The sounds cut off with a final furious roar, and everything was silent. I stayed where I was, eyes squeezed shut. Footsteps approached me, and I heard someone kneel.

“Here,” said Tybalt, sounding darkly amused. “Your knife.” A familiar hilt was pressed into my fingers. “You can open your eyes now.”

I did, raising my aching head until the King of Cats swam into view. His shirt was half-shredded, and he was covered in blood, but he didn’t look hurt. “We should go,” he said, offering his hand. “The rest of Blind Michael’s men won’t be very amused.”

“How did you—” I shoved the knife into its sheath, taking his hand and using it to lever myself off the ground. The motion made my head spin. Damn it. Just once, I’d like to be attacked without somebody trying to crack my skull.

“The Luidaeg called me,” he said. I must have stared, because he flashed a brief, genuine smile. “She said you weren’t allowed to ask for help. She, on the other hand, is welcome to ask for whatever she wants.”

“Did she actually ask?” I said, checking my candle to make sure it wasn’t damaged. The flame was still burning clean and blue, thank Oberon.

“No,” he replied. “Does she ever?”

“I guess not,” I said. “You just here to save my butt?”

“She seemed to think you might like an escort.”

I stared at him, pride fighting a brief, losing battle with my common sense. Did I want to admit that I needed help? Hell, no. Was I going to make it to Shadowed Hills if I didn’t? Probably not.

“Yeah,” I said, with a sigh. “I could use one.”

He chuckled, and the hair on the back of my neck rose in an entirely different way. “Sometimes, you are entirely too proud. I’m not trying to get you back into my debt, you realize. You saved the children of my Court. I’m glad to have a chance to help.”

“I ...” I stopped, not sure what to say. Tybalt was my enemy, damn it; we sniped and argued and held each other in debt. We didn’t do favors. He shouldn’t offer to help me without any strings attached. It wasn’t right. And he definitely shouldn’t smile while he made the offer. Because if we weren’t going to be enemies anymore, I didn’t know what we were. Slowly, I asked, “You’ll get me there?”

“If I can. You need me. Every minute you waste is a minute you can’t afford.”

He had me there. “Fine,” I said. “You can help me.” I was trying to make it seem like I was doing him the favor. It made me feel better, even though we both knew it was a lie.

“Good.” He rose and started walking, forcing me to follow or be left behind. My head was spinning, but I found that if I kept my eyes on him, I could move in a straight line. That was a good sign. I wasn’t having any trouble walking; that was another good sign. If we kept collecting good signs, I might reach Shadowed Hills alive.

We’d gone almost a mile when Tybalt stopped and sniffed the air, stiffening. I glanced at my candle, reassured to see that it was still burning a clean blue. “Tybalt, what’s—”

“Shhh,” he hissed. “Something’s coming.”

“Where?” I peered down the street. There was no one there, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything: if Tybalt said something was coming, he meant it. “Tybalt—”

“I think it’s time to consider running,” he said, grabbing my free hand.

“What?”

“Run!” He bolted, hauling me with him. I stumbled but forced myself to ignore the sickening jouncing of the landscape all around us. Finally I just squeezed my eyes shut and ran blind, letting him guide me through the dark.

I could hear them around us as soon as my eyes were closed. The air came alive with hungry, panting sighs and the shrill cries of the monstrous children from Blind Michael’s halls. The Riders weren’t working, so the bastard was trying something new. He’d unleashed the only hounds he had—the children nobody had saved.

We ran until my legs buckled under me and I fell, nearly yanking my hand out of Tybalt’s. He paused long enough to grab me and swing me up into his arms before he started running again, faster than before. I huddled against him, gasping for air. The sounds of pursuit were getting dimmer: we were outrunning them, at least for now.

“Keep your eyes closed and don’t open them, no matter what,” he said next to my ear, in a surprisingly steady voice. “We have farther to go this time, and it may hurt. Do you understand?” I forced myself to nod. If he was in danger it was my fault; I had to do what he asked me to do. It might get us through alive.

“Good,” he said. “Now hold your breath.”

I barely had time to breathe in before the world turned to ice. I kept my eyes shut, forcing myself to count backward from one hundred. The air kept getting colder as Tybalt ran, reaching temperatures I hadn’t known were possible. How cold could shadows get? Ice was forming in my hair, and my lungs were starting to ache. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on.

My grip on Tybalt’s arm tightened, and he said, sounding strained, “Hold on. We’re almost there—”

The air warmed so suddenly it was like someone had flipped a switch, and Tybalt stumbled as he made the transition from shadows to solid ground. I opened my eyes, blinking ice from my lashes. We were in an alley, and judging by the buildings around us, we were somewhere in Oakland, at least thirty miles from where we’d started. And we were alone. That was an improvement.

“Toby, if you don’t mind, I need to put you down,” he said. His voice was shaking. I looked up and winced. He looked like a man who’d just run a relay race through hell.

“Of course,” I said.

He lowered me to the ground. I sat, sticking my head between my knees. My body was telling me in no uncertain terms that it wanted a chance to stop and be violently ill. I’m usually willing to listen to the things my body tells me, but unfortunately, it doesn’t have a very good sense of impending doom. I was alone in an alley with the King of Cats, waiting for Blind Michael’s minions to swoop in and kill us. It wasn’t a good time to be sick. I ordered my stomach to behave itself, hoping it would listen.

Tybalt padded to the mouth of the alley, head cocked as he scanned the street for signs of danger. I stayed where I was, trying not to pant. My lungs were almost as angry as my stomach; they wanted air, and they wanted it now. Still, I was okay with letting Tybalt take care of us. I could let him watch my back. I love Stacy and Connor. I wouldn’t trust them to keep me alive. I need people like Tybalt for that.