Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. No, she hadn’t finally cracked. People didn’t assess their own sanity while they were hallucinating, which meant that Kester was telling the truth. Apparently, Ursula’s soul belonged to a fire goddess.

Bloody hell. What the hell had F.U. been doing with her life?

Kester wiped a hand across his mouth. “Looks like we’re alone.” He followed Ursula’s eyes to the blood staining the snow. “Sorry about that. I was hungry.”

Her fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms. Who did he just kill? “Did you—” she stammered, “just eat someone?”

Kester smiled wolfishly. “Not a person. What sort of monster do you think I am? Just an old ewe I found on my way back here. Put her out of her misery to be perfectly honest.” He scratched his cheek. “She shouldn’t have been outside in this weather.”

Ursula exhaled. A sheep. It was only a sheep.

Kester glanced at her. “We can’t talk all night. We have business to attend to, since you wanted the damn trial.”

“I have no idea what’s going on. F.U. wanted it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Former Ursula. It’s what I call the version of myself I can’t remember.”

He glared at her like she was the mad one—as if he hadn’t just eaten a raw sheep—then crossed toward the car, clicking open the boot. The car lights shone on his dark hair while he rummaged around.

Straightening, he pulled out a long object wrapped in black leather. With a flick of his wrist he yanked the sheath away, revealing an ancient sword. Strange patterns wove and writhed along its iron blade as though it were alive, and the air left her lungs.

Okay. Now I know how he intends to kill me.

Chapter 6

Ursula’s chest unclenched a little when Kester shoved the sword back into its sheath. He slammed the boot shut, turning to climb the slope. “Come, my dear. You’ve got work to do up the hill.”

He trudged toward the bank, and she was left with only the sound of the wind rushing across the snow. She glanced one last time at the distant lights twinkling in the night. If she ran in an all-out sprint, she could be sitting before a fireplace in five minutes. But she’d never make it. Kester would hunt her down like the ewe he’d so casually disemboweled.

Dread wrapped its fingers around her heart as she climbed up the slope. I have to get out of here. Her best bet would be to convince Kester she was stupid, and then disarm him when he least expected it. In fact, given his condescending tone, there was a good chance he already thought she was an idiot.