Page 50 of On Brutal Thrones

My body rocks forward before I stop it. I want to go to him. Gods, I want to go to him.

I want him to crouch beside me with that ridiculous smile and tell me the whole thing was a terrible misunderstanding. I want Fenric to come crashing through the trees behind him, complaining about his face, with Thorian following and looking irritated with all of us.

But they don't appear.

Talon is alone.

That stops me. Why would Thorian let him come after me alone? Especially injured.

I stay where I am.

Maybe there was a time when hearing Talon’s voice would’ve been enough. Before the Trials. Before warlocks and shifters and gods trying to kill me. Before I learned how quickly safety could become danger.

I love Talon. That doesn't mean I'm crawling out of this hiding place until I know he's Talon again.

“Nyx,” he calls.

He moves through the clearing, turning slowly as he searches.

My injured arm throbs, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of the blood still drying on my skin. The field is thick with the smell of it, but what if Talon can pick out mine? The thought makes my stomach tighten.

Talon stops. His head lifts slightly, and every muscle in my body goes rigid. Then he continues walking.

I release a breath so slowly it barely makes a sound.

From where I'm hidden, I can only see him in pieces as he moves between the trees. His back. His blood-soaked clothes. The slight drag of his injured leg. His shoulders look relaxed, almost casual.

Maybe he really is himself.

Hope pushes against my caution.

I could crawl out. I could call his name. I could help him with his leg, and then together we could go back for Thorian and Fenric.

My cramped leg is beginning to ache anyway. I shift forward slightly, and Talon turns. And I see his face.

Every hopeful thought disappears.

His eyes are red. Not blue touched with red. Not irritated from fighting the hunger. Ruby red.

His gaze jerks from one patch of forest to another, searching with a frantic intensity completely at odds with his gentle voice. His fingers twitch at his sides, curling and uncurling, and his nostrils flare as he draws in a long breath.

He's hunting.

Hunting me.

Fear sinks into me so deeply that for a second I can't move.

This is worse than when he charged me on the blood field. Then there were creatures everywhere. Fenric and Thorian were beside me. Everything was happening too quickly to understand.

Here, the forest is quiet.

I'm alone. And Talon followed me.

I press myself farther beneath the roots, every muscle locked so tightly it hurts. My dagger feels painfully small in my hand, but I tighten my grip around it anyway.

If he finds me, I’ll fight. The thought doesn’t make me feel brave. It simply feels true.

Talon keeps coming. Each slow footstep through the leaves sends another pulse of fear through me. He’s getting closer to the tree. Closer to the hollow. Closer to me.