Page 135 of A Warrior's Fate

Stopping a few inches from the source, Isla bent, taking it between her fingers and lifting it to the light. “What the hell?”

It was a blood-red ruby, but not just any ruby—hers. A piece of her jewelry that had broken off as she’d shifted last night.

For a moment, she figured a rogue must’ve fled with it from the hall, trying to steal it…but then, she caught another a few yards ahead. She went to it, taking it in her other hand, barely raising it to the light before there was another.

Another.

Another.

Another.

A trail.

She followed it, collecting the numerous gemstones in her pocket, her wolf silent now, before she froze where the trail ended. An alleyway.

With the angle of the sun and the height of the buildings bracketing it, it was well-shadowed, but enough light spilled through for another gleam to catch her eye.

But it wasn’t of ruby.

Taking a glance around, finding no one near, Isla took a few steps forward, her focus entirely stolen by the glittering item. Like a trance.

Almost as if she knew in the back of her mind the care it needed to be handled with, Isla cupped the piece in her hand and carefully brought it to her face.

It was a diadem—half a diadem.

Not the tiara-like hair comb that she’d worn. Not like the piece Amalie had donned. This wasn’t meant to be thrown on for parties.

Even incomplete, the broken metal was heavy in her hand—a mix of silver, flecked with gold, and baring a black crystal. Not a twin, but nearly a sister, to the dagger she had hidden in her room. The one Lukas had been given to kill her.

As she lifted it higher, allowing one of the gemstones to catch the light, she noticed something behind her in one of the crystal embellishment’s reflections.

Isla whipped around and nearly dropped the treasure as a gasp filled her lungs. She hadn’t realized she’d been moving away until she collided with the wall of the building at her back.

Drawn in what seemed to be fresh red paint—dark enough that it could be mistaken for blood—was the language of the book and marker. But though it reminded her of it, this wasn’t anything like the message that had been left for Kai.

Because this one had symbols she did understand: the mark of Io and the mark of a warrior.

Because this message had been left for her.

The note for Kai had been left by a murderer, and Isla had no reason to believe that this one was any different. No reason to believe anything but the fact that the killer of her mate’s brother and father not only knew exactly who she was but was here, in Deimos.

She made herself exhale, forcing her body to relax.

And then she ran, the clatter of jewels on stone sounding in her wake as they rained from her pockets at the jerky movements.

She stopped at the mouth of the alley, training her eyes over the streets.

Empty.

Pain shot from where the metal of the diadem jammed into the fleshy part of her tightening fist.

A murderer and a coward. Like whoever had sent Lukas to kill her instead of facing her themselves.

Any doubt that they were connected ebbed away.

Isla crept back into the alley, keeping close to the wall to take away an angle of surprise for anyone approaching. She looked down at the fractured crown in her hand, rifled through her pockets for the jewels of her necklace, then looked at the new trail of them on the ground and up at the dark writing on the wall.

What was the point of this? So, she drew the connection with the dagger? So, she knew they knew?

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