The castle was a wreck.

  Everywhere was flooded. Everyone was screaming. Megie was choking out half-phrases about how Sir. Nirven had iron scissors embedded in his chest, and the Nightlord looked pale. Gabriella stood beside him, eyes wide – as if even the seer couldn’t have predicted this.

  Megie had led him to the hallway just outside where Sir. Nirven’s body apparently floated. Kassan might have taken a peek, if not for the crushing sense of doom making its home on his shoulders. He pinched the tattoo behind his ear again, but no pain would bring life back into Nirven’s numb, iron-scorched heart.

  The Nightlord had clasped his arm and was saying something, but Kassan couldn’t quite hear him. He’d woken up less than five minutes ago. He was still tired. Still yawning, in shock. It wasn’t until Megie squeezed him arm that his hearing cleared, like the water was covering his ears instead of his ankles.

  “Kassan,” the Nightlord was saying, the usually calm voice frantic. “Kassan, did you hear me?”

  The Trueblood blinked. “Repeat that.”

  “The guards haven’t seen anyone exit the Court. That means that the assassin might still be here. Can you smell them?”

  Smell. Ah, of course. Kassan could smell. He was quite good at it, actually. He could certainly smell the overpowering stench of blood behind that closed door.

  But something else too. Yes, somewhere in this castle, there was a foreign smell. One that smelt of pixie, with candy and colour. Mixed with something else, but Kassan couldn’t place what. Foreign. Very foreign.

  “Yes.” Kassan reported.

  The Nightlord sighed with relief. “Good. I need you to find him, Kassan.”

  “Her.” Kassan corrected. “The assassin is a woman.”

  “Find her. Make sure she can’t escape.”

  There was something calming about being given clear instructions and not having to decipher them. Follow the foreign smell, ignore the blood. Had Kassan mentioned he hated the taste of Fae blood? He hated the smell of it too. Oh, and the iron. It made him feel light-headed.

  To follow the assassin’s scent, he couldn’t stay in this form. He took an uncertain step towards it. The smell wasn’t strong enough, and he’d fail in trying to follow it. He needed to change, into the wolf form, into a wolf.

  Megie was watching him with wide eyes, filled with tears. She’d probably seen Nirven’s body. Was it really that bad of a sight, that it brought Megie to tears? Kassan wouldn’t know, he hadn’t seen scissors in someone’s chest before. In the background, he began to shift, some part of him finding comfort in not being a normal Fae anymore.

  He wasn’t standing, but on all fours. He dimly registered Gabriella’s eyes on him, surprised. Maybe she hadn’t known he could do this before. Maybe she had. What mattered was his sense of smell was so much stronger, despite the water being up to his chest. That candy-cane scent that was mixed with something else smelt perfectly concentrated, and perfectly delicious.

  Delicious?

  He shook his head and bent his back legs. There was a moment of hesitation, of stagnation in the water. Then he was off, flying through corridors and rounding corners, getting closer and closer to that scent, to that mixed pixie, to that killer.

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  The faster he went, the closer she was.

  And the closer she was, the faster he went.

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  The Night Court had a heart, and it was this mansion. The Nightlord’s manor, filled to the brim with doting servants and infantry. She’d passed the dorms as she snuck in, and they were better quality than her own apartment.

  Despite the terror currently reigning in the building, she also didn’t expect to get caught. It wasn’t too hard to blend in. Gasp, fan yourself, and suddenly she had been here all her life. The Night Court was only difficult to get into when you were an idiot - and she wasn’t an idiot.

  Or so she thought.

  Up to her shins in icy-cold water, she had not predicted that a werewolf would materialize, hitting the ground like a panicked horse. And it was focused, too. She was its target. Why? Her scent?

  Ah, well. There wasn’t much to do in that regard.

  She had the decency to look terrified before turning on her heel and running. Not towards the exit, but her target. What was his name? She would remember when she was face-to-face with him, iron blade against his slimy throat. The water bubbled with anticipation as she listened to its gurgles, following every bubble that came to the surface. The wolf followed, close and threatening.

  It really wasn’t giving up. Which made it a problem, of course: how would she kill another noble with a beast snapping at her heels?

  She turned a corner, a minor detour. There was another route, the water whispered. Where she went was a ‘dead end’, but the wall was thin, and could be slashed through. She could navigate from there.

  Her back hit said wall. The wolf had obviously followed, slow and prowling. She could just hear its growls above the screams of the nobles.

  It was large. Large enough to be a Trueblood. Its chest heaved, likely from the chill of the water, despite the warmth his dark, shiny coat should have given him. It was a male, she could tell from how it stood now. Imposing. Still. Waiting for any movement.

  Boring.

  “Good evening.” She said, by way of greeting.

  She would have said that the wolf’s stance faltered, but that would be a lie. Instead, she blinked and where the wolf was there was a boy. Man. Whatever he was, he was younger than anyone she’d guessed she would meet.

  He still had that youthful touch to his face, even though his eyes were filled with the rage of too many generations. She took this as another cue to speak.

  “It’s quite loud out there, isn’t it?”

  The boy - quite handsome, she might add - shifted his weight to his back foot. He thought she would run at him, definitely not through the wall. Good.

  “Who are you?” He gritted out. The tone was low, scraping against the ice beginning to float in the water.

  She smiled, even if the mask would hide it. “Getting to know me, are you? I’m flattered a Trueblood is so interested.”

  She’d hoped using his likely rank would destabilize him, surprise him. Unfortunately, he didn’t budge an inch. His expression was hardened, and restrained at the same time.

  Restrained? But why?

  The wolf was certainly an interesting character. She’d love to explore more, see what got him to speak; more than usual, in fact. But her target awaited her, his chuckles rumbling through the ice.

  She turned towards the wall, sliding scissors out of her sleeve. Perhaps the masked woman was off her game, but she hadn’t expected the wolf to pounce, not when he’d been so still.

  He did, however. She turned, careful to keep the iron scissors away from him. He didn’t take similar care, though. His right hand’s claws jutted out, the other arm reaching to steady himself, or to hold her in place. She almost felt affronted.

  Air swept past her ears as she ducked, missing an otherwise fatal slash. This wolf was more precise than others. Not wild, not reckless. Deadly, and deadly only.

  She ducked again and pressed her shoulder into him. His feet stumbled, likely inexperienced on the wet floor. It only gave her seconds, pure seconds to allow him to regain his footing, but it was enough.

  She hacked at the wall, which gave rather easily. Maybe it was the adrenaline. And the water damage.

  The wolf looked terrified, and it was a good look on him. Any look was probably a good look on him. She took him in one last time, noticing that night tattoo on his neck. Four stars, or was it five? The ink pressed flush against the paleness of his neck.

  When he met her eyes again, she smiled. There was a tiny flex in his muscles, as if he was seriously considering dropping through the wall with her.

  It was too late anyhow. She dropped, and let the water tell her where to go next.