I began peeling off my winter gear, beginning with my hat, until I was in nothing but my gray long johns. Even those were too much. I crawled over to the pile of clothes in the corner. Julian’s things, torn and bloodied, lay on top. Underneath them was a two-piece set of clothing that matched what the women in the tribe wore—whatever that was called. Glancing over at Julian to make sure he was still unconscious, I ordered Max to turn around. He obliged, and I quickly pulled off the long johns and slipped on the outfit. Thank the heavens they aren’t one of those topless tribes, I silently celebrated, looking down at the skirt and the strip of cloth meant to be a shirt.
“Julian?” I whispered again, sliding back over to him. Nothing.
He needs to rest, Max said. As do you.
In answer, I balled up my coat and, placing it under my head, lay down next to Julian’s still body, reaching out to hold his hand. It would be a long time before sleep finally came to me.
I awoke to sunlight streaming in through the tiny window. Beads of sweat ran down my cheek; the hot, muggy air was uncomfortable even with the little that I wore. Max was stretched out on one side of me, unmoving, his eyes closed. I knew he wasn’t sleeping, though. He didn’t sleep. The previous day’s nightmare flashed in my mind then. I bolted upright and spun around.
Julian’s eyes were open a crack.
“Julian!” I exclaimed, throwing myself on him without thinking, earning a groan. “Sorry!” I quickly sat back up to gaze at him. “How are you feeling?”
Julian licked his lips several times. “Water . . . ” he finally croaked, reaching up to paw the air with a weak hand.
There’s water in the bowl in the corner, Max instructed.
I scurried over to grab it and bring it back to Julian’s side. “Can you sit up?” I asked softly, sliding my hand behind his neck to help him get up to his elbows. I held the bowl up to his mouth. He gulped the entire contents down.
“Thank you.”
I shifted my makeshift pillow under his head and eased him back.
“What happened? The last thing I remember was snowshoeing . . . and the wolf.”
I swallowed, not sure where to begin. “We went back to the chalet after . . . ” I hesitated. “After Max figured out that Valentina had been possessed by Ursula.”
Julian’s brow knit as he searched his memory. “Oh, right. She was—”
“A witch. A bad one.”
“Right.” He paused, thinking. “What happened after that? How did we get here?”
“Leo—” I choked; saying his name pulled at the already gaping wound in my heart. “He sent us to another safe location.” The giant lump in my throat was unmovable by this point.
“And my sister?” His head rolled slowly from side to side as he looked around the hut. For Valentina, no doubt.
How did I tell him that she had been torn apart by Max’s brothers? “Valentina has been gone for weeks, Julian,” I said instead, my voice quiet.
He frowned, trying to comprehend what I was saying. Realization finally clouded those brown eyes. Tears welled. “My sister’s dead.”
Max was on his feet and heading over to the door to nose aside the curtain and peer outside. This was too much for him to handle. It was too much for me, as well. “I’m so sorry, Julian,” I said, a fresh batch of tears rolling down my cheeks, the pain of watching my closest friend lose his entire family agonizing.
Julian rolled onto his side, away from me, likely to hide his tears. The action shifted the hemp blanket covering him, revealing his entire bare backside. Feeling my cheeks flush, I was about to avert my eyes when something caught my eye.
A small cross-like tattoo on his hip.
I gasped. “You’re—”
Despite his grave injury, Julian’s body stiffened and he quickly rolled back, realizing what he had just revealed: the mark that branded him part of the People’s Sentinel. But why was it not on his hand, like all the others?
Max was by my side in an instant. What’s wrong?
“You’re—” I started again but stopped to swallow, realizing that as soon as the words came out of my mouth, Julian was as good as dead. He was the enemy. Max would destroy him, regardless of whether he had saved my life.
Recognizing the situation, Julian pleaded silently with his teary eyes.
But why? How? How was the son of Viggo’s beard family part of the enemy without Viggo knowing? It explained his hatred for vampires. But . . . how? A flood of questions entered my mind then and I knew I would never get answers with Max hovering. “Probably still thirsty,” I told Max, grabbing the bowl and thrusting it toward him. “Can you go fetch some more water?”