“Sloan,” warned the other Malchai.
August tried to get to his feet, and failed. The warehouse twisted and blurred until it was a bedroom, an alley, a school. Someone was calling a name, his name, and then he was standing in the forest brushing his fingers against the trees and he could hear music, humming, and Kate looked back with a frown and then— Pain exploded against his side, and he crumpled. He tried to roll onto his back, but the concrete was cold and rising over him like water and he was in the bath his fingers curled around the edge and Kate’s over his while the water fell like rain and he was burning burning burning from the inside and the darkness was waiting waiting waiting just beyond the light.
Sloan was towering over him, all shadow save for those vivid red eyes. He raised the bar to strike, but as he brought it down, August’s hands flew up and caught the metal.
Darkness curled up around his fingers like steam.
“Let go, August,” said Sloan, putting his weight behind the bar. Cold wicked along the metal, meeting the heat of August’s touch. His grip tightened, his vision fixed on his fingers, wishing he had the control to slide between the forms like his brother.
Leo could turn a part of himself without losing the whole.
Because there was no whole left.
Nothing human.
Nothing real.
Somewhere beyond the pool of light, metal scraped across the concrete. August squinted and saw that the darkness wasn’t solid after all. Massive objects loomed in the shadows, and a corridor branched off toward the noise, a pair of doors at the very end giving way to the paler dark of night.
“Oslo,” said Sloan, still leaning on the bar above him. “Go see to Kate.”
August’s pulse pounded in his broken chest. Run, he willed her, even now.
The other Malchai turned to go.
“And don’t kill her,” added Sloan.
“Don’t worry,” smirked the monster, “I’ll leave you some of—”
“You’ll leave me all of her,” warned Sloan. His tone was icy and slick, his dead lips tight over his teeth. Heat flared through August’s skin.
“You can end this,” said the monster, his attention back on the bar. And August knew he could, but he also knew that the moment he did, the Malchai would drive the metal down into his chest, and it would tear past what had been flesh, and what would be smoke and shadow, and into his burning heart.
And he would be gone.
Whatever he was made of—stardust or ash or life or death—would be gone.
Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
In with gunfire and out with smoke.
And August wasn’t ready to die.
Even if surviving wasn’t simple, or easy, or fair.
Even if he could never be human.
He wanted the chance to matter.
He wanted to live.
By the time Kate got the last screw free, her hands were shaking, and sweat was running down her face.
She yanked the screw out, grabbed the metal frame, and pulled.
It didn’t move. She swore and wrenched, putting all her weight behind it, but the bar was still stuck. Exhausted, Kate leaned her head against the metal, and felt it slip forward off the base. Her breath caught in surprise, then relief, as she gripped the metal and shoved. The bar ground forward, scraping over the concrete with a screech, and Kate cringed—so much for stealth. She managed to torque the bar enough to get the cuffs beneath, and scrambled to her feet.
Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond, and she held her breath, back pressed into the wall beside the door, wishing she had a weapon. Something. Anything. But she wasn’t going down again, not without a fight.
The metal door slid open, casting a skeletal shadow into the room.
Thin light fell on the warped bar, the cast-off screws, the place where Kate should be.
The monster hissed and started forward, but something wrenched him back into the hall.
There was a choking sound, and the wet slick of a wound, and then nothing. Kate held her breath as a second shadow passed before the door, then disappeared.
In the distance, Sloan’s voice echoed, sickly sweet.
Kate counted to ten, then peeled herself away from the wall and went to find him.
August was slipping, edges blurring into shadow. He lay onto his side, his face against the floor, and listened for the heartbeat of the world.
He didn’t hear it.
But he heard footsteps. Soft, steady.
And then a shadow moved beyond the ring of light. He squinted.
It wasn’t the Malchai.
It wasn’t Kate.
It moved too slowly, its stride was too even.
The shadow drew itself together out of the darkness and became a man, tall and handsome with blond hair and eyes as flat and black as night.
Leo.
His eyes found August’s, and black blood dripped from his fingers as he brought them to his lips in a command for silence. His expression was even, assessing, as he drifted silently forward to the edge of the light.
August coughed, tried to push himself onto his hands and knees as Sloan loomed over him, red eyes fixed and waiting.