard him think, as the connection bloomed between them. It was just her name, but that was enough.
His voice sounded like home.
Lyssa slammed the Cruor Venator, knocking herself free — and the dragon did the rest, tearing the witch away and tossing her beyond the protective circle of its wings.
Silence fell. A soft darkness.
Then the world returned.
She blinked, and suddenly there was a couch beneath her.
She was not alone. Eddie cradled her against his chest. A shimmering cocoon of heat surrounded them, making her feel safe, protected. As if nothing could hurt her while he was close.
Not pain, not loss. Not evil.
Blood dripped down her nose. Eddie pressed his sleeve against her nostrils. Lyssa pushed him away, gently.
“I’m okay,” she lied.
He gave her a haunted look. “You started to convulse.”
“I was fighting the Cruor Venator,” she whispered. “I don’t think she can track me anymore.”
“Good. Because we’re leaving this city. We’re gone.”
“No.”
He looked at Betty with her crushed neck and half-staring eyes. “Yes, Lyssa. Right now.”
She fought free of his arms, half-falling off the couch. “I’m finishing this. One way or another. I have to.”
“I won’t let you. I can’t. I don’t know if I can protect you, Lyssa.”
“I never asked you to.”
His gaze darkened, and those strong hands tightened with bruising strength. “Don’t. Not this again.”
“I’m not yours,” she snapped. “And you’re hurting me.”
Eddie stiffened.
Lyssa wished instantly she could take back those words. But she couldn’t even speak when he stood up and walked away from her.
Ursula swayed close, bangles chiming. Watching him, then her, with inscrutable eyes. She held the parcel with Estefan’s skin, having wrapped the paper around his remains.
“You dropped this,” she said, as Eddie stood at the darkened window, staring at Central Park. Smoke rose off his back.
Lyssa slipped her glove over her right hand, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Your suitcases are packed. I wouldn’t let that go to waste.”
Ursula handed her the parcel but didn’t let go. “Your mother once told me she was afraid of herself.”
Lyssa stared. The old woman gave her a soft, sad look.
“She said it was always a struggle. But it was a struggle she mastered. Do you understand?” Ursula stepped closer, cupping her cheek with a soft, trembling hand. “You are her daughter. If your face hadn’t convinced me, your actions here today most certainly did.”
Lyssa tilted sideways, light-headed. Eddie turned, saw her swaying, and strode toward her with quick, urgent steps. His scent was dangerous. Angry.
His hand, though, was gentle when it found hers. Lyssa was a little surprised he even wanted to hold her hand, especially when he couldn’t even meet her gaze.
Ursula scrutinized him. “You. . are another mystery entirely.”
Eddie made no reply, but he didn’t need to. Nothing about him was soft, in that moment — or afraid. The old woman, who was a witch and held a hard power about her, had to look away first.
They had to walk over Betty’s body. Lyssa made a point to stare at the dead woman’s face, memorizing the emptiness of her eyes. Eddie waited beside her, silent. When she chanced a glance at him, he was also studying Betty. . but with no emotion, just a flat, cold remoteness that transformed him into different man entirely.
The obsidian blade lay on the floor. Lyssa did not touch it. Too much death.
Ursula did not follow them. Out in the hall, Lyssa gave her a last, lingering look. The old woman stood alone, a wrinkled hand held over her heart.
Lyssa was surprised at how reluctant she felt to leave her. If the old woman had known her mother. .
One day, she thought. One day, if I live through this. Another thing to do, on an already long list. A list she hadn’t realized she was keeping until now.
They did not take the elevator. Eddie waited for her just inside the stairwell. Lyssa’s head began to throb, and so did her right arm, down to the tips of her claws.
“Are you okay?” he asked, but his voice was distant, and he barely looked at her. His distance felt personal — and was at direct odds with everything she thought she knew about him. It bewildered her. It hurt.
“I’m fine,” she said, wondering how it had all gone wrong. And why it felt as though her heart was crumbling to pieces.