"You two need to talk," Arlene said, patting Devon's leg before leaving them alone.

Lord Darren took the space the elf had vacated. Devon found it hard to sit up. He offered her his hand, and as it would be between them for as long as their paths followed the same route, taking it was an agreement. He wanted her to let him see her thoughts.

With a sigh, she allowed him entry into her mind.

He carefully helped her upright, and there was no avoiding his eyes. Even then, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers.

"Please accept my apology for my willingness to sacrifice you to save the others, but I failed to get through to you," he confessed. "Arlene would not let me harm you and cleave off a piece of my soul, so I trusted her to find a solution."

The depth of those green pools drew her in, and her breath caught in her throat, but the attraction between them did not distract her.

"Master, you experienced my rage and witnessed what happened. How can you trust me among these good people after today?" she asked.

His expression did not waver or alter, almost as if he did not blame her for what happened.

Nothing angered her father more than a display of weakness or vulnerability, yet this man looked at her with compassion and understanding.

If I didn't know better, she thought, I would almost call it love.

"This battle inside you . . . it is not over," he told her. "You are at a crossroads. Whether you master the wolf or the wolf masters you, you cannot follow two roads or serve two masters."

Although his words echoed those of Arlene, she suspected that he had not listened in on their conversation.

"But I suspect that you've already realized that. Danya isn't evil. Knowing how close she came to hurting Arlene, me, and even you will change her reasoning."

She frowned at his certainty. "I don't share your optimism, and this thing is not Danya."

A frown furrowed his brow and his eyes became stormy as if he would contradict her, but a sound arrested her attention. She tensed, and because they were touching, he picked up on what she perceived.

Four vampires burst from the trees with two struggling fae caught between them. Their abrupt appearance startled everyone but the two of them. The group readied themselves for battle before recognizing their comrades. Once they realized there was no danger, they relaxed.

"Sorry, Commander Calder," the soldier in the lead said. "It seems we are late for the party. We caught these two, and they graciously told us of a battle they were losing in this spot. We thought they might have value."

He shoved one of the bound fae to its knees. The creature with its troll-like face toppled over, hitting the ground face-first, crushing its nose and spurting dark-red blood all over the thing's mouth and chin.

"There are three more of us, but no more of the fae. The survivors retreated through whatever porthole from the depths of hell brought them here."

The vampires show the telltale signs of a skirmish but remain in good condition compared to the rest, her mind automatically assessed.

"They won't talk. Whatever sent this scum after us scares them more than death or the thought of torture," Calder decided, slowly and reluctantly sitting upright with a grimace. "They're only good for feeding on and killing. We have no spare men to watch them, and they are no good as collateral."

The creature spat blood and venom at him, missing his mark.

"Lord Darren, since you have obligations and I've had my fill, please help yourself," Calder politely invited, staring at the mess on the ground with eyes that glittered with hatred.

Lord Darren rose and stalked toward the fae with the attitude of a hunter that spotted prey. The vampire surfaced—predatory, cold, ruthless, and without mercy. It tore into the fae's arteries without using its venom to numb the bite, gnawing at the sinews and flesh until blood spurted freely from the open wounds.

Devon's gaze strayed to Arlene, who watched him feed for just a second and then stared into the distance.

This is not his way, Devon thought. Thus, it must be a tactic.She shuddered, as it reminded her somewhat of her wolf. This method of torture and intimidation would succeed in such situations.

Once Lord Darren had his fill, he shoved the prisoner over to his half-sister.

Will she have the stomach for it? Devon wondered.

Meghan took her cue from him without needing an explanation.

The lieutenant is a lot tougher than she looks.

The prisoner's screams and moans became weaker. When Meghan wanted no more, she brutally tore out his throat and broke his neck with disturbing ease.

Father would admire this woman who tossed her victim aside with an absolute lack of regard, like a cut of meat and not a person, Devon mused as the fae's neck lolled loosely to one side, seemingly boneless. After what nearly happened to her, she lacks compassion for the dark fae, and they deserve none.

The other captive started blabbering in terror, his gaze nailed to his butchered friend.

The survivors were facing their mortality, and the possibility of being treated with such disrespect broke even the staunchest men.

Not that his cooperation matters, she deduced. The fae will not see another day. Lord Darren will only grant him a quick and painless death.

"See, Devon, we all have a side to us that we must fight because if we don't, that is all we become—soulless, dark creatures like the fae. If you cling to the light, those who mean more to you than your own life will keep you going in the right direction," Arlene promised, closer to her than expected.

"And if you lose them?"

"Their memory lives in you, and your responsibility is to honor their goodness with your choices."

The words struck a chord deep inside her.

"And if you fail?" she asked, not realizing how much the question revealed to Arlene.

"Then you get up, and you go on. Not doing so would mean that you gave up on them. Would they ever have given up on you?"

The voices, screams, and guilt in Devon's mind became quiet.

"No, they would never have given up on me," she admitted.

Tears burned her eyes. She was not just talking about the dead, but those who had sacrificed their lives for her.

Only eight of Calder's soldiers survived, which included Meghan.

With the horses gone, we must continue our journey on foot, Devon realized as the men gathered supplies from the bodies of the fae.

"We must leave this place and get as far from here as possible," Lord Calder commanded, choosing speed and cunning over conserving their energy for the fight.

We will not easily survive another battle with our dwindling numbers, Devon thought. Using our inhuman speed, we can cover three times the distance that would have been possible on horseback, but it will take its toll on us.

Lord Darren took the lead, and everyone followed. Arlene fell into step with her, and she did not know if it was a gesture of friendship or whether the elf wanted to protect the others from her wolf.

It should have bothered her, but it did not.

Theirs would be a long journey, and she suspected that they would not be able to steal more than a few moments of rest between runs. Every mile they gained would wear them down.

At least our tactics seem to work, Devon thought three days later, hiding behind a tree to ensure that no one followed them. There have been no more attacks on us.

The group had avoided the open road and stuck to the cover afforded by the forest. They hunted whatever animals presented themselves in the woods and made do with the meager resources at their disposal. Nor did they risk making fires or camping out, only resting on the ground or in the trees.

It would take a tracker of legendary skill to find our trail with Arlene and me leading the group. She tried to catch her breath. My animal instincts and her magic, our cunning, skill, and combined knowledge work in perfect harmony.

To disguise their tracks, she used her forest lore and the tricks she had learned from Hank, the huntsman, while Arlene used magic to disperse their scent trail.

We should be fine if we continue avoiding settlements and skirt open areas and grasslands, even if it lengthens our journey, she surmised.

"Unless the witch uses magic to track us down again," the little voice in her head murmured.

She slipped into the shadows as if she were never there.

Left with no choice, they relentlessly kept going, pushing their limits as far as they dared and beyond. With no time to dry, cook, or cure meat, Devon and Arlene resorted to eating their food raw.

The elf did not want to risk weakening her magic with parlor tricks as she did with the fish by the river, and Devon found that understandable.

She recalled how she had to concentrate on not being sick the first few times they had to eat. Her memories had beaten against her mind like the wings of a million attacking bats in a cave, but then she forced herself to settle. Eventually, she became numb to it, too tired and strung out to care as long as the aching need of hunger abated.

Arlene, practical as always, had pushed down her revulsion and ate.

At least food is plentiful and people scarce—a fact that would change near the border where the armies battle, Devon assumed as she scouted ahead of the group. But we can sustain our travel rate for shorter and shorter distances as the weaker ones fade.

It made them vulnerable as they needed to rest more and more often as the days wore on.

Near sundown, on the seventh day, Devon skidded to an unexpected halt. Arlene stopped beside her, and as if the others were part of a single whole, they froze too.

Unlike the two of us, they still do not know why. Her senses were on high alert.

Arlene signaled with her hand, indicating that there were people in the direction they were headed.

Devon nodded in agreement, signaling that she detected seven, maybe eight, males. She briefly closed her eyelids, scenting the air and allowing her mind to sort through the information. Her eyes snapped open, flaring bright blue for an instant. Even before she gestured, the others had already guessed.

Whoever it is, Devon thought, they are fae.

The group cautiously advanced, paying unwavering attention to her and Arlene for their constant signaled instructions.

They came within hearing distance of the fae, moving around them in a series of well-timed, stealthy, and coordinated movements that mimicked the ebb and flow of water. Just as the tension became unbearable, they advanced beyond the enemy—unseen, unheard, and undetected.

A shaky sigh escaped Devon.

Why do the fae search for us so far from the ambush site? she wondered with a frown puckering her brow. It is chilling that the dark ones spend so many resources trying to exterminate Lord Darren. Even with the losses the fae suffered, it did not deter them from sending more men.

She and Arlene led them past four more groups in the same way, and each time, the tension inside her escalated.

The fae suppose that we are still a couple of days from reaching our current location, she gathered from snatches of overheard conversations. With our combined talents and a bit of luck, we might leave our enemies under that mistaken impression for a while longer. If not, the odds are that we won't reach our destination.