her nerve, she shoved the tip of the blade into the creature’s flesh, allowing the sword to rest against the ground as blood pooled around her feet and the creature went still.
“Are you all right?”
Instead of answering, Lydia dropped the sword and threw up. Over and over her stomach heaved, the vomit burning. Twisting away from the mess, she pressed her forehead against the cobbles.
“If you’re finished, we need to go.” Killian reached down to retrieve his weapon. “I’ve already lost a chunk of flesh to one of these bastards, and I don’t aim to lose any more.”
He started walking, then swayed, catching his balance against the wall of a building.
Wiping her mouth, Lydia hurried to his side, noting that the sleeve of his coat was soaked with blood, a constant stream of droplets falling to splat against the cobbles. “Let me help you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. And if your ego is so delicate that you insist on arguing otherwise, you deserve to be eaten.”
His laugh turned into a growl of pain, but he didn’t resist as she pulled his uninjured arm around her shoulder, staggering as his weight pressed against her.
Their progress was nerve-rackingly slow as they shifted from shadow to shadow. Lydia kept an eye on the dark skies, muscles twitching at every sound, certain they were being watched. That the deimos were waiting for them to falter and then would attack. When they reached a blue door centered in the front of a large building, Killian extracted a key, trying three times to insert it into the lock before Lydia took it from him. She had just turned the key when the door swung open, revealing the tallest woman Lydia had ever seen.
The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of them. Reaching down, she grabbed Lydia’s arm and jerked, sending her toppling across the floor into the house.
“Don’t you dare!” Killian’s strangled protest followed her in as the enormous woman picked him up like a child.
Ignoring Lydia, she kicked the door shut and hurried up the stairs. “Garrem,” she shouted. “Get your arse upstairs.”
An old man shuffled across the front entrance and up the stairs, past where Lydia huddled in the shadows. Trailing him was a group of girls, none appearing past twenty. All six of them wore dark trousers, knee-high boots, and dark blouses held tight to their bodies by leather corsets.
“Someone’s hurt,” a girl with a thick blond braid said, crouching to touch one of the many droplets of blood splattered across the floor.
“I’m sure I heard the captain’s voice,” another with copper-colored hair said, and the lot of them exchanged glances. Lydia debated extracting herself from her hiding place but decided she was happy enough where she was.
“Not him, surely. He’s…” the blond trailed off, and the girl with the copper hair took her hand.
There was a heavy thud, and the large woman’s voice boomed from above. “Gwen, have the cook put water on to boil and tell her I need more bandages. The rest of you get back to your dinner. There’s little enough in this cursed city without you letting it go to waste.”
The blond disappeared into the hallway, but the copper-haired girl asked, “Who’s hurt? Is it the captain?”
The enormous woman hesitated long enough that a denial would obviously be a lie. “He ran afoul of a deimos.”
The girl’s hands balled into fists. “Is he…?”
“He’ll be fine. Go eat your dinner, Lena.”
“I can go get a healer,” the girl—Lena—protested. “I know the sewer tunnels—”
“No.” The woman’s voice was not unkind. “You will stay here unless I say otherwise, do you understand?”
The girl-soldier reluctantly nodded, then disappeared after her fellows. Lydia leaned her head against the staircase, inhaling the smell of wood polish. Everything hurt. Her feet were a raw mess, and she bled from countless small injuries on her arms and legs.
She did not know what to do.
She did not know where she was.
She did not know how she was going to get back home.
What she did know was that Killian was bleeding to death from injuries gained saving her life. And for that reason, even if the night were safe, she couldn’t walk away.
Taking the steps two at a time, Lydia followed the woman’s voice until she found the room where they’d taken him.
On silent feet, Lydia stopped at the doorway, taking in the sight of Killian stripped to the waist and lying on a bed. The old man—Garrem—was inspecting Killian’s ruined shoulder, the skin lacerated down to the bone from