Chapter 11
Splinters on my face. Splinters on my arms. Splinters everywhere.
But they’re nothing compared to what the shapeshifter wearing my brother’s face will do to me if he catches me.
The only thing I’m focusing on is the sun at my back and making sure not to trip. Because if I do, that’s it for me. I’ll join Declan and the other shapeshifter I just killed.
How big are these damn woods?
I walked with fake Noah for over an hour, and I’m nowhere near getting the hell out. The trees are so damn thick, the fog too heavy. Everything feels like it’s closing in, swallowing the path behind me as quickly as I clear it.
Then—
Somewhere to my right, someone screams.
My heart sinks.
Tessa.
Gods, please don’t let it be Tessa.
But I can’t stop. If I do, this shapeshifter will kill us both.
I have to believe that wasn’t her.
And if it was, I have to believe she made it out somehow.
“Come on, Cassie. Are you seriously running away from your own brother again?” The shapeshifter whistles, almost amused as he chases me through the trees relentlessly. I don’t look back, but the words chase me faster than the shifter himself.
I left him.
I left Noah.
No.
I can’t think about this. Can’t let guilt sink its claws in.
He’s fast. Too fast. Inhuman.
Every step he takes is two steps of mine. If I keep running, he’ll catch me, probably pin me to the ground and tear me apart
There’s only one way to stop him.
I skid to a halt, drawing my twilight glass dagger in one hand, the moonstone dagger in the other.
Fighting gives me more chance of surviving.
“Oh, look who’s finally stopped running,” the shifter drawls, grinning as he closes in on me like an animal stalking its prey, unhurried and sure of the kill.
He’s still wearing Noah’s face, but the voice isn’t his anymore.
I’m going to be sick.
“You can shift back now,” I demand, twirling one dagger in my hand.
I may have not been training everyday like Lucas, but he still taught me and Tessa some basics. And I throw knives for fun.
“Why? Don’t like this one?” He cocks an eyebrow. His features ripple, shift—until he’s Declan. “How about this?”
I curse under my breath, circling slowly, scanning for a weakness, for a chance to strike.
“Pity,” I breathe, trying to steady my shaky hands. “It seems I’ll have to kill my boyfriend twice.”
The corner of his mouth curves into a grin. “Are you sure this isn’t your third time?”
I flinch.
He knows about that night.
He knows it’s my fault.
And that’s all it takes.
He surges forward—and I stumble, just slightly, just enough to lose rhythm.
I lunge with my moonstone dagger, but he’s so much faster, ducking the strike like he’s dancing—like this is his idea of fun.
His grin widens as he grabs my wrist mid-swing and twists hard, forcing me to drop the dagger.
Pain shoots up my arm. I let out a sharp cry, but I hold on to my twilight glass dagger tight.
Then, for a split second, I see an opening, and I use the momentum to plunge the dagger towards his ribs without hesitation.
Miraculously, it lands.
Silver blood hisses out, splattering across my leathers. His eyes widen—I think more in surprise than pain—but I’m not dumb enough to wait and see what he does next. I wrench free, pivot, and slash again, this time aiming for the neck.
He shifts again, right in front of me.
Declan’s face turns into Tessa’s—her glassy, terrified eyes. Then Lucas’s.
I freeze for a blink too long, and that’s all he needs.
Before I know it, his long, sharp claws slash my side. Pain blooms like fire, spreading slowly until red is all I see. I scream. I don’t need to look to know that the cut tore through my clothes. Crimson blood drips on the forest floor.
Fuck.
“You’re sloppy,” he sneers, stepping closer, silver blood still leaking down, but somehow, I’m the only one in pain. “New boyfriend of yours?”
“Shut your filthy mouth,” I groan, clutching my side.
The shapeshifter chuckles. “Come on, even the Fae have a crush on him. If you want … I could wear his face while you ride me.”
Is he fucking serious?
“You’re sick,” I breathe through the pain. “Just kill me already.”
He hums, tapping a finger to his chin like he’s deciding which outfit to wear, whose face he’s picking to haunt me next. “Ah … wait, I should have known.” He pauses, then he shifts again.
Not into Noah. Not Declan.
But Kieran.
Dark wings with lines of constellations shimmer behind him. That beautiful smirk. Those impossible eyes.
My breath catches in my throat like a hook.
“Hm, does your dead boyfriend know you fancy the King of the Fallen?” he muses, savouring every bit of stupid emotion I show. “Oh, wait—he’s dead.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself, seeing as you’ll be joining him soon?” I tighten the dagger in my grip.
The shifter doesn’t flinch. He just laughs.
Big mistake.
I hurl the blade straight at his left wing.
Let’s see if the bastard remembered he has those.
It lands. He stumbles back, eyes wide. I don’t hesitate—I dive, snatch the moonstone dagger from the dirt, and launch it at the other wing, pinning him to the tree behind.
He screeches, the sound shrill and inhuman, ripping through the trees like a siren.
Pain sears down my side, but I don’t stop. I spot a thick branch nearby, a little heavy but manageable.
Ignoring the pain in my wrist, I grab it and run before slamming it into him as hard as my broken body allows me to. He crashes to the ground, the weight of the blow tearing his pinned wing as he hits the dirt, silver blood splashing across the leaves.
Desperate to clutch his wound, the shifter rolls onto his side.
I leap up, snatch the dagger on the tree—
And drive it through his skull with all my weight.
Silence.
Utter silence.
Silver bleeds into the forest floor.
I collapse next to the body, a ringing sound echoing in my head.
Then slowly, the woods come back to life again. The sounds returns—wind in the trees, birdsong, the thud of my own pounding heart.
Still breathing.
I’m still breathing.
And it’s not over yet.
I swallow the pain and drag myself up, using the branch as a crutch. I pick up both daggers, wiping silver blood on my leathers, and start moving again.
Only death awaits me here.
I walk and I walk.
Minutes pass, hours—who knows.
Then I see it—light.
I don’t hear footsteps. No one in sight.
Until—something slams into me from behind, knocking me flat.
I scream as pain flares in my side, fresh blood blooming again.
And Lucas has a knife to my throat.
“Who are you!?” he demands, wild eyes, shaking hands, blood trailing down his temple.
I freeze.
Oh, Gods.
He thinks I’m a shapeshifter.
“It’s me, Cassandra!” I yell, even though it hurts. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”
“You think I’m going to fall for that the second time?” He growls, hand still trembling, the blade poised like he’s a split second from driving it into me.
“My blood is red! I’m not a shifter!” I scream, eyes squeezed shut, bracing myself for the blow.
But it doesn’t come.
Lucas freezes. Then, he lowers his eyes to my side. They widen. The wild panic fades, replaced by something softer—before it’s swallowed by horror.
“Shit, Cass … I’m so sorry,” he breathes, dropping his knife. “Oh Gods, you’re hurt.”
“Well.” I exhale, blinking through the pain. “You should see the other guys.”
Lucas doesn’t laugh. He sheathes the blade and slips an arm around me, gently pulling me upright. I wince, lightheaded from blood loss, from the fight, from everything.
We’re so close.
So close.
“You look like paper,” he whispers, holding me tighter.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie. “Let’s get out of here.”
We keep walking, every step harder than the last. The light draws closer. A warm wind flushes in—and then we emerge exactly where we started this morning.
The Fae cheer. The noise crashes around us, echoing in my head. It’s all I can hear before I collapse to the damp ground.
Lucas catches me just in time—his arms strong, grounding—and that’s when I see it.
Blood.
Smeared on his fighting leathers. Some of it even on his neck.
But he’s not hurt, no open wound that I can see.
“Whose …” I whimper, voice drowned out by the chanting. “Whose blood is that?”
Lucas glances down, his face grim.
He hesitates.
And I know.
I just know.
“No …”
“Cass, I tried—” He swallows, voice breaking. One arm cradles my head, keeps me from touching the cold, filthy ground. “I tried to save her—”
“No, Lucas …”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, still not meeting my eyes. Pain blooms across his face. “I was too late.”
Tessa.
It’s Tessa’s blood.
She’s gone.
That scream I heard was hers.
And I didn’t help.
I didn’t help.
I let her die.