THE FINAL STRIKEDemetrius was here. His skin was cold from the night air, but his heart was beating against my chest like a drum. I could smell the forest on him—pine, damp earth, and that heavy metallic scent of the silver that had tried to keep him away. He was shaking, and I knew it wasn't from fear. It was the silver poisoning his blood.

"You're bleeding," I whispered, my hands shaking as I touched the gashes on his arms.

"It doesn't matter," he said. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes ...