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Authors: Hailey Edwards
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clamped shut over the hunter’s neck and flung his head from side to side.
Before I reached the hunter, he sent Errol hurtling through the air. The canis hit a tree and crumpled at its base.
The hunter dropped to his knees. I grasped his shoulders, but he was too heavy and he listed sideways. His body hit the dirt with a sickening thump. He didn’t move. He wasn’t breathing.
The hunter was dead.
“Daraja.” Brynmor’s voice carried as softly to my ears as leaves fluttered on the wind.
I was ashamed by how relief made my knees tremble. “Brynmor?”
I spun around in time to witness the broken canis expel a shuddering breath that might well be its last. But what made my blood run cold was the specter hovering menacingly over its body. It was Brynmor, but not. Instead of flesh and bone, it was wisp and fog, a fragile outline of the male I expected to see. His eyes, though, they burned. Red coals glimmered in a face carved from smoke. I stumbled back a step before those smoldering eyes locked with mine.
“Daraja,” he said again, softer this time, as if words cost too much effort to form.
“W-who are you?” I had no idea why it looked like Brynmor or how it knew my name.
When it failed to answer, I steeled my nerves and turned my back on the apparition.
Wind sighed over my shoulder. “Daraja.”
I flinched and asked again, “Who— what —are you?”
“You know,” it said. “You know.”
When it knelt a hairsbreadth above the ground and caressed Errol’s matted fur with the same tenderness Brynmor had shown Karenna’s corpse, I fell to my knees and heaved until my gut emptied.
He was right. I did know.
“Brynmor,” I whispered, and the spirit inclined its head.
Chapter Six
The mental bond Brynmor shared with Errol stretched to a taut thread too thin for words. No matter how hard he strained for connection, there was none. His strokes down Errol’s side passed through his body. Brynmor was spiritual energy now, not flesh, and his caresses were little more than a wind ruffling Errol’s fur. He was trapped in the in-between, his soul present with no body.
Ripping his gaze from Errol, he latched on to Daraja as their only hope.
Her sun-kissed cheeks were drained of color. Her gray eyes were wide open and unblinking. She clutched her knife’s handle until her knuckles whitened. The lariat slapped against her thigh.
Summoning the dregs of his energy, and Errol’s, Brynmor pleaded, “Help him.”
Daraja was shaking her head before he finished. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?” Her voice broke. “How are you here if you’re…?” She covered her mouth to stop her question.
Dead. He was long gone from this world, but her horror over his passing was evident.
“A spirit,” he said, trying to soften the blow.
“Gods above and below, have mercy.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “The hunters…?”
“No.” His voice gentled. “I’ve been this way for a long time, since before we met.”
“ Dead ?” She found her voice. “You were dead this whole time? No. No . You were alive .”
“I deceived you.” There had been no other way to protect himself and Errol.
“You kissed me.” She touched her lips.
“I did.” He refrained from admitting, given the opportunity, he would again.
“Your skin was warm against mine.” Her hand fell into her lap. “How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated.”
Her laughter was unexpected, tight as the skin Brynmor no longer wore.
If she wanted him to confess his crimes, he would, gladly, but not now. “If Errol dies…”
“You die too?” The stubborn set of her jaw told him what a mess he had made of things. “I don’t believe you. How can I? You just admitted you’re dead. Dead . There is no end more final.”
He grimaced. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Daraja’s lips tightened over what was no doubt a biting retort. “Tell me the truth. All of it.”
A low whine drew their attention back to
Before I reached the hunter, he sent Errol hurtling through the air. The canis hit a tree and crumpled at its base.
The hunter dropped to his knees. I grasped his shoulders, but he was too heavy and he listed sideways. His body hit the dirt with a sickening thump. He didn’t move. He wasn’t breathing.
The hunter was dead.
“Daraja.” Brynmor’s voice carried as softly to my ears as leaves fluttered on the wind.
I was ashamed by how relief made my knees tremble. “Brynmor?”
I spun around in time to witness the broken canis expel a shuddering breath that might well be its last. But what made my blood run cold was the specter hovering menacingly over its body. It was Brynmor, but not. Instead of flesh and bone, it was wisp and fog, a fragile outline of the male I expected to see. His eyes, though, they burned. Red coals glimmered in a face carved from smoke. I stumbled back a step before those smoldering eyes locked with mine.
“Daraja,” he said again, softer this time, as if words cost too much effort to form.
“W-who are you?” I had no idea why it looked like Brynmor or how it knew my name.
When it failed to answer, I steeled my nerves and turned my back on the apparition.
Wind sighed over my shoulder. “Daraja.”
I flinched and asked again, “Who— what —are you?”
“You know,” it said. “You know.”
When it knelt a hairsbreadth above the ground and caressed Errol’s matted fur with the same tenderness Brynmor had shown Karenna’s corpse, I fell to my knees and heaved until my gut emptied.
He was right. I did know.
“Brynmor,” I whispered, and the spirit inclined its head.
Chapter Six
The mental bond Brynmor shared with Errol stretched to a taut thread too thin for words. No matter how hard he strained for connection, there was none. His strokes down Errol’s side passed through his body. Brynmor was spiritual energy now, not flesh, and his caresses were little more than a wind ruffling Errol’s fur. He was trapped in the in-between, his soul present with no body.
Ripping his gaze from Errol, he latched on to Daraja as their only hope.
Her sun-kissed cheeks were drained of color. Her gray eyes were wide open and unblinking. She clutched her knife’s handle until her knuckles whitened. The lariat slapped against her thigh.
Summoning the dregs of his energy, and Errol’s, Brynmor pleaded, “Help him.”
Daraja was shaking her head before he finished. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?” Her voice broke. “How are you here if you’re…?” She covered her mouth to stop her question.
Dead. He was long gone from this world, but her horror over his passing was evident.
“A spirit,” he said, trying to soften the blow.
“Gods above and below, have mercy.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “The hunters…?”
“No.” His voice gentled. “I’ve been this way for a long time, since before we met.”
“ Dead ?” She found her voice. “You were dead this whole time? No. No . You were alive .”
“I deceived you.” There had been no other way to protect himself and Errol.
“You kissed me.” She touched her lips.
“I did.” He refrained from admitting, given the opportunity, he would again.
“Your skin was warm against mine.” Her hand fell into her lap. “How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated.”
Her laughter was unexpected, tight as the skin Brynmor no longer wore.
If she wanted him to confess his crimes, he would, gladly, but not now. “If Errol dies…”
“You die too?” The stubborn set of her jaw told him what a mess he had made of things. “I don’t believe you. How can I? You just admitted you’re dead. Dead . There is no end more final.”
He grimaced. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Daraja’s lips tightened over what was no doubt a biting retort. “Tell me the truth. All of it.”
A low whine drew their attention back to
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