I struggled against him. “Soul bones add strength to an army, they don’t corrupt everything.”

A sort of low rumble rose from his chest. “With you, the Thief King will find the one he wants. Let the ancient one rest.”

“Ancient one?”

In the distance something snapped, like the crack of a heavy tree bough. The shadow tilted his head and sniffed. He took an abrupt step back. “Let him rest. Tell the Thief King to do the same. I will see you again, Melder. It would seem fate demands it.”

He flicked the weak thread sewn between us.

“Let who rest?” Another crack echoed in the distance. The shadow drew his blade, those thin lips curling into a snarl. I held out an arm. “Wait. What or who are you?”

The phantom paused. When he turned to look back at me over his shoulder, shadows billowed like silk in the wind around his shoulders.

“When your enemies ravage, what name do you whisper?” A low, throaty chuckle followed. “You have seen the signs of me in the darkness of the wood.” Again, the phantom sniffed the air, then flashed sharp, jagged teeth when he grinned. “Remember, a soul for a soul.”

Signs in the wood? An enemy who ravages with a whispered name?

All at once, my blood went cold. Gods, no. It…it wasn’t possible.

I trembled and lifted my gaze back to his vicious eyes. “Skul Drek.”

He gnashed his teeth.

No, Skul Drek couldn’t be here. He was a creature, an assassin, not a shadow of a being. I was so lost in the horror, the confusion, I did not notice he rolled the sword in his grip.

“Four were stolen this night, Melder. So, four I will take.” Skul Drek paused, his mouth tightening. “Ready your blades.”

“Whatever you plan to do, please don’t. We have little choice and—”

My words choked off when Skul Drek drifted deeper into the smoky, thin mists. “Ah, but this is what we are made to do, Melder. Battle until we destroy each other.” His fingers twisted around the thread of craft drawing me into him. “But this is cruel, and this time it will hurt to kill a melder.”

Darkness devoured his horrid eyes, and in the next moment, I was flung backward into the salt of the mists.

My head was lost in a haze and it took a moment to realize I was moving, but not walking on my own. I was pressed against something hard, warm, something that breathed of smoke and oakmoss. I tilted my chin.

The dark stubble on Roark’s jaw scraped against my brow. The Sentry had me in his damn arms.

My cheek was pressed to the steady cadence of his heart. I bit down against the urge to nuzzle against his throat. It was wholly unfair for a man so stoic and harsh to smell like a spring morning after rain.