The darkness did not simply fall; it collapsed, heavy and suffocating, the moment Isadora turned her back on the Duke.
One moment, there was the brilliant, terrifying flash of Caelan's violet blade and the reassuring arrogance of his smile. The next, there was only the driving sleet, the scream of the wind through the ancient oaks, and the sickening, wet thud of boots scrambling for purchase in the mud.
"Keep moving," Isadora gasped, the words tearing from her throat like shards of glass. "Don't look back. Bram, don't look back."
The forest was a cacophony of violence. Behind them, the clash of steel on steel rang out—a high, singing note that cut through the thunder. It was followed by a roar that was not human, a sound that vibrated in the marrow of Isadora's bones. It was the sound of a predator unleashed, the sound of the Iron Duke shedding his civility like a ruined coat.
