I kicked the door open and heaved Phelan inside. Every fiber within me burned from exertion; I had to let Phelan go. He slid to the hardwood floor, groaning, and I turned to see the knight ascending the porch stairs, four steps away from us. From me as I stood on the threshold, watching his approach. An unspoken challenge glimmered like an enchantment between us, waiting to be inhaled and spoken.

Who are you? I wanted to ask, but my voice was a splinter in my throat.

“Anna,” Phelan panted. “Anna, lock the door.”

My ears roared. The floor seemed to tilt as the knight stared at me, as I stared at him. I thought I saw the sheen of his eyes in the slits of his helm. The sheen of something alive and angry and ravenous. The knight lifted his sword in one hand, but with the other he reached for me.

“ANNA.”

Phelan’s desperation dashed my suspended thoughts. I didn’t know when I would have this chance again, when I would encounter this knight and his mysteries face-to-face. And that uncertainty was a thorn in my pride.

We couldn’t beat him; we had lost this battle.

I slammed the door shut.

22

I closed my eyes, sweat dripping down my temples, and I pressed my ear to the door. The knight hadn’t moved. He stood at the threshold, unable to pass over it since the door was locked.

I struggled with my desire to remain in safety and my hunger to oppose the knight again.

Someone wheezed behind me.

I turned to behold Phelan, lying on the foyer floor. He was watching me, his face blanched and furrowed with pain. His hand was pressed over his abdomen, where his blood was pooling.

A slender, cold part of me was satisfied to see him brought low, wounded, and humbled.

But then I knelt at his side and I took hold of his hand, drawing his bloodied fingers away, and those jaded feelings in me were eclipsed by worry.

“Can you help me up the stairs?” he rasped. “To my bedroom?”

I nodded and pulled him up to his feet. With me supporting his weight, we laboriously ascended the stairs with the assistance of my magic.

A lone candle burned in his bedroom. The fire in his hearth had died into embers, and I walked Phelan to his bed and eased him down on the mattress. I swiftly roused the fire back to a crackling dance and lit a few more candelabras, so I could examine him in better light.

I inevitably glanced at the mirror that hung over his wash station. If he sat up in bed, the glass would catch his reflection. And I would have to walk past it to leave the room. I felt trapped and annoyed, and struggled with my temptation to shatter the mirror.

A moan slipped from Phelan.