It happened so fast that for an instant she couldn’t quite believe it had happened at all. One moment Larkin had been standing there, poised to run, mouth open to speak, and in the next the life was ripped from him with less thought than might have been given to brushing aside a scattering of leaves. Dead, just like that.

She stared in disbelief. It shouldn’t have happened. Perhaps it was the familiarity of its smell that had prevented Larkin, who otherwise sensed so much, from detecting it—a raw earthen stench that permeated his surroundings, blending with the ground itself, infused with the damp and decay of plants sinking back into the mire. Perhaps it was something in the creature’s makeup, a composition the likes of which Larkin had not encountered before and could not identify.

She felt a wave of recrimination wash over her. It shouldn’t have happened. If she’d been holding on to her staff, it wouldn’t have. Its runes would have flared up in warning, and she would have known to act, would have had time to do something. If she hadn’t set the staff down to wash, if she’d been paying better attention . . .

Her mind spun with a litany of missed opportunities, of possibilities lost, of regrets and self-accusation, all in the passing of a few horrific seconds as she stood rooted in place. Then the feeders, done with Larkin, turned toward her.

Just in time, she broke free of her shock. She was leaping for her staff when the monster that had killed the Elven Tracker heaved up through the damaged floorboards, shattering them completely, opening a gaping hole into the crawl space it had used to creep up on them undetected. She avoided its attempt to grab her legs and drag her down, vaulting past it to snatch up her staff and wheel back in response to the attack. Summoning the magic in a blur of white fire, she sent it exploding into the monster. But her attacker shrugged off the blow as if it were nothing and began tearing at the floorboards with its huge hands. The boards split and heaved upward, knocking Angel back against the cottage wall. She stayed on her feet, desperate to keep the thing at bay. She attacked again, the magic lancing out in a sharp thrust. Again the monster shrugged it off. But this time it came up out of the hole, eight feet tall and massive, and started toward her.

She backed quickly from the room, through the door and into the grounds and the trees beyond, her staff held protectively before her. She wheeled left and right, searching for it, trying to catch the sound of its movement, readying for the next attack. Her breathing was harsh and raw, and tears stung her eyes. She felt the world tilt beneath her feet, and she grew light-headed. But the monster had disappeared, taking the feeders with it.