For that she was glad, because she was sure those hellhounds could hear her from a mile away. Her pulse pounded in her ears and every step she took seemed to echo across the empty forest. Moonlight filtered through the tall pines to cast eerie shadows on the snow.
A branch cracked to her right. She lifted her bow and arrow. Her heart beat hard against her ribs as she waited. For a long moment only silence met her ears, and then a rustle echoed above her. She shifted, aimed her arrow, then released her pent-up breath when she realized it was only an owl, his whooooo echoing through the darkness like an ominous warning.
Holy Hades. Relax already!
Hellhounds were a piece of cake. It was daemons—hybrids—she should be worried about. Like the one somewhere out here in the dark.
Something red darted between trees twelve feet in front of her. She shifted in that direction. When two red dots peeked out from behind the tree, she didn’t hesitate.
Her arrow whirred through the air, struck something with a hard thwack. A yelp echoed in the trees. She grasped another arrow from her collar, lined up her next shot. A black shadow loomed ahead, followed by a low growl, then the snarl and snap of jaws and the pounding of paws against snow as the injured beast charged.
She didn’t think. She acted. Just as she’d been trained. One, two, three arrows sailed from her bow, struck the hound dead in the chest. It hollered a sickening sound, then dropped to the ground. Its massive body sailed across the snow as if on a sled, stopping at her feet.
Steam rose off the corpse. Blood poured from the four arrows sticking out of its flesh. Its bloodred eyes were open and glassy. Howls to her left drew her attention.
Damn it. Where was Orpheus?
Her adrenaline shot up. As feet—lots of feet—pounded across the earth in her direction, she looked up and around, searching for safety. She hooked her bow over the branch of a pine and pulled herself up.
She got her legs up under her, managed to reposition so she was sitting on the tree limb, one boot braced against the trunk. She lined up another arrow and waited.
Within seconds, three hounds bounded into the clearing, their eyes beady points of red light, their mouths open, fangs dripping something vile. A fourth hound, bigger and blacker than the others, ambled to the edge of the trees, his gaze pinned right on her.
She aimed toward the big one, the leader.
His lips curled in a snarl—no, not a snarl, a smile—and a low growl echoed across the snow. “Come down, Siren.”
Where the hell was Orpheus?
She fired. The big hound stepped aside, narrowly dodging the arrow. He barked toward the other hounds. With gnashes and snarls they hurled their big bodies at the base of her tree, shaking it, snapping at the bark and biting enormous pieces from the trunk.
She grappled for the trunk and pushed up to her feet. The shot was hers but she couldn’t steady herself long enough to take it. Where in the bloody hell was Orpheus?
A roar echoed from below just before a violent tremor shook the bow out of her hand. Her heart shot to her throat. She reached for her weapon, the ancient wood grazing her fingers. But she was too late. It sailed out of her reach, fell to the ground with a crack. With one hand wrapped around the tree trunk, she reached into her waistband and grasped a throwing star. She didn’t aim, just hurled. A howl from below said she’d hit something.
Another violent shake knocked her off balance. A yelp slipped from her lips as she went flying. Frantic, she grappled for the branch, caught it, the bark digging into her bare, sweaty hands as she fought to hold on.
Damn it, Orpheus. Where are you?
He wouldn’t have left her out here alone. He wouldn’t have double-crossed her like this, would he?
Would he?
She sucked in a breath, tried to adjust her grip. The hounds below growled and barked. She knew this was it. As soon as she let go she’d be eaten alive. At least if she died here she’d die in battle. There was honor in that. Or so she hoped.
Her fingers slipped again. A rumble shook the ground and the tree and everything around her. The branch jerked out of her grasp. She screamed as she went down. Was sure she was lunch. Her boots hit the snow-covered ground with a thwack, and her legs went out from under her, a jolt of pain shooting up her spine as she collapsed.
In an instant of confusion she realized the shaking had come from the ground, not the tree itself. The hounds all lay on their sides as if they’d been knocked off their feet. Head spinning, she scrambled for her footing, grasped the bow to her right, and lined up another arrow. The dazed hounds lifted their heads, shook out their manes, and growled. She released one shot after another, impaling them with as many poisonous arrows as she could.