Sweat drips down my back as I adjust my grip on the atomizer. The day has melted into twilight, but the glaring lights around the perimeter illuminate the monstrous group of Skinwalkers that are growing in number right before our eyes. Their wails echo in the shadows, a longing, mourning sound. It sends gooseflesh rippling across my skin.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Rhett asks Miles who is fiddling with the breaker box affixed to one of the power stations along the fence.

Miles turns and claps a hand on my brother's shoulder. "You're the scientist, I'm the strategist. It will work." He gives me the smallest grin. "Just make sure you zap 'em the first moment you can. We don't want to keep the power off forever."

Luke nods grimly beside me. "Just long enough. And if it looks like trouble, we turn it back on immediately."

Rhett nods, taking my hand and guiding it to the atomizer's trigger. "Aim high and pull hard. It will give a kick, but don't let go. And when they start reacting," Rhett swallows. "Just make sure you're ready to run if you have to."

Luke and I leave them to it, our feet treading a muddy path toward the bulk of the horde. While Miles and Rhett prepare to interrupt the electric current to let the Skinwalkers amass, I mentally prepare myself for my part of the plan.

Luke stops my stride with a gentle hand on my elbow. "Let me be the bait."

When I gawk, he lifts an eyebrow, the only trace of amusement on his otherwise grim expression. "What, you thought I would just be your escort toward an early grave?"

Heat flares at my temple. "They don't want to hurt me."

"But they still could." Luke squeezes my elbow. "I'm not leaving your side."

"Why do you keep insisting on putting yourself in danger?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

I can feel his fingers tremble against my skin, much at odds with the confident set of his shoulders. For Luke to come face-to-face with the beings that ruined his life, took away his mother, and forces him to live with the fear of what lurks in the shadows at night, it must be terrifyingly surreal. My heart floods with the overwhelming urge to protect him. "I won't allow them to get near you."

Luke's gaze searches my face, but he will find no cracks, no weakness in my resolve. "Fine. But I will be several meters behind you, just in case." I eye the compound bow slung across his shoulder. "Extra precaution, and maybe it will help funnel them toward a meal."

I frown, not wanting to entertain the idea of Luke becoming dinner. Luke's hand slips down my arm and wraps his lithe fingers around my free hand, squeezing. "Please, please be careful. I don't trust those animals." His voice dips to a whisper. "And I cannot bear to lose you."

I reach up on my tip-toes to wrap my arms around him. I squeeze him tightly, until there is no more shaking. Until it's just his body solid and firm against mine. He releases me and presses his lips to the top of my head, then my temple.

"Ten meters," I say. Luke agrees, and I watch him march a few paces away before turning to the mountain of undulating limbs and bodies.

Glancing to Rhett and Luke far off across the lawn, I nod.

It's time.

This close to the fence, the smell is overwhelming. The charred flesh and animal body odor penetrates my nostrils, and I swear my nose hairs are crying. The moans and whimpers of the Skinwalkers are the only things I can hear over the surging electricity. The cacophony rings in my skull, blocking out the pounding of my heart in my ears. Never before have I come face to face with this much danger. I could very well die today.

The weight of this reality hovers above me like an anvil tethered only by a fraying string. But if I don't do this, how many others will suffer and perish because of these creatures? If they won't die fighting, they will starve. I can't bear to picture the gaunt faces of those I've come to know in the Outlands. Sol and her husband. Clive, and Cohen. Little Hazel. Rik and the other villagers. How much will their lives be cut short because of the Skinwalkers, because of Herald and The Council's interference—or lack thereof?

And Luke. Strong, brave, compassionate Luke. Son of Summus Aspen and heir of Natio. This burden is too great for him to carry alone. He loves his land, his people. And I love him.

The admission rocks me to my core. I love Luke. I love the Outlands. I will fight for them until my last breath.

I nearly gasp at the intensity coiled in my chest. It feels like the beginning of one of my panic attacks, but then it doesn't. It's different, and the heat of it spreads throughout my body. It puts steel in my spine and strength in my limbs. I raise the atomizer, just as the electric hum fades into quiet. There's a split second of silence before the Skinwalkers' wails escalate in a deafening crescendo.

Renewed in their vigor, the creatures scramble over one another, gangly arms reaching through the gaps in the metal, realizing they are no longer being shocked. When the first Skinwalker makes it to the top of the palisade, it pauses for a moment, seeming shocked that it made it this far. But then two more pull themselves up, pushing the first over the top. I watch as it falls, long arms flailing as it crashes to the ground face-first on this side of the fence.

It's like a dam breaking as dozens of Skinwalkers come pouring over the top of the palisade without the electric current thrumming through it. It's a waterfall of pale skin, then a wave of it as they come surging toward me, hissing. My heart climbs in my throat, and I want to scream. But I must keep calm. I must wait for more to cross the fence and surround me. My fingers tremble on the atomizer, slick with sweat.

When the first group of Skinwalkers approach, trampling over each other on all fours with bared teeth, I really start to panic. What if they don't recognize my DNA? What if they do, and decide to take a bite out of me anyway? They hiss, spittle flying in my face, and terror roots me to the ground. I am unable to move even if I wanted to. Luke was right, I've made a mistake.

But when they're within arm's reach, one of them leans in and sniffs the air around me. Its decaying stench chokes me. Another step and it straightens, its shadow looming over me. A dozen surround me, all curiosity and apprehension. After a few tense seconds of my heart beating inhumanly fast, I exhale when they back off a few inches. It's fascinating, these creatures. Up close, you can see the intelligence in their eyes. It's chilling to know that we share so much DNA, but our capabilities differ exponentially. They could maul me in two seconds flat, but I'm still here. I'm okay.

Then their attention snaps behind me and my heart sinks. I am so close, I can see when their pupils constrict to pinpoints as their collective gaze hones in on Luke.

I pull the trigger.

I am thrown off balance as a massive cloud of white fog covers us from head to toe. Though I stumble, I do not let go of the atomizer. My ears are filled with terrible sounds—wailing, hacking, and crackling. Realizing Rhett and Miles must have turned the power back on, I pivot, squinting through the mist.

Around me are writhing bodies, faces twisted in choked horror. It's working! But the triumph is quickly taken over by shame as I am soon surrounded by dead, lifeless bodies. One by one, they fall to the ground at my feet. I cover my mouth, gasping. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can't unsee the contorted, pale limbs of those around me. Bile rises in my throat as I mentally scold myself for the brief moment of fascination I experienced when the creatures recognized me—accepted me. I shake myself, opening my eyes and telling myself that this is the reality of it. This is what we wanted—a way to end the Skinwalkers. What else did I expect?

As the fog clears in the evening breeze, my eyes latch on movement. A pale form streaks across the dark canvas of the night. A lone Skinwalker dashing away from me and my cloud of death.

Straight toward where Miles and my brother stand.

A distant twang, and the arrow whizzes by, felling the creature with a meaty thunk.

Thank God Luke doesn't miss.

Swallowing the acid and tears stinging the back of my throat, I follow the trail of bodies leading back toward the palisade. There are only a few remaining Skinwalkers on the other side, now backing down. The defeat in them is tangible. One more mournful cry, and they're gone, slinking back into the darkness of the forest.

My friends run to me—Miles whooping and hollering, Rhett exclaiming excitedly that it worked. I hear distant cries of joy, the residents of Perseca celebrating a decades-overdue victory. I should feel happy, but the feeling of wrongfulness weighs heavy within me. When I don't respond, Miles questions the somber look on my face.

"They're dead," I say to no one in particular. I feel sick. Luke steps you and wraps his arms around me. It is only then that I realize I am trembling.

He pulls back, rubbing my arms soothingly. I try to look anywhere but at the bodies littering the ground, endeavoring not to cry. Luke holds my gaze, a soft understanding in those pools of green.

"It's like hunting," he says, voice soft and warm like honey. "No meaningless death. It was done to survive."

I take a shaky breath, remembering my earlier vow.

I will not apologize for surviving.