the world, and whispered in her ear, “Because you’ve always been seeking us.”
And his mask slipped a little, revealing, for an instant, something shadowy and ancient and grinning. Smashing down her terror, Finn curled her fingers in the fur of his coat. “Show me.”
He kissed her as if intent on killing the mortal girl who remained. Biting and ruthless, it was not a sweet kiss; it was a devouring one, of lust and pain and power. Her blood began to ice, stinging her insides. An expanse of empty tundra filled her.
When Seth Lot snapped back from her, she tasted blood. He raised the edge of one hand to his mouth. He shook his head, once, like an animal trying to orient itself. When he lifted his blue gaze to her, the Wolf moved behind his eyes. “What did you do to me?”
“Tamasgi’po,” she whispered. “Spirit in a kiss. Second death.”
The true world returned as he lunged at her, his nails curved claws meant for her eyes.
A knife arrowed through the clawed hand reaching for her.
The Wolf twisted around, pulling out the knife, staring at Lily. He still gripped Jill Scarlet’s sword in his other hand. He pointed the sword at Lily and lovingly said, “I’m done with you.”
“You’re dying.” Finn’s voice was faint. He turned on her and she thought she saw a flicker there, of horror, of someone trapped who had witnessed things that should never be. It’s a trick, she told herself.
Then the Wolf smiled before whirling and lunging at Lily Rose, the sword’s point aimed at her throat.
Another sword, the silvery-blue of new steel and engraved with runes, deflected his blade from Lily with an earsplitting shriek . . . and Jack, lithe and deadly, drove Lot back, moving as if the mistletoe hadn’t done him any harm. He attacked Lot with quicksilver ferocity, his blade scything at the Wolf’s neck, his torso, his legs. Seth Lot dodged, on the defensive.
Finn edged along the wall, toward Lily and Anna.
She saw Jack stagger—the wound in his chest dripped rose petals. Lot drove forward, effortlessly, relentlessly, bashing him into a defensive position, the ringing and clanging of their blades echoing from the stone walls.
“Finn!” Lily, shielding Anna from the whirlwind of Jack and Lot’s battle, was edging with the young girl toward the exit.
Lot suddenly spun and lunged toward Finn, stabbing the point of his blade toward Finn’s left eye.
Jack slid between them.
Lot twisted the blade to plunge it through Jack’s chest.
As Lot dragged the sword out of Jack, who crumpled to the floor, hemorrhaging rose petals and blood, Finn dropped to her knees. The world went still.
“Jack . . .” Clutching one hand over the wound in his chest, she pushed the hair back from his face as he coughed blood and closed his eyes. Angrily, irrationally, she said, “Jack, don’t you dare leave me now . . .”
Seth Lot crouched beside her. Gently, he said, “You see how this sort of thing concludes? This childish belief in happy endings?”
Jack’s hand moved beneath hers. His fingers clasped hers around the hilt of the sword—she recognized the jackal hilt. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t . . .
Jack took her hand from his chest and smiled. His lips moved: You can.
She rose and slammed back against the wall, gripping the sword’s hilt with both hands. Her broken wrist still hurt.
Lot stood at the same time, gazing searchingly at her. Kindly, he said, “No. You’re not a killer.” He hefted the blade he held and looked at Jack. “So, now, he dies, and if he is in pieces, he won’t be brought back again.”
“Don’t.” Her voice scraped out of her. She still gripped the sword.
Lot stepped forward. He set a booted foot on one of Jack’s hands, to hold him in place.
Jack’s eyes opened. He twisted from beneath Lot, shouted, “Now!”
Moth slid from the shadows. Finn flung the sword to him. As Moth caught the sword by its hilt, Lot met Finn’s gaze. And it came into his eyes, then, the soul with which the Tamasgi’po had begun to poison him.
He lunged toward her, his form as jittery as an old film as he sought to ride the shadow—
Moth swung the iron blade with two-handed strength. She wanted to look away, but she needed to see the monster end.
Before the flash of metal sliced through Lot’s neck, the Wolf’s eyes turned summer blue, the memories surging back, a human soul, long dead, waking up.
She closed her eyes, heard a whisper