They weren’t worried. It had been much easier on the climb down. The banks were wider and the ridges had been softened by the western sun. Of course, that turned out to be a problem.

  There was no way to predict what might happen. It wasn’t an error or miscalculation, but a random stroke of chance. When Jesse stepped onto bank, the ice splintered below his boot.

  There was a quiet crack, followed by a breathless cry.

  By the time Kiera lifted her eyes, only the traces remained.

  She could see exactly where his leg gave out. She could see exactly where he’d tried to grab on, but slipped over the side. Then everything stopped. She couldn’t see him anymore.

  “JESSE!”

  An immortal hand clapped over her mouth, but it was already too late. One might have argued, from the moment that ice started to crack, the nightmare had already begun. But before her voice faded, the mountain seemed to echo in reply. First there was a quake, then a rising rumble.

  Then the ground gave out beneath them, and they tumbled into the abyss.

  I KILLED US. I KILLED me and all my friends.

  They were the first thoughts that pierced through Kiera’s slumber, pricking at the edges of her consciousness like the coming of the dawn. She squinted up against them, trying to press her hands into her face. Except she couldn’t move her hands. She couldn’t seem to move at all.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and a panicked yelp caught in her chest.

  “Seven hells!”

  The world had vanished, and she had vanished somewhere inside it. Gone was the sky, the mountain, her friends—replaced with a crushing pile of shadow. It pressed against her from every angle, from every side. Thick, and wet, and inescapably freezing. She was so dazed by the change in her surroundings, so utterly stunned, it took her a moment to realize it was snow.

  “The mountain collapsed,” she whispered, speaking each word aloud in the hopes that her brain would hear them. “The mountain collapsed in an avalanche...and I am buried inside.”

  Only then did she realize, she might not have a lot of time.

  “Someone help me!” she screamed, thrashing around with all her might. “Someone help!”

  She might as well have been sleeping. For all her desperate efforts, all that flailing strength, she made not a single dent. The snow encased her like a shroud, leaving just enough space around her mouth that there was room to draw in a breath. For however long the air would last.

  “I can’t breathe!” she gasped, as a sudden panic rose within her. “I can’t breathe!”

  Just take a moment, you can clearly breathe.

  She was so surprised, she nearly shouted again. As it stood, she stopped herself just in time, eyes flying desperately around the snowdrift, as if to find whoever had spoken.

  It was a pleasant voice, yet not her own. It was male, and friendly, and she was struck with a sudden suspicion that she’d heard it before. In the desert, urging her to the rocks.

  And before that, in a distant valley circled in stones.

  “Ciro?” she squeaked.

  There was a sound of jovial laughter, like the crackling of a well-lit fire, or wind chimes floating over grass. It might not have been a sound at all, but simply a feeling.

  How very curious.

  She drew in another shuddering breath, trembling from head to toe.

  “...what’s curious?”

  That you would recognize me, dear one. That you could even hear.

  Her fingers curled and her mind clenched in panic. It seemed the weight of the entire mountain was pressing against her, just waiting to explode. If this was real, and not some crazed delusion brought about by a crushed skull, couldn’t he help her? The man had the powers of a god.

  No, child. I will not help you. You must escape this place on your own.

  She froze in a moment of disbelief, that deflated to a simmering rage.

  “Eden was right about you,” she muttered. “You’re kind of an arsehole.”

  The fae had declared it not long after they’d left the valley—condemning the entire notion of troublesome divinities and interfering spirits as something better left for the bards. It had struck her as strange at the time, given how much he loved those sorts of stories. It was easier to understand now.

  The fae told you that? The voice sounded amused. How very charming.

  A tear slipped down her face, as she struggled against the snow. It was grey, not black. So she had to be close enough to the surface for a little sunlight. But it didn’t matter how much she threw her weight, not a single one of those confining walls would consent to budge.

  “If you aren’t going to help me, then could you just leave?” she asked with gritted teeth. “I never believed in the gods before you, and I can’t imagine they’ll be more useful once I’m gone.”

  Another burst of laughter. A rush of warmth spread through her chest.

  You never believed in the gods?

  She drew in a tight breath, trying to focus on moving her legs. “If we’re being honest, I’m fairly sure you’re a sign of cranial trauma,” she huffed, striking out with her boots. “But if the gods are really watching, they must not like me very much.”

  The gods must not like you. What an uninspired thing to say. You just fell down a mountain...are you dead? You were just burnt alive by a dragon...are you dead?

  “You’re ignoring a larger context,” she muttered, punching her knuckles raw. “I’m on this mountain, because I was shipwrecked. I met the dragon, because I was trying to hunt down the monster that destroyed my village. Now I’m trapped underground, and I can’t even see—”

  The stone appeared in her hands, glowing bright red.

  She lifted her eyes slowly. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

  I think it could be seen as funny.

  She was crying freely now, though she didn’t seem to notice. There was a strange disconnect between her mind, and her body, and her heart. Instead of trying to escape, she gazed upwards.

  “Is this all in my head?”

  What do you mean?

  “I mean, I just fell off a mountain. Is this really happening? Are you really there?”

  Does it matter? If this helps you, if it guides you? Does it matter if I’m really there?

  There was a pause.

  I’m really there.

  “Why?” she gasped. “Why have you come?”

  Because, my dear, every now and again, there comes a story that rises above the others. A story with the potential for something greater, whose heroes spill right off the page. You were meant to smother in the snow today, panicking yourself until you ran out of breath. But I think we can find a better ending for this story, don’t you?

  Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.

  “I was...I was meant to die?”

  You need to start shouting now.

  She shook her head, trying to follow along. “What?”

  Your friends are coming, but they’ll walk overhead. You need to start shouting, or they won’t find you.

  “They’re coming?” she echoed, craning her eyes towards the sky. “Are they all right? How many of them are there? Wait—are you leaving?! You need to come back!”

  Raise your voice, dear one. You’ll see me again in time.

  And just like that, she was alone once again.

  There were a few seconds when she could do absolutely nothing—blinking in teary-eyed astonishment, wondering if any of that actually happened, wondering if she was already dead.

  Then the moment passed, and she started shouting.

  “Down here!” she cried, banging on the snow. “I’m down here!”

  There was movement somewhere above her—the sound of voices, muffled by the snow. A moment passed when nothing happened, then all at once, the world started getting brighter. It was slow at first, then in violent swipes. On the tips of her toes, she craned her neck upwards, watching as a set of clawed fingers tore through the snow. A second later, the image cleared onto Evander.

  “She’s here,” he shouted, reaching down at once to grab her. “She’s all right!”

  It might have been a premature assessment, but she’d never been more grateful to see another face in her entire life. With the strength of a child, she gripped onto his wrist, holding tight as he muscled away the last of the ice and pulled her through the crumble into the open sky.

  She slumped immediately forward, pulling in jagged gasps of air, with her palms pressed flat against the ground. The stone was still clutched between her fingers, shining bright against the snow.

  Evander glanced at it just briefly, then rested a hand on her back. “It’s a good thing you shouted,” he murmured. “Otherwise, I would never have known you were there.”

  She lifted her eyes slowly, unable to rise from the ground.

  Yes, it’s a good thing.

  The image was starting to clear, as her eyes blinked into focus. An icy shelf on the mountain had indeed collapsed, dragging them all down with them, but they appeared to have landed on the correct side. Eden was already racing towards them, carrying something in his arms.

  That’s two of them alive. Now I just need the third.

  “Where is he?” she asked expectantly, craning around to see. “Where’s Jesse?”

  Evander tried to answer, but the words caught on his tongue.

  That’s when she realized what Eden was carrying.

  IT WAS THE CREST OF twilight, that magical time when the world seemed to hang in suspension, balancing between dark and light. The stars were flickering to life even as the last of the day’s sun spilled across the horizon—bursting in waves of vivid color that gentled just as fast.

  It was the witching hour. The spellman’s hour. The hour when anything was possible.

  So why won’t he open his eyes?

  Kiera walked stiffly across the frozen tundra, her arms glued to her sides. There had been several times already when the fae had suggested they stop for the night. There had been several times already, when he’d reached comfortingly for her hand. She never noticed. Her face was blank and her eyes were fixed on the horizon. She didn’t seek comfort. She could burn the world to ash.

  It had seemed like another lifetime when they’d showed her, like an impossible thing. The man she loved was perfect, beautiful, unharmed by the great slab of ice that had cascaded over him.

  All except for the giant crater in the back of his head.

  He was still breathing, that was the only mercy. But the longer they walked, dragging the shifter behind them on a gentle cloak, the more that seemed like the final twist of a knife. How many times would they check him, before the sudden discovery? How many times would they reach for a pulse, weak and barely fluttering, before realizing that he was already dead?

  “I knew something like this would happen,” she said abruptly, startling them both. Two sets of eyes flashed behind her, uncertain and tense. “The whole time we were waiting for him to return, I got this terrible feeling—like we’d pushed things too far, like we were out of second chances.”

  They floundered in the silence that followed before Eden forced himself to speak.

  “We cannot yet know what will happen,” he said softly. “The fall should have killed him, but didn’t. Just like so many things that have come before. If this is his time...” He drew a silent breath, pushing forward, “then there’s nothing to be done. But he may still open his eyes.”

  She wanted to throw those quiet words right back in his face. She wanted to lash out and scream. But if she was being honest with herself, there was a small comfort in them. Not in his talk of hopeful hypotheticals, but in his acknowledgement that it might be out of their control.

  That her beloved wolf may have reached the end of his story after all.

  A tear slipped down her face, joining so many others. “I will drag him for a while.”

  The immortals shared another look, then Evander extended the cloak. They had carried him for a while, it had been easier to make sure he was still breathing. But his head had broken open, and it was better for him to be lying down. The cloak was the easiest solution, Eden had given his own.

  She took it from the vampire’s hands, casting the swiftest look behind her, before continuing into the snow. A thousand shredding thoughts tore through her mind, like a hailstorm designed only to punish. They started wide, then quickly narrowed—piercing her straight to the core.

  If only she’d been standing in front of him when the ledge crumbled. If only the storm hadn’t capsized Arsinia’s ship. If only he hadn’t been on the ship in the first place, if she’d hadn’t dragged him into this terrible mess. If only she hadn’t been in the woods when the dragon came.

  More tears. There seemed no end to them.

  When the fae suggested again that they stop for the evening, she continued walking in a straight line forward. Jesse hated the cold. She would take him someplace warm.

  “What is that?”

  It was the only thing that could have stopped her—the break in their quiet sanctum, the edge of tension in Evander’s voice. For the first time since they’d left the mountains, she paused that ceaseless momentum, glancing around to see what had troubled him.

  She spotted it immediately, though she didn’t understand.

  Tiny dots had appeared in the snow-white backdrop, blotting the horizon, fanning in a circle around them. At first, she was as incredulous as the vampire. Were they tricks of the light? Were they stones? That was when she realized they were moving—fast, and against the wind.

  “Are they shifters or wolves?” she asked, squinting to better discern their shape.

  To be honest, she wasn’t sure it made much of a difference. If they were wolves, there were several dozen. But even shifters had been known to eat in their animal form when game was scarce.

  “Too big for wolves,” Eden murmured, staring bracingly into the dark.

  Evander tilted his head, his eyes seeing better than most. “Too big for shifters.”

  Whatever they were—they were coming hard and fast. Too fast. Even from a distance, she could see clouds of steam rising from their nostrils, open jaws dangling just inches above the snow.

  How is this happening?

  Her mind blanched at the sheer impossibility. This wasn’t the right time. They weren’t ready for whatever it was. Jesse was hurt. She blanched again at her own infuriating naivety—acting as though the rest of the world cared to notice, as though they played by the same set of rules.

  “Eden?”

  It seemed the natural question, the one that had gotten them out of so many binds before.

  Whenever there was trouble—be it a monster, or a philosophical quandary, or even a tavern brawl—the fae would set down what he was holding, and perform a casual miracle. She no longer stopped to question it. She’d learned to take it in stride.

  But the fae was staring with a blank expression, as caught off guard by their sudden dilemma as she was herself. His eyes swept around the circle—wide, and closing in fast—before throwing a bewildered glance at the vampire. Evander returned it in kind. A shiver swept over her.

  There is nothing to be done.

  It was the was the first time the idea came over her, and she disregarded it just as fast.

  Of course, there was something to be done. There was always something. How dare they imply otherwise, with those muted lips, those saucer eyes. She flashed another look towards the creatures, almost impatient for the solution. But they remained silent, frozen stiff on the snow.

  “...Eden?” she asked again, hesitant this time.

  Normally, this was when they’d draw their weapons. Normally, this was when they’d gather into a circle—when someone would tell her to keep her head down and stay hidden from sight.

  But there was something different in what was happening. She could feel it.

  After an endless moment, Eden turned to the vampire.

  “Get yourself out of here,” he said under his breath. “You’re faster than they are.”

  That was the moment it came together, the moment she understood. It wasn’t his despair that told her, but the words he’d chosen to say. His plan wasn’t that they stay together, his plan was for a single person. The person who could still save himself. The person the fae happened to love.

  Evander shook his head slowly. “I’m not leaving.”

  The creatures, whatever their name, were drawing closer. She could hear the rip of their claws against the snowbank. She could hear their fierce, shrieking howls echoing in the night.

  The fae caught his breath before looking again to the vampire.

  “Mios, please...I beg you.” He strode forward without another word, taking the cloak from Kiera’s hands. “Take her and run. Find a weak point and break through, you’re almost to the—”

  Evander walked calmly forward, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Seven hells...he knows we can’t win.

  It was a piece of lore the younger members of the fellowship had always relished, using him as a gauge of all things dangerous, seeing it play out in real life. A vampire would never start a fight unless they were sure of the outcome. It was constant as the sunrise, as inevitable as the grave.

  Eden stared a suspended moment before a light dimmed in his eyes. “Then we’ll all die here.”

  The vampire glanced around the snowy landscape—the terrified barmaid, the broken shifter—before his shoulders lifted in what might have been a shrug. As baffling as it might seem, the fae quickly picked up on the sentiment, following his gaze to their pathetic impromptu sleigh.

  “Kind of anticlimactic,” Eden murmured, nudging the thing with his foot.

  Evander’s lips twitched with a smile. “Kiss me,” he said quietly, meeting the fae’s incredulous gaze. “If we’re really to die here, then kiss me. I would have you kiss me every moment until the end.”

  Eden drew in a breath, trying to reconcile what was to come, before he swept suddenly forward and kissed the vampire on the mouth. They melded together, lingering, then pulled away.

  “That was cold and terrible,” the fae muttered.

 

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