Feet battering the earth, blood surging in her veins, Nika Dimitrovich flew through the forest. Southbound—straight into hell.
She pushed herself to the brink of her supernatural abilities, running so fast that a blaze might have guttered in her wake. As she grew closer, headquarters' alarms shook the heavens. Screams and gunshots pierced the night.
You're one of us . . . a wolf.
Dante's words pressed on her mind, but she buried them beneath the adrenaline and ran faster.
Branches and thistles whipped her skin as she barreled through the wild woods. The air had grown colder since the night began, almost as if it sensed that things had gone awry.
As Nika mounted the next slope, the familiar shapes of Lirovin Square emerged in the distance—grand mansions with various styles that hailed back to different architectural eras. Among them, she spotted the Gothic barbs of Dimitrovich Manor.
Relief and joy flooded into her veins when she saw that it had been untouched. But the same couldn't be said for the home of Minister Laguna.
"Nika!" a rough voice bellowed.
The next thing she knew, something big, fast, and unbelievably solid slammed into her. She gasped and struggled as a pair of strong arms closed around her, wrenching her feet off the ground.
She jabbed and kicked, but the assailant spun her around, and—
Ebony eyes.
Nika blinked, slowly registering the sight of Ren's scowl. It almost made her smile.
Almost.
"What the hell are you doing?" he growled, squeezing her arms. "Why did you leave?"
Words failed her as she took in gulps of air. Ren waited all of ten seconds before demanding answers again.
"I—" Nika stopped herself.
What would she say? A voice told me to come into the woods, where Dante Azzara claimed I'm a Volkari and asked me to join his cause?
He'd think she was insane. Or lying. Maybe both. And a part of her feared the validity of Dante's declaration. She couldn't speak of it to anyone until she knew the truth.
Ren's face twisted with rage. "You broke your word, and now you won't even tell me why?" he shouted.
His grip tightened until Nika buckled, shrieking, "Ow, stop! You're hurting me!"
He released her with a forceful shove. All she could do was gape and rub the marks he'd left.
"And what are you doing here?" she countered. "You should be with Elliot and Misha!"
A glance toward Lirovin Square, and dread coiled in her gut like a bed of eels. Had Ren just abandoned them in the middle of an attack?
Nika watched him warily as he paced before her, muttering in Russian. She could have sworn tendrils of smoke danced on his shoulders and bled into the darkness, as if his fiery emotions had produced them.
"We can talk about this later," she finally told him. "Let's go back."
"No!" he barked, whirling on her. "I'm not going anywhere with you! I'm done!"
"Done with what?"
"With trying to protect you! And being worried and exhausted all the time!" An exasperated breath. "I'm done with you, Nika."
As the words settled, Nika's world shifted on its axis, and a cruel knife of pain twisted into her.
Because she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge how much it hurt, she said, "You're just angry. You need to calm down, clear your head."
Nika watched in horror as rage consumed Ren. It was even visible, quaking through his body and rippling beneath his skin. His eyes shifted like molten obsidian, a black peerless to all but the void among the stars. A light-swallowing stare.
For a heartbeat, she thought he'd explode from it, but instead, he struck a nearby tree, as fast and brutal as lightning. The wood groaned. A crack shot up the trunk. Several thick branches snapped off and plummeted to the ground.
Nika leapt out of the way, covering her head.
They crashed with a volley of menacing sounds. Then all was quiet again, apart from Ren's shallow breaths.
"My head is clear," he said in a dark rumble.
She fully registered his appearance then. Hair unkempt, clothes torn by claws, lip split and swollen, skin splotched with blood and dirt. He'd clearly been brawling with Volkari, and managed to survive without any severe injuries.
Here, now, with all his towering height and solid muscle, she knew Ren was a force to be reckoned with. But she found herself remembering his capacity for gentleness, the natural ease of every interaction, and his belief that she was worthy of protection just as much as her father.
Equal—he'd seen her as equal.
He doesn't know his own blood status. He might not be a pureblood, and that's the only reason he's being nice.
Markos gave him orders and he's just following through. It's not that he actually cares.
Deep down, Nika had suspected those were lies. She'd suspected why he smiled at her deplorable jokes and seized every opportunity to touch her. Why he'd brought her and Misha together to hunt for answers. Why he'd sent Rivers and the other deserters across the country. Why he hadn't objected to letting her drink his blood . . .
When dealing with the opposite sex, Nika was usually bold. She quickly discovered that, if she remained idle, they would never admit their feelings for the Halfblood Bastard and eventually move on.
But when she had taken action, it never lasted long. Sometimes, they'd been dared by their friends. Or it was no more than a fleeting fascination. Or, in Miles's case, an attempt to live out extreme political opinions.
Ren's motive, however, failed to manifest itself. And his . . . attentions had come as such a surprise that Nika demanded proof of their authenticity. This rage, fueled by disappointment and betrayal, was just that—proof.
And therein lay the tragedy. For it was too late. The damage had already been done. She'd broken a promise, and hadn't considered how it might affect him.
Nika opened her mouth to apologize, but the forest started shaking. Distant shouts grew clearer, and like a cresting tidal wave, dozens of Volkari came over the ridge and crashed toward them.
Rooted to the spot, Nika watched in awe as they hurtled through the trees. Some carried animal bones, which they beat like drums over their heads. Others pranced around in a savage dance, or tilted their faces to the moon and sang inflective war cries.
They were every bit the uncivilized fiends that the Ministry declared them to be—and they knew it, too. Nika had the feeling this was a display of rebellion, an attack on the blood status ideals that the Daemonstri community regarded so highly. In every whooping call and clanging bone, she heard a single message:
The tainted will rise.
It was mesmerizing. Nika couldn't deny the excitement that filled her own tainted blood, the urge to join them. Until she recognized the glee on their faces and the war-hungry glint in their eyes.
All around, bodies zipped and ripped through the branches, leaves, and bushes. Hoots and jeers and laughter lifted into the sky.
This wasn't just a display of revolt. It was a celebration.
Before she could voice the realization to Ren, one of the bone-dancers knocked her off her feet. It was all she could do to curl into a ball and pray to the Oldbloods that she wouldn't be trampled.
A particularly barbaric-looking Volkari seemed eager to vanquish those prayers, until Ren shoved him out of the way and yanked her back up.
Nika's heart raged in tandem with their battlecries as he pulled her against him and shielded their bodies in the shadow of a large tree. Volkari rushed past them, left and right, making flurries of dust with their supernatural speed.
Soon, the stragglers went over the next slope, then vanished from sight, and the only evidence of their presence was the echoes of their primitive calls.
Ren stepped away with no small amount of aversion. Nika ignored the twinge in her chest and said, "Did they sound . . . happy to you? Like they were celebrating a victory?"
He frowned, scanning their surroundings. Nika watched his face turn deathly pale and instantly felt nauseous.
No no no
"Asteroth," he whispered.
And when he took off running, Nika followed. Southbound—straight into hell.