Sniffling, she looked at that Clan’s Lord of the Horse—and suddenly remembered that no one had ascended to become the Lord of the Horse after Ahern died.

“Your escorts rode by a little while ago,” he said, studying her.

“I couldn’t ride anymore today. My arm.” She lifted the heavily bandaged arm—and thought she still saw doubt in his eyes. “I told them to go on since the Brightwood Clan will be eager for the news.”

“The news has traveled fast,” he said with a hint of grimness. “I expect they already know.”

What could they possibly know without hearing her side of it?

He held up both hands. “Here. I’ll help you dismount and take you over to the Clan house. Things are a bit…scrambled…right now, but someone will see that you have a meal and a place to rest.”

Dianna waited until he was leading her to the Clan house before asking, “Scrambled? Why are things scrambled?”

“As I said, news travels fast. The men who have the skill and training to defend the Old Place are preparing to do so. And the elders are selecting gifts to bring to the witches.”

Bitterness filled Dianna’s throat. “So you’re going to dance to the Huntress’s tune, is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it. We don’t want to be closed off from the human world—and if the Black Coats defeat the humans in Sylvalan, there might not be any place for us in the world. So we’re going down to defend the Old Place and the witches who live there.”

“I’ll only be staying tonight, so I won’t inconvenience you for too long,” Dianna said, holding on to her battered pride.

“That’s fine.”

It wasn’t the reply she wanted, but, she discovered as she stayed in her room and felt the hours drag by, it had been the only reply she’d received from any of them.

If that’s the way they wanted it, so be it. Let them scramble to please the new Huntress. Let them see what it was like to live day after day in the human world.

Let that bitch Huntress deal with the Black Coats. They deserved one another.

Chapter 21

waxing moon

It hungered. It hunted.

The man had been a fine meal, but the feast was still up ahead. Running. Trying to escape, trying to hide. The woman couldn’t hide the feast, but it was amusing to let her try.

It looked down at the man, at the torn flesh and the blood seeping into the forest trail. His spirit had been strong, delicious. Had whetted Its appetite for more.

The woman would eventually stop running and fight to protect. No matter. It would have the woman—flesh, blood, and spirit—and then enjoy the feast of sweet young flesh and a spirit still so new in the world.

It hungered.