The courtyard was perfectly quiet, save for the distant crashing of the ocean waves against the cliffs below the manor. The warm afternoon sun was still shining, but the air around us had suddenly turned freezing cold.
Lucien stared at the long, white feather in his gloved hand. The tip was dusted in a beautiful, shimmering silver pattern, but right at the base, near the hollow quill, was a dark, dried rust color.
Blood.
"Silas," Lucien said. His voice was no longer the soft, trembling whisper of a panicked father. It was the smooth, lethal purr of the Lord of Shadows. "Tell me exactly what you saw."
Silas didn't flinch. The six-year-old panther-cub had grown so much since I first met him. He sat up a little straighter in the grass, his violet eyes locking onto his older brother.
"I was walking near the edge of the property, where the tall grass grows wild near the cliff drop-off," Silas explained quietly. "I was practicing my stealth steps. Then, I heard a noise."
