William's voice cut through the mental static of Becky's panic like a cold blade. Using spirit telepathy, he projected a sense of absolute, glacial calm, even as the world around them disintegrated into a fever dream of blood and shadow.
Since the moment the sky had bruised into darkness, and the river had begun its grotesque ascent, Becky had been a fountain of frantic energy.
Her voice had rattled in William's mind incessantly—first pleading for a retreat, then screaming for his monsters to form a perimeter around her. When William finally diverted a small pack of his beasts to her side, she immediately tried to use them as an escort to flee the area entirely.
But William had planned for her fear. One of the larger, more obsidian-skinned monsters had surged forward, not to guard her, but to pin her. It had snatched her up with a strength that brooked no argument, throwing her across its broad, muscled back.
