crippled soldier had pulled a knife and was waving it at the sky. “Come and get me, you bastards! I still have some fight left in me!”
Killian jerked the sword belted at his waist free of its scabbard, pressing Lydia as close to the wall as her trapped leg would allow. She could feel the tension running through him. Tension and fear.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Deimos.” He held one finger against his lips. “And this fool is going to get himself killed.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth then a massive black shape fell from the sky and slammed into the soldier’s back, sending him tumbling across the road. He screamed and tried to rise, but his spine was broken. The black shape dropped from the sky again, but before Lydia could get a good glimpse of it Killian had his sword between the bars, arms straining as he tried to bend them. “Pull,” he said between his teeth, and Lydia heaved, fear chasing away the pain.
“Harder!”
The bars groaned as they bent, and then she was free.
Killian hauled her to her feet, arm supporting her as he pulled her back into a courtyard, then under the shadowed overhang of a doorway.
The soldier’s screams had ceased, replaced by the clatter of hooves against the cobbles and the sharp sound of tearing fabric. Fear coursed through Lydia, her hands cold and pulse a rapid flutter in her throat. Knowing she might need to run, she put weight on her injured leg. It ached, but not badly enough to be broken or sprained.
“Is the door open?” Killian whispered.
She tried the handle, but it was bolted. “No.”
Two more screams sounded from above and more hooves clattered against the street. Peering around Killian’s shoulder, she stared at the opening to the courtyard. The dead soldier’s remaining leg was visible, and she recoiled as it twitched. A long tail whipped across the opening to the yard, and the body jerked out of view.
The stink of blood and offal drifted in their direction along with the distinct sound of teeth rending flesh. Lydia thought there must be three deimos on the ground, but there could be more circling above.
The bulky shadow of one of the creatures appeared in the entrance of the courtyard. It walked inside, the clip-clop of its hooves identical to that of a horse. But what stepped into the moonlight and turned its head to look at them was no horse: it was the stuff of nightmares.
19
LYDIA
The deimos turned its head toward the doorway, saucer-sized eyes piercing the darkness. It was shaped much like a spindly horse, except it had leathery wings that stretched out a dozen feet to either side, a fleshy tail that whipped back and forth across the ground, and dark grey skin that was devoid of fur. Lydia stared at it in horror as it opened its maw and filled the air with a piercing call, cruel fangs white in the moonlight.
One foreleg reached out, pawing a cloven hoof across the ground.
“I’m going to need you to get that door open,” Killian muttered.
“It’s locked!” she hissed.
“Unless you want to wind up in this thing’s stomach, I suggest you put some muscle into it.” Not waiting for a response, he raised his sword and stepped into the open.
Lydia flung herself at the door, pounding her fists against the solid wood and screaming for help in every language she knew before clamping her teeth together. No one in their right mind would open the door. Behind her, a battle waged, but she didn’t turn. The deimos was Killian’s problem. Getting inside was hers.
She could not break it.
She could not push it in.
She could force the lock, but the bolts on the door suggested another latch on the inside.
“Don’t just stand there, woman!”
Thinking was not just standing there.
Then a solution presented itself. Whirling, she shouted, “I need a knife! A…” The specifics died on her lips. There was blood everywhere. Was it his? Was it the creature’s?
Something metallic whistled past her ear and embedded with a thud in the wood of the door. Lydia jerked the knife free and snatched up a loose cobble. Shoving the weapon’s tip into one of the hinges, she hammered on the hilt, driving up the pin. “Come on, come on.”
It gave, and she pried at it with knife and fingers, cutting herself and scarcely feeling the pain. Then it was out.
Lydia set to work on the other hinge, sweat and blood making her fingers slick.