Just then, two of the Red Shields attacked. One of them managed to cut Kyra’s flank, and she roared in fury. She leaped into their midst, scattering them like pebbles. There was murder in her eyes.
“No!” Tristam shouted. He ran in front of Kyra, holding up his hands. “Kyra, it’s me. Don’t do this.”
She fixed his eyes on him, and what he saw froze him to the core. Last time, after she’d killed Santon, Tristam had still been able to see some humanity in her. He’d spoken to that, and he’d reached her. But this time, he saw none of it. No sign at all that Kyra recognized him. No hint, as she advanced on him, teeth bared, that she even knew who he was.
Tristam drew his sword. Bad idea. At the first flash of steel, Kyra launched herself at him. He dove out of the way and turned to find her engaging now with the other Red Shields. Things were spiraling out of control.
Tristam tossed his sword to the side. It would only make things worse. And then, without stopping to think lest he realize his foolishness, he ran and threw herself onto her back.
Kyra’s reaction was immediate. She twisted and snarled as Tristam looped his arms around her neck and hung on for dear life. “Don’t do this, Kyra. It’s me.”
Kyra gave no sign of understanding. She rose up on her hind legs, doing her best to toss him off. Tristam continued talking to her, shouting words he couldn’t even make sense of himself. But finally, his grip failed, and she tossed him onto the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of him. He groaned, willing the spots to clear out of his vision. The courtyard had gone quiet. Kyra was staring at him, still growling, tail swishing.
“Leave the city, Kyra,” he said. He breathed in dust from his fall and coughed. “Get out of here.” Was she that completely gone? Would she kill him right here and now?
A door opened into the courtyard, and new soldiers rushed in, some with spears this time. Kyra whipped around to face them, and Tristam braced himself for what was to come. But then she turned abruptly and ran up a tree. It bowed under her weight, and just as Tristam thought something would snap, Kyra launched herself onto the rooftop and ran for the city walls.
T W E N T Y - F O U R
Kyra ran with a speed born of madness. As she leaped off the rooftop and onto the street, people screamed and scattered in her wake. She was tempted to chase them, but Tristam’s voice lodged in her mind and she kept running. She cleared the city wall by climbing another tree, then tumbled down the other side. She landed on her feet.
Houses changed to farmland, then gave way to the shelter of the forest. She dodged branches and tree trunks, zigzagging her way through. A pent-up frustration drove her on, a feeling that if she stopped or slowed, she would explode. Kyra spied a raccoon and gave chase, killing it with a snap of her jaws and tearing into its flesh. Only then did her blood cool. Only then did her wits return. She couldn’t stay in this shape, but she would freeze if she changed back now.
She limped her way to her cave. The winter air swirled around her as she finally shrank back into her skin. Her limbs ached, and she was covered with cuts and bruises, including one long gash across her ribs. Nothing life-threatening, but they made every movement painful. Kyra stumbled inside, shivering violently, and dressed herself as quickly as she could. This was her last spare tunic.
She crumpled against the sandy cave wall as the memories came back to her. The fight against the guards—had she killed any of them? Then there was Tristam. Tristam. How badly had she hurt him?