I was jerked from unpleasant dreams and a restless sleep by someone roughly lifting me up and plopping me onto a horse.

Blinking, I steadied myself, surprised but not surprised to see it was the Red Hand as he swung up behind me. I shook off the sleep while he shouted to the rest of the bandits, “Move out!”

He spurred the horse, and I barely managed to catch hold of the pommel with my bound hands before I could fall off.

Last night I’d gone against my own nagging doubts and ended up stealing a horse to try to get away, and dammit… The Red Hand had been telling the truth. Because the horse just brought me full circle back to the oasis. As did the second one I stole. And the third.

Eventually, I realized that it was some sort of magic that made the horses wander back to the camp, a disorientation that made it impossible for them to leave the group. That was why the Red Hand had been so confident I wouldn’t be able to escape.

Except…I knew Mortis magic, all too well. And this wasn’t it. So just what kind of magic did these bandits utilize?

I’d been too tired to try to puzzle it out last night, falling into an exhausted heap on the ground. I had no idea when they had managed to tie my hands again. Nor did I know what time of day it was, only that the black sun was high in the sky, the red ring around it casting a hazy pallor across the desert.

As far as the eye could see, there was only sand.

Trepidation lodged in my throat, and I glanced back at the oasis. It had been a place of safety—in a sense—but now it was only a small receding dot on the horizon.

I sat stiffly, trying to hold myself away from the horse’s other occupant as we rode along, the heat already making itself known. It pressed down relentlessly.

After a few minutes of silence, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I jerked around to stare at him. “I need to worry about it as you are dragging me there against my will.”

The Red Hand shrugged and gestured to the sand surrounding us. “Feel free to get off at any time.”

I scowled. He always seemed to have the exact words that would anger me the most. He knew I couldn’t wander the desert alone, especially since he and his crew had taken my pack and all of my things.

I stole a quick glance at his wrists. No bracelet. I have to get it back.

More time passed, more heat, more sand kicking up and hitting my face, more discomfort.

“I’m hungry,” I said.

“Too bad. You slept through breakfast.”

I gritted my teeth. “Fine, but when I become a corpse, you’ll have to deal with the smell.”

He stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter. Without breaking my gaze, he reached into his satchel and pulled what looked to be a piece of flatbread. The second after he dropped it into my hands, I had it in my mouth, practically inhaling it. Even if it was stale, I didn’t care. It filled my stomach.

“You have a very strange sense of humor, but I like it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye that I deliberately ignored.

I rolled my eyes and turned away. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

He shrugged. “You amuse me nonetheless.”

“Wish I knew a way to kill someone with laughter,” I muttered, which only made him chuckle.

It was warm. Almost…comforting. I scowled.

What the hell? Where did that thought come from? I hate this man.

The only reason I wasn’t running in the opposite direction was because I didn’t want to die and make Caius’s sacrifice worth nothing.

The thought of him left me in a somber mood for some time, and I was happy not to say much or interact with anyone. When we finally stopped to rest, the black sun was setting, and the faint, broken moon could already be seen in the sky.

Like the night before, they mostly left me on my own, knowing I wasn’t going to run—because where was there to run to?

I kept a distance, observing the stoic, blond bandit, who was called Viator. He was going around to each horse and whispering in their ears.

He must have been the one who cast the magic last night that kept the horses close. I was more certain of it when the horses gathered together in a small cluster once Viator was done.

And I couldn’t help but wonder… If there was a way to break the spell, could I ask him? But no, it was probably useless. He wouldn’t give that secret to someone like me.

The Red Hand called for two of the bandits, one of which I’d dealt with the night before. “Go on a hunt,” he ordered. “See if you can get another vulture or hare for our meal tonight.”

The two nodded and hurried away, and I took a chance, sidling over to where Viator was in the middle of feeding one of the horses.

“So, are you the caregiver of the horses or something?” I asked. “You seem to have a way with them.”

Viator said nothing, not even looking my way.

“I used to help with the horses back home,” I said. “I hate having nothing to do, so perhaps I can help here?”

Still nothing. He really was stoic. Or just perceptive.

“I can go get some water from the packs if you need it,” I offered, feeling a little desperate.

The Red Hand came over and patted Viator on the back. “I think our little prisoner is trying to find a way to steal a horse before you can use your charm on them.”

“Yes, I gathered,” Viator said gruffly.

I scowled. Of course I’d been caught in the act. But no way was I going to admit to it. “I have a name,” I said. “It’s Nepha.”

The Red Hand frowned. “What kind of name is Nepha?”

I glowered at him. Was he mocking me?

“Sand snake!”

I tensed, watching as the two bandits who’d gone off hunting came running back, panic on both their faces. “Sand snake! A big one!”

Sand snake?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out just what that was. A giant snake the size of two horses lunged over the dunes, its fangs gleaming as it leapt for one of the bandits, barely avoiding the man, who screamed and dove away.

The snake hissed and refocused its attention, lunging for a horse. My heart leapt into my throat as it grabbed one by the back leg, tearing the limb off.

The horse gave a horrible, dying scream that echoed in my ears. I could do nothing but watch as the Red Hand leapt forward, pulling out his pistol and shooting at the reptilian creature to take its attention away from the horses.

A bullet wouldn’t do much to kill such a beast, but then the Red Hand pulled the sword from his back. The blade gleamed in the fading sunlight.

I caught my breath as the monster lunged, and the Red Hand swung up, cutting into its hide. It let out a roar and slammed into him. The Red Hand slashed out, cutting through the snake’s head just as one of the creature’s fangs pierced his side.

It happened so fast I couldn’t keep up, one moment bleeding into the next. But as soon as I saw the blood gushing from the Red Hand’s wound, I ran toward him, horrified at the sight. There was no way someone could heal from such a wound without magic.

I frowned, my fingers tingling. It was as if the abomination inside of me—whatever it was—could feel death approaching.

And it almost felt like…like a part of me wanted to help him. But that was ridiculous. He was my captor.

But such a terrible wound… I felt myself stepping forward, opening my mouth—

Viator was there first, kneeling beside the Red Hand and slicing through his own wrist with a blade. His skin welled a red line of blood, which he held up to the Red Hand.

“Drink.”

What is he doing? I had a sinking feeling, a hint of suspicion, but surely not… Surely it couldn’t be that…

The Red Hand groaned and shook his head slightly.

“Roden! Drink!” Viator commanded.

Finally, the Red Hand turned his head toward Viator’s wrist…and drank his blood.

I could only watch, horrified as the wound in the Red Hand’s side slowly closed up, until it seemed as if there had never been one in the first place.

Drinking blood to heal one’s wounds. That could only mean that the Red Hand was…

I gasped. “You’re a Sanguine!”