Prince of the Undying | Paperback | Scratch & Dent

I cursed under my breath when I found him, because I was almost too late.

A man knelt in the bloodstained snow, his head bowed, his face hidden by his long black hair. His ragged breaths fogged the air. He clutched his arm with pale fingers, though that did little to slow the crimson soaking his clothes.

He had to be the necromancer.

I had hunted him down at last. In this snow-blanketed forest, there was no one else but the dead.

He looked too elegant for the battlefield, with its mud and broken bodies. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned his black coat of wool and wolverine fur, which was much too fine for a soldier or rebel. It belonged in a wealthy gentleman’s wardrobe. He tossed aside the coat and gripped his arm tighter. Red trickled between his knuckles.

When snow crunched under my boots, every muscle in his body tensed.

He staggered to his feet. “I’m unarmed.”

He had a honey-gravel voice that made his words both smooth and rough, and he spoke German without any trace of an accent.

Where was he from?

“Don’t move,” I commanded, also in German.

His hair still obscured his expression. My fingers tightened around the hilt of Chun Yi, my sword. Its familiar sharkskin was a comfort.

When the wind blew his hair from his face, I forgot everything but him.

Starkly handsome, he had cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. His lips curved into a smirk, as if he knew exactly why I was staring at him. His stunning eyes glinted a pale, absinthe green.

Looking into his eyes was a mistake.

They were haunted—the eyes of a man who had seen too much, done too much. The emotions in his gaze ran so deep that it was impossible not to drown in them. Worse, he stared at me with what could only be longing.

Tension thickened the air between us. My heartbeat was hammering in my throat.

He kept smirking. “How are you going to kill me?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I lied. Lying seemed safest.

“I would prefer your dagger. It looks sharp.”

“Sword.”

“Ah. My apologies.”

I narrowed my eyes. How glib he sounded, like we were in a fencing match, and he had merely lost. But this wasn’t a game.

“I know what you are,” I said. “Necromancer.”

He arched his eyebrows, though he didn’t deny it. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” I admitted.

“My name is Wendel.”

No longer nameless, he was more than just the necromancer now. I glanced into his eyes before forcing myself to look away.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said, to disguise my unease. “I will make sure it goes on your grave.”

He laughed, despite himself. “You won’t have to wait long.”

“You’re bleeding out.”

“Very observant.” Pain sharpened his voice. His gaze wandered away to the forest. “I might die before you kill me. God, I’m disappointed in myself. What a commonplace death.”

I have to save him.

My fingers tightened so hard around Chun Yi that the sharkskin imprinted my skin. To save him, I would have to touch him.

Necromancers were abominations. He could revive the dead and puppet them as his minions. His magic violated death itself.

“May I sit?” Wendel swayed on his feet. “I don’t think I can…”

He fell to his knees swiftly, like a glacier cracking. A moment later, he collapsed on his side. His fingers splayed, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of snow as if to claw himself upright. A war dog’s stiff corpse lay nearby. Its blood melted the snow where Wendel had fallen. His gentleman’s clothing was altogether ruined now.

I sheathed my sword, my muscles shaking with fatigue. “Wendel.”

He reached out again, groping blindly, and his hand closed on the war dog’s paw. When he shuddered, the dog kicked its legs.

Fear jolted into my veins. I drew Chun Yi and stepped into a defensive stance. The dog climbed to its feet and growled at me despite its ruined, gaping throat. Its fangs glinted in the daylight. No breath clouded the winter air.

I braced myself as the dog charged. Paws pounding the snow, the dog veered for my left arm, jaws wide. I dodged right. The dog remembered its training and spun, nimble for such a huge mastiff—for such a dead mastiff.

I retreated, blocking the dog with my sword. The dog leapt high, aiming for my throat, and I brought Chun Yi up to meet him. With gritted teeth, I sliced through the reanimated corpse’s neck and beheaded it cleanly.

The animal crashed to the snow. Dead again.

I wiped the blood from my blade and pretended my hands weren’t trembling.

Wendel huddled sideways on the ground, his teeth chattering, clearly weaker for having used his necromancy. A widening bloom of blood stained the snow. There was something remarkably like fear in his eyes, but he smiled.

“Well,” he said, “it was worth a try.”

His eyes flickered shut before he collapsed. I edged closer to him and nudged him with the flat of my blade.

Nothing.

A shiver rippled down my spine and pooled low in my belly. Fear mingled with a dark desire to find out what he felt like.

I crouched beside him and searched for a pulse in his neck. His faint heartbeat raced under my fingertips. His skin was warm and soft enough, like any other person’s. Not like a necromancer’s. He was still handsome, even unconscious, and even covered in filth and blood. I shuddered and wiped my hand on the snow.

The burning cold almost erased the feeling of having touched an abomination.