His hands were around her throat, squeezing. Little black spots flickered at the edge of her vision, and she thought she tasted blood. Then she realized: she’d bitten her tongue in the fall. The metallic taste filled her mouth, made her gag.
She clawed at his hands again, now slippery with his blood.
“You bitch.” He was in a rage now, his fingers tightening until she was certain he’d break her neck.
She felt around the ground desperately. Something had fallen, something she could… her fingertip stung as she found his fallen blade.
Blackness filled her vision. She had seconds left. Maybe less.
Her hand slipped over the hilt, the blood making it nearly impossible to clasp. She dragged her hand across the grass, succeeding in wiping some of it away.
“No one said you needed to be breathing,” Lord Garrey said, his face a vicious mask of brutality. She had no idea what he meant. Who didn’t say she needed to be breathing?
Maybe he thought she was too far gone to understand.
“Guess you’ll give me the locket willingly when you’re dead.”
As the final air was forced from her lungs, Camilla grasped the dagger and brought it down, sinking it to the hilt into the side of his neck.
She twisted it, baring her teeth in a snarl, tears streaming down her face.
His grip loosened instantly, and his eyes froze open. Then, slowly, he toppled to the side. Camilla could barely see through the tears that were flowing faster now. She shoved and wriggled her way out from beneath him, trembling from the attack and what she’d just done.
She’d killed him.
She glanced at the dagger protruding from his neck, shivering at the sight. Lord Garrey wasn’t exactly dead yet. He was twitching and choking on blood.
“No!” she cried, looking around frantically, then down at her blood-drenched silver-and-white dress. “No, no.”
She grabbed her hair, pulling at the roots, trying to think. How had this happened?
Camilla dropped to her knees, reaching for the dagger, and was hauled back suddenly.
She fought and kicked and screamed.
“Shh. It’s all right.”
Synton’s voice was an instant balm.
His arms were gentle but firm, his heart pounding so hard she felt it through her back, a rhythm hers instantly slowed to follow.
“I’m going to take care of this, all right?” He was far too calm for the scene he’d come upon, holding her head soothingly in place under his chin. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened. Then we’re going to clean you up.”
After a moment, she gave a half nod.
He slowly released her and walked in a small circle to face her.
His gaze darkened when it dropped to her neck. “He did that?”
She nodded, wincing from the pain she was beginning to feel.
Synton glanced over at Lord Garrey, his expression one of pure loathing. He looked like he wanted to take the dagger out and shove it through him a few more times.
He motioned to someone—Alexei, Camilla thought, still dazed—and before she knew it, Lord Garrey’s twitching form was gone.
There was no sign of a skirmish.
No broken hedges or torn-up grass.
Maybe that wasn’t true. How could it be true? Maybe it was all there, and she was incapable of seeing it any longer.
She shook violently, unable to reconcile the deadly turn the night had taken.
Synton pulled her to him again, hugging her against his chest.
“You’re all right,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”
Camilla did as he said, breath ragged as she tried to draw it in slowly.
His hands warmed as they gently passed over her neck, her arms, her gown. Like he was soothing away each injury.
There was nothing untoward about his actions. They offered only comfort and safety.
If Camilla hadn’t been in shock, she might have wondered at the odd sensation flowing over her. Her skin stopped aching, her breathing evened out. The metallic taste in her mouth faded away. Gently, without attracting notice, she slid her hand up to her breastbone, feeling that the locket still rested there. Then she let herself go, leaning into Synton, who just held her in the circle of his arms, waiting for the storm to pass.
DEAR GOD, SYNTON. When Vexley suggested we all play hide-and-seek, he wasn’t talking about your—”
“Don’t finish that,” Envy warned, ready to lay waste to the whole of Waverly Green.
Lord Harrington, Envy recalled. The dolt was making sure his voice carried across the hedge maze, drawing a second man, Walters, to bear witness. They were too drunk to notice how still he’d gone, or how dangerous that was.
If Envy hadn’t been on the verge of whisking Camilla away, he would have heard the imbecile coming. Lord Garrey had proven himself to be a player, all right. And while Camilla had gotten to him first, Envy should have.
The bastard had nearly killed her on Envy’s own property. Envy had made a horribly wrong call. He’d summoned Alexei to follow a second lord who’d been curious about the Unseelie art, thinking Garrey was still in the ballroom, dancing with Widow Janelle.
Garrey must have left shortly after Camilla did, following her into the maze.
