When Stars Come Out (When Stars Come Out 1)

I’m pretty sure that isn't supposed to happen.

The hounds attack all at once. I slash at the creature closest to me and then jump into the air, hovering over the others as they snap at me. I land behind them and strike, charging at the pack. I manage to hit the hound on my left and the one in front of me with my blades, but the third grabs my right arm, his teeth sinking deep into my skin. The pain is cruel. I drop the blade and rip my arm away, jamming my second blade through the dog’s eye. It yelps, but only springs back into formation with the other four, unharmed hounds.

This is not how I was taught to defeat a Hellhound. In practice, we are made to fight holograms, which are programmed to act just like the rea

l thing—Hellhounds are all but indestructible, unless you skewer their brain, or so I thought.

They crouch low and bare their teeth, growling in unison, and collectively smelling like a pit of dead bodies.

Sometimes my job is the worst.

I tighten my grip on my blade and pull a small scythe-like weapon from the holster on my thigh, wincing at the shot of pain that bolts up my arm. The hounds inch toward me. I mimic their stance, bending my legs, preparing to jump before they attack.

Then the hounds halt and go quiet, their ears perk, listening to something I can’t hear. After a moment, they turn their heads up to the sky and howl. The sound pierces me, like an arrow through smoke, and I pray to Charon they aren’t summoning more of their kind.

Suddenly, the hounds bolt, moving together in a pack down the street, and while I’d prefer to be rid of them, I can’t let them cause havoc. Most importantly, I need to figure out where they came from, but the hounds are fast, teasing like whip-o-whirls, disappearing into the tree line. I fly overhead and drop, wingless, below the branches in an attempt to follow, but the hounds are out of my sight. The only indication that they are still running is the sound of breaking branches.

I follow the tracks until they disappear—not into a hole or a lake or anything, just until they vanish into thin air. I halt, breathless, tangled in the tree limbs.

“Dammit!” I hit the tree with my fist. “Ah!” Pain fires up my arm, and I sink against the trunk. My heart throbs in my chest, causing the rest of my body to vibrate painfully.

I sit for a while, attempting to gain control and make sense of what happened. I don’t think a Valryn has ever reported a Hellhound attack. I should have been more careful, but I had no reason to suspect the Hellhound would chase me—or multiply, or not die. We are both Charon's creations, surely it could sense that.

In human mythology, Hellhounds on Earth are preceded by death. Well, in our world, they come before the Eurydice’s arrival. They are her guards and these seemed to have a mission—protecting Anora Silby. Is she aware of the creatures? If she is the Eurydice, why is she so afraid of the dead, or is that just a ruse to keep me off her trail?

I should jump at the chance to turn this information over to the Order. It's not my job to question the whys. This could aid in my placement as a Commander or even an Elite. And yet something about this girl keeps me from getting out my phone and making the call.

I swallow hard and rub the spot on my chest where my skin is pinched and uncomfortable. My arm screams in protest. If I could reach in and rip out the hold Anora has on me, I would, but I don't have anything to grasp, no thread that might lead me to the answer of who she is, and until I figure it out, until Council is over, I'm going to keep this whole ordeal to myself. I just have to treat this wound before it becomes infected. I wonder if Mom has any medical supplies lying around from before she was suspended.

Like her, I’m choosing the rules I want to obey.

CHAPTER SEVEN – ANORA & THE BOY WHO SEES THE DEAD

Everything about this morning is a disaster.

I woke up to Mom yelling I’m going to make her late, five minutes before we were supposed to leave. Now I’m crossing campus in the uniform I wore yesterday: wrinkled skirt, smelly blazer, with the exception of a pair of knee-high, navy tights. Nothing else, my makeup-free face and frizzy hair, gives the impression I tried.

The only reason I overslept in the first place is because I kept myself up thinking about the coin, trying to decide if I could ride the distance to Nacoma Knight on my bike, then deciding it was too dark to find something like that in the grass. I finally convinced myself I would locate it once I retraced my steps—either between the trees, at the football field, or maybe someone turned it into lost and found. I just hope it isn’t discovered by the wrong person, because there are people who want what I create.

There are people who want me.

But my plan to search campus before school is on hold as I increase my pace from a fast walk to a run in an effort to make it to class on time. The absence of the coin has burrowed into my chest, creating a perfect nest for anxiety, and whatever creature takes residence there is growing bigger and bigger as every second ticks by.

It’s okay, I tell myself, inhaling deep in an attempt to relieve the tension. I’ll search at lunch. It’s only a few more hours.

I reach Walcourt and round the corner, slamming into a body. I put my hands up and push away from the person, stumbling back.

“I’m so—” My apology dies on my lips when I see who I’ve run into—Thane Treadway. He smirks at me. I hold my breath to keep from inhaling his scent. We stand apart, staring at one another. I’m not sure why I can’t bring myself to break away.

After a moment, he speaks. “Maybe you should reconsider this whole school thing.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “Nacoma fosters obedience. You can’t even make it to class on time. Trust me, they notice when you don’t fit their mold.”

“I’m sure you know that from personal experience.” His smile remains unchanged, but his eyes glitter. Like he’s proud of that fact.

What does Thane know about me? I can fit into a mold. I’ve done it before. Stuffed myself into sharp corners and uneven surfaces. And I fit. Until I didn’t. Until an arm came free from its binding and the thread unwound and ruined everything.