Page 193 of Starside

In a flash of fury, he steps toward me, as if he’s about to throw me over his shoulder again, as if he’s about to fling me into a tree or force me to leave him.

But before he can do anything, his body finally collapses.

I rush to his side. His face is burning up, worse than before. His veins are bright crimson. I don’t know how he gathered the strength to summon his sword or even stand.

I rise, watching as he tries and fails to sit up, powerful arms shaking.

“No,” I say, my voice a resolute whisper. “Unfortunately, I’m not leaving you.”

The hooves are like a roar. The trees are moving wildly. The cavalry is here. They’re coming from all sides. There’s no way out.

I remember all the warnings. Stay away from the Great Houses. Summoning him would be a death sentence.

But the ground is trembling, and Raker can’t even stand. He sucked the poison from my blood. We’re surrounded.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I swipe my blade across my palm, dig it deep into the soil, kneel by its glimmering silver, and whisper, “Vander Evren.”

At the sound of his name, the forest stills, as if even it is afraid of him. The hooves stop.

“No,” Raker growls. He crawls as if to stop me. But he buckles under the effort.

A step echoes through the woods.

I can hear my own breath, the beating of my own heart. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, as if my body can sense danger.

I swallow, looking in every direction, hand still curled around my sword, blood dripping into the dirt, trying to see where the steps are coming from. But I can’t.

I rise and turn—

And meet one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen. Even standing tall, he towers over me, every part of him imposing. His hair is silver, cut shorter than Raker’s, the same color as his intricately detailed armor.

Silver. A color typically reserved for the gods. How powerful can this immortal heir be to have been born with hair that shade?

Every single warning about him skitters through my mind.

And they were all right.

He looks every bit the ruthless immortal warrior, especially as he frowns down at me, unimpressed. Then he turns to Raker, who is now motionless on the ground. His gaze stops at the blade I’ve buried in the dirt.

He raises his own without hesitation.

I’ve summoned him for a duel, using the ancient method. He’s the heir even immortals—even the Gardener—fear. He’s about to strike me down.

He’s about to win my sword.

I raise my bloody hand, as if that will do any good, and the words tumble out of me in a single breath. “Stellan said you would help me.”

His sword stills just an inch from my palm. A small fold forms between his brows. “Stellan sent you?”

He knows him. A prickling forms behind my eyes, to meet someone who did.

I swallow. I have a feeling he would know if I was lying. “Not exactly.” The sword races forward again. “But he knew you would help me all the same! He told me to look for you.”

Vander frowns, considering me. Considering my words. Considering the warrior just feet away. “And where is Stellan?”

Stellan.

The image rises of him stiff on the floorboards, eyes wide and unblinking.