Chapter 32
Lucina
The Hound moves through the Estate as if he built it—confident of every turn, certain where Rogues are and where they aren’t. Now and then, he’ll pass before two corridors, inhaling deeply before deciding on which one to take.
I follow him skeptically, taking three steps for every one of his purposeful strides, and when we make it to one of the Estate exits, he freezes.
The toes of his dress shoes stop just before the ward, and I watch in stunned silence as that same blue mist from my first night in the dungeons creeps up from the floor. I jump back as it circles his frame, rising until it swallows him and the Baron’s body whole.
I stumble another step back, wide-eyed, and when the fog clears—
The Hound is on the other side of the ward.
An old conversation flits through my spiraling thoughts. The one my coven and I had in Callan’s kitchen the day Hunter, Pax, and Phoenix came back from Streatham:
“Lucina,” Devon had said to me, “The Hound is a God. If he wanted into Pirn, he’d snap the Banyan like a twig.”
Or simply step through it.
Sensing that I haven’t moved, he turns back, dark brows raised as his crystal eyes fall to my frozen feet. I’m certain he knows—like he seems to know most things—that I’m fully capable of crossing this ward. Yet all I manage is a blank stare back at him.
The Hound sighs, readjusting the Baron’s body on his shoulder. “You want your answers, don’t you?”
That’s all it takes for me to shove the billion questions I have aside and step through the ward, cringing at the sensation of foreign magic passing over my skin.
As soon as I’ve joined him on the other side, he shakes his head and takes off walking again.
He’s taking us to the northeastern side of the Estate, heading straight for a dense line of forestry ahead.
The woods don’t typically scare me, but the towering pines and pitch-black space between them trigger a half-skip of my heartbeat.
I force myself to keep moving despite it, and by the time we get to the treeline, that stutter in my pulse has morphed into a frantic beating.
It’s another decision I’m forced to make as the Hound pushes his way into the eerie black forest, moving through it much like he did the Estate—as if he placed each tree and twig.
I can either stay out here, run very fast in the opposite direction, or follow the Hound and the deadman bouncing over his shoulder into a forest that my body physically refuses.
The center of my palms grows slick with sweat.
I’ve followed strangers into the woods before, and up until now, following Callan had been the riskiest. I’m not sure how much luck I have left, but as I drum up the courage to step into the treeline, I pray to every god I know that I have enough to make it back out.
Mindful of my steps, I trail the random path he takes through the woods.
The deeper we get and the farther we move from the Estate, the bigger the trunks become.
The sounds of night—the crickets, the passing of a breeze—soon fade into a dead quiet.
The pines have swallowed every sound, barricading us in a silence that makes our steps much louder than they actually are.
I can hear my own heartbeat, and I can hear the Hound breathing. The frantic pulse in my ears is embarrassing compared to the steady rhythm of his inhales.
Swallowing, I smooth my throat to whisper, “How far are we—”
He comes to an abrupt halt, so fast I almost run straight into his back. The Baron’s body flails when the Hound whirls to face me, a finger pressed to his lips.
I’ve never shut my mouth so fast.
Confident that I’ve listened, he inhales, swiveling his head to either side of us. When his gaze settles just over my shoulder—trained on something behind me—I freeze. The sensation that crawls over my skin is the same feeling I get when Kimber declares that there’s a ghost in the room.
The Baron’s body hits the ground with a sickening thud, and then he’s moving, strategically covering him with leaves and sticks and anything else he can find.
“What’s going on?” I ask, braving a look over my shoulder. There’s hardly any light this deep into the woods, but I don’t see anything, and I don’t sense any movement either.
The Hound doesn’t reply, quickly covering the last of the Baron’s body, and before I can ask the question again, he snatches my wrist.
I move to yank it away, and I’m met with unyielding resistance. I’ve never felt more defenseless as he drags me away from the body and deeper into the woods.
“Let go!” I hiss, digging my heels into the ground, panic taking over my entire body. “Let me—”
My back hits something hard, and his hand comes up to cover my mouth.
“I’m not going to fucking hurt you.” He seems appalled by the notion, teeth bared in annoyance as he jerks his chin in the direction of the Estate. “We aren’t alone.”
His hand still covering my mouth, I follow his gaze, spotting the distant silhouette of two people passing through the woods ahead. Rogues, judging by his—dare I say—protective demeanor.
The tension in my body softens. Barely. The concern on the Hound’s moonlit profile is the only reason I’m not terrified to be this close to him. Besides, he seems to have this under control.
After he studies their forms for a long minute, he looks back at me. “Just stay quiet and still. Can you do that?”
I decide that biting his hand for speaking to me as if I’m a child would only serve to prove the opposite, so I swallow my offence and nod, relaxing enough that he removes his hand.
At the first full breath I take, I realize his torso is pressed too tightly against my ribcage, restricting my ability to inhale fully. Because of this, my breaths become short and shallow, and trying to stay still quickly becomes an insurmountable task.
I wiggle my shoulders, trying to relieve some of the pressure.
“What are you doing?” He doesn’t even look at me as he speaks, his gaze trained in the direction of low voices at the edge of the forest.
Not responding, I fidget again, and he snaps his attention to me. “Stop that.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can.”
I glare up at him. “Oh, I can? Tell me, what else am I feeling?”
This question poses no challenge to him. “Annoyed. Slightly afraid and very flustered. And yet, you reek of determination. It’s getting worse by the second.” My jaw slackens, and he scoffs, retraining his attention on the Rogues. “I hate this just as much as you do,” he says. “Trust me.”
Tightening my jaw, I try to focus on anything but him. “I trust you about as far as I can throw you,” I mutter to myself.
A whopping inch. If that.
“Hey!” A man shouts, close enough that the Hound presses further in, his grip on the trunk behind me tight enough that the wood groans. My lungs burn as I hold in my gasp for air. “Come back here,” he adds playfully, the Rogue’s laughter echoing through the silent forest.
Leaves and sticks crunch—footsteps getting closer.
“Oh, come on, Greer!” the male teases. “You aren’t afraid of the Madwood, are ya?”
Greer? My brows pinch. The Madwood?
Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to describe this place. It isn’t like the woods in Draycott or even in Pirn. It’s darker. Denser. Slightly less inviting and far more…beastly. Like it might swallow you whole should you take a wrong turn or overstay your welcome.
Madwood makes sense—I feel insane just standing in it. But I decide to attribute most of that to the lack of oxygen going to my brain thanks to the boulder pressing into my lungs, and the foreign scent of said boulder fucking with my senses.
I shift on my feet, spine digging into the bark.
Crystal eyes snap to mine.
“Why can’t you just…do that, um...” He glares down at me as I search for the right word, and by the time I’ve found it, I can tell he’d rather me just stop talking altogether. “...neck snapping thing? Like you did to that guard?”
The Hound’s too-perfect features twist into an expression of incredulous annoyance. “You want three bodies to deal with tonight?”
“If it means not getting caught?” I counter back in a sharp whisper. “Yes.”
Disbelief flares in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything back. Instead, he shakes his head and refocuses on the Rogues—Greer and whoever she’s with.
When he spots them, whatever view he’s met with gives him pause, his expression softening into something almost smug.
“We won’t get caught,” he tells me.
My brows pull together. “How can you be so sure?”
I squirm to see what he’s looking at and, to my surprise, he gives me the room to crane my neck around his arm. I get a full view of—oh.
My cheeks warm instantly.
The two lovebirds are much closer to the entrance of the forest now, and Greer’s got her tongue down the man’s throat. Fantastic. Ripping my gaze away, I press my shoulders back against the tree.
The Hound has backed off a step, putting some much-needed space between us, and I fill my lungs with the cool night air. We certainly aren’t in the clear, but Greer and whoever she’s with are much too focused on each other. It’s disturbing and relieving.
“Why can’t you just do that…” I look up, instantly noting the mock in his tone. He’s bordering on a smile, waving his hand around in some ambiguous gesture. “...illusion thing?” the Hound settles on. “Get them to leave?”
I stare blankly back at him.
My silence only fuels him. “Or we could let it play out?” He shoves both hands into his pockets, craning his neck to get another look at the two of them. “Take bets on how long he’ll last?”
With a groan, I push off the tree. “Fine.”
“To the betting?”
“No.”
I ignore his slow-spreading smile, turning towards the couple instead. Closing my eyes, I picture what the Umbra looked like the last time I saw her. I don’t need to perfectly replicate her appearance—her voice will do just fine.
Sol magic bleeds into the air around us, warm against my skin, and through the trees, near the Estate, a silhouette of a woman appears. She’s tall and slender, a dark robe billowing out around her.