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Shade's heart beat in his throat as he clung, trembling, to the stalk of a giant leaf. His and Marina's ragged breathing was loud, too loud—surely Goth could hear them over the whir of ventilation and sprinklers. The cannibal's wingbeats slashed through vegetation, closer, closer. Leaves rustled harshly against one another as he searched.
Shade fought the urge to flinch as fronds brushed together agonizingly close to their hiding place. Goth couldn't be more than a yard away.
Suddenly it went quiet. Shade held his breath, frozen still, sweat soaking the fur of his back. Beside him Marina did the same. His own heartbeat was louder than the vents and false rain, blindingly loud in his ears. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. The sticky air itself was stagnant, waiting, oppressive.
The foliage exploded. A dark wing swept the curtain of leaves aside and Goth lunged at them, teeth snapping.
Shade cried out and tried to scramble away, but Goth went right for him, knocking Marina aside with a wing and sending her flying to crumple in a heap on a branch. He slammed into Shade and they plummeted through the foliage to crash to the ground, decaying leaves barely cushioning the force of it. The blow stole the breath from Shade's chest. Through a sharp pain in his ribs, he wondered if something was broken.
Goth's massive weight crushed him into the ground, hot and leathery and rank. Shade struggled instinctively, frantically twisting in vain, but it was like struggling against iron. He coughed and gasped as he tried to recover enough breath to sing a second echo picture. It didn't have to be good, just enough to startle Goth for a fraction of a second—
Hot, fetid breath like carrion on a summer evening scalded his neck, ear, cheek. "You thought you'd seen the last of me?" Goth hissed in his ear. "I swore to myself I'd eat you alive, Shade."
He shivered. He thought he remembered that from a dream.
Long, sharp teeth nipped tauntingly at the edge of an ear. Blood trickled down the side of his head. He was too dizzy to wince. He couldn't breathe. A hot, slimy tongue snaked out to lap up the dripping blood. He cringed in disgust, wrinkling his nose.
"I always knew I'd find you," Goth breathed. Awful contentment softened his voice into something low and gratified. "But I didn't think I'd have this kind of time. No cold or lightning here. I think I'll make the most of it." His beastlike snout dipped to Shade's neck, fangs grazing his pulse.
Shade trembled violently. It was just like every one of his dreams. Goth, horrifically alive, unscarred, all tongue and teeth and weight. Shade writhed in panic, desperate to break free, but too much of his body was pinned. Something in his chest twinged painfully at the wild movement.
"Nothing clever to say?" A low rumble of laughter resonated through Goth's chest. "I think I like you like this." He returned to the shallow trickle of blood, slow and deliberate, intent on savoring the taste of it while Shade was still alive and afraid.
Choking on disgust and fear—the air still crushed from his lungs—Shade couldn't sing, couldn't get enough air. Where was Marina? Had Goth knocked her unconscious? Killed her? This couldn't be it, not after everything, for Goth to just come back to life and kill them.
All he could summon up was a spat curse.
Goth threw his head back and laughed again, hideous and savage, but the movement gave Shade a fraction of space and he sucked in a gulp of air. Preparing to sing again—a Human, a Human was the only thing that would frighten Goth—
Suddenly the weight was gone. Shade flipped over, casting around frantically for a sign of what happened, but it didn't take much searching to hear the owl fighting Goth: snapping jaws, thrashing wings, growling, shrieking, the muffled slice of claws. Cold relief at his own survival was quickly overtaken by grief for the owl. There was no way he would win.
Then the portal in the wall hissed open.