But the visit disturbed Blade and he wanted time to think. While Roam seemed harmless enough, if he could find them so easily, others could too. And they might not be as benign. Blade itched to be moving.
“Are you strong enough to walk?” he asked Raven once Roam was gone.
“Yes.”
He did not know if he should believe her, but he would watch her and stop if he thought she was becoming too tired. They had to leave this place.
“We may as well climb as far as we can while the moon is up,” he said. If they traveled at night and she did not sleep, the demons might not try to reach her. He began to scoop dirt onto the fire. “Roam had the right idea. Hiding under their noses is a good enough plan, at least for the winter.”
Stubbornness etched the line of her delicate, lifted chin. “I’m going to the temple first, as we planned. I’ll hear those directions from Creed and no one else.”
He finished with the fire, then wrapped the cooked quail in broadleaves and tucked them into one of the packs. They dismantled the shelter together and packed up the last of the campsite. He strapped on extra weapons because knives were not enough in the dark. As far as he could tell, she seemed recovered enough to walk for at least a few hours if they went slow.
He did not argue with her as they set out, even though she had overlooked two minor details of her plan.
Creed had not said for her to wait for him. And Blade had never agreed to take her to Creed.
Chapter Eight
Raven followed Blade through moonlit mountain terrain that grew steadily steeper as they progressed. Her eyesight was better than his, so she would occasionally point out an obstacle or hazard he hadn’t noticed. In return, he would grunt his thanks.
As they climbed, she worried about Roam. Judging by the wounds he bore, he had received an unduly harsh lesson regarding life and trusting others. And yet he had delivered Creed’s message to her without thought to his safety. Blade easily could have killed him.
She had her bow and quiver of arrows slung across her shoulder, but Blade would let her carry nothing else. While she had been unconscious, he had cut down clothes for her and crafted makeshift shoes from worn-out leather. They were far from beautiful, but comfortable and warm, and she was grateful to him and touched by his thoughtfulness.
She had not intended to continue to rely on him but had been unable to refuse. She blamed it on the prospect of seeing Creed again, so tantalizingly within her reach, but that was not the true reason.
They understood each other now. He knew she was half demon. She knew he hated and feared them, and would do what he had to in order to keep them from the mortal world.
And still, a quiet but insistent part of her could not bear the thought of being parted from him.
Perhaps when she reached Creed, this blossoming hunger she felt for Blade would diminish.
The path Blade was forging led them through a deep mountain gap. High walls of jagged rock encased them on either side.
As the bright sliver of moon passed behind a thick bank of cloud, plunging the world into smothering blackness, Raven’s flesh prickled. A faint whisper of sound—a stirring of the air—brought her up short.
Blade gripped her elbow and bent his head close to hers. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure.” She angled her head to the side, straining to hear if the faint whisper would repeat itself, but all was still. Unnaturally so. The demon inside her stirred, a clear indication of danger. Blade unsheathed the short sword he had strapped to his hip, the sound of metal slithering against leather alarmingly loud.
The tangy scent of something wild stung her nose. Something was definitely not right. She shrugged the bow from her shoulder and eased an arrow from its quiver, snagging the fletching between her fingers.
A pebble, dislodged from a rock shelf, clattered loudly down the cliff wall, and Raven glanced upward just as Blade slammed her aside with his shoulder. She heard him swear, then something sharp, like claws, dragged along rock. Thick, coarse fur brushed her arm.
Wolven.
More than one, judging by the rustling movements now clearly audible in the night.
As the moon reemerged from the clouds she saw Blade slash upward with his arm, slicing open the belly of an enormous, four-legged creature. The wolven hunched and snarled, but despite its wound, did not retreat as it continued to face him. Fangs as long as Blade’s hand jutted from the jaws of its muzzle.
Raven nocked the arrow and drew back her elbow, steadying the fletching against her cheek. The bolt she let loose embedded itself solidly in the wolven’s temple, and it dropped to the ground with a heavy, sodden thump.
The scent of fresh blood settled, thick and sharp, on Raven’s tongue, drenching the air flowing into her lungs. Her vision blurred as an intense, unexpected craving struck. The provocative smell sent all rational thought from Raven’s head except one.
Her demon was gaining strength.
She should be horrified. And a part of her was, but overriding any terror was the need to draw more blood.
Three more wolven crouched not far from Blade, their hungry, unwavering eyes fixated on him as he stood between them and Raven. Genetically modified by Old World scientists long ago to fight demons, they worked well together and hunted in packs. She clawed for another arrow as one of the wolven attacked, letting loose as it went for Blade’s throat. The remaining two separated, circling to either side of Blade, and Raven saw that they planned to attack him as a team.
Her demon went wild inside her at the threat to him. It was impossible for Raven to control it and concentrate on Blade at the same time. Faint glimmers of blue-green fire, drawn to her demon from its connection to the demon boundary, seeped through Raven’s pores to illuminate the narrow funnel of rock in which they stood. As she slid an arrow from the quiver, she sent out a silent and fervent prayer for help. She was unprepared for the response she received.
Summon me, her father commanded. I will come to your aid.
Her fingers froze on the fletching. Dismay slid like a finely honed knife between her ribs and into her lungs at the sound of his voice in her thoughts. She was half demon. Who else but a demon would answer her prayers?
And there would be a price for it. Demons did nothing for free.
The danger to Blade—and the agitation of her inner demon—would not let her dismiss her father as she knew she should. If he could save Blade, then she should summon him. But that would mean bringing him into the mortal world. Blade would not forgive her for that.
Indecision tore at her. The only thing she was sure of was that she could not stand here and watch him die.
Reaching through the connection to the boundary her demon had tapped, she called to her father. It was an invitation he did not hesitate to accept. She felt him reach out to her in return, his triumph palpable, to follow her back to the mortal world.
As she brought him through the connection, however, Raven pulled part of the demon boundary along with him so that within the mortal world, she created an overlap in a broad circle around her feet. Although she had done something similar as a child, only in the opposite direction, she discovered her imagination as an adult was not so vivid or unrestrained. This section of boundary was less stable and much smaller, barely large enough to encompass her, Blade, and the wolven.
But also her father, enormous in his demon form. Heady elation, as well as relief at her success, filled her. Here, in this small piece of demon boundary, he could not fully cross into the mortal world. Not as long as it held. If she released it, he would be drawn back with it.