Chapter One
Newt’s cheeks stung with each branch he forgot to dodge as he hauled butt through the woods. His wings were tucked away so he didn’t tear them, because one rip equaled death. If he’d known his first trip to the human realm would involve so much running, Newt wouldn’t have worn his favorite boots with slight heels. They were the worst thing to wear when he was dodging trees and jumping over fallen logs to escape those bloodthirsty scoundrels.
Thorns reached for him like grabby hands and snagged his shirt for the umpteenth time. Pine needles sifted into his hair, and every other breath tasted like dirt.
“Why did I think this was a good idea?”
All around him, footsteps snapped twigs, followed by laughter. The bloodsuckers didn’t bother to pretend they weren’t enjoying this. Fantastic. Vampires with a sense of humor. Because the night really needed to squeeze another ounce of horror out of Newt.
Crickets sawed at the dark like they were trying to drown out the sounds of his panic. Somewhere to his right, an owl asked “who” in a tone that felt judgy.
“Not helpful,” he panted to no one, stumbling over roots fat as coiled snakes.
Concealment. Newt needed to make his physical form disappear. Easy spell. He could do it half-asleep back home. A quick chant, and—oh look—bright neon pink pooled in his hands and spilled over his arms then his body like a liquid glow-stick just exploded all over him. It lit up the trees. It lit up his mistake. It probably lit up to the moon.
“Coconuts. My magic is trying to gift wrap me for those bloodsuckers.”
Footsteps sped up that didn’t belong to him. Laughter got closer. On instinct, he flung himself behind a fallen log and pressed his wings tighter, like pressure alone could keep them safe. His father had hammered that rule so hard it lived in his bones. Always take care of your wings. One rip and I’ll have to start all over. And maybe the next child will listen to me.
Newt’s breath was too loud. Sweat stung the cuts the thorns had grooved into him. He smeared a streak of dirt across his cheek with the back of his wrist and peered over the log. Nothing there. Nothing and then—shoot! Too close. Hot air skimmed the nape of his neck, a wet exhale that raised every hair along its path. He forgot how to breathe entirely for two heartbeats.
Forward, he had to keep moving forward. He bolted up and ran.
Lights winked through gaps in the trees like the night had poked holes in itself. Forbidden, his father had said. Humans are dangerous. Well, so were fangs. Judging by the breath at his neck, fangs were a more immediate problem.
He vaulted over the log and kept going. Branches clawed, roots grabbed, his lungs burned, and he promised every god he could name he’d eat all his vegetables if he got out of this. He probably wouldn’t, but it sounded like a good bargain.
Speed spell! Newt risked it. A whispered chant carried on the wind. Power surged down his calves— Then his boots fused to the ground like someone had poured concrete over them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” He yanked one foot then the other. No good. Panic made his fingers clumsy. He dropped hard, clawed at the laces, ripped one knot, tore leather with his nails. Goodbye, boots. They’d been nice to him.
Barefoot, he bolted, cold earth biting into his soft soles, needles and pebbles lodging in places he would absolutely complain about later if he survived. He was most likely the only fae who snuck out of their realm and right into a forest with three vampires so close he could smell the scent of blood on their tongues. If the passageway hadn’t automatically closed, Newt would’ve turned his butt around and run back through.
He was running all right. Like he’d never run before, with a stitch in his side, no shoes, and a bargain he doubted any god would accept.
Bark brushed his shoulder as he squeezed between twin trunks. The neon pink clung to him, pulsing with each hammering heartbeat like it wanted to be a beacon and not a blessing.
A branch snapped behind him. Laughter spilled through the trees again, closer, hungrier. He fished for another spell in his mind and came up with one he’d used once in practice. Shield. Third time’s a charm, right?
Newt threw his palm out and drew the insignia.
Fireworks exploded above him—huge, loud, and unfortunately purple. Sparkles rained down in an incredible cascade that was exactly zero help while running for your life. He flinched and nearly ate a sapling.
“Note to self,” he gasped, “panic makes terrible magic.”
The lights grew bigger. A house! Square roof. Warm windows and soup and humans who just might yeet him from existence. A fresh stitch dug into his side. He pressed a hand there and lied to himself about how little it hurt.
Branches thinned. Grass hit his feet, soft and shockingly inviting after the forest’s angry carpet. He staggered and caught himself with both hands in wet dirt that smelled like recent rain. Up ahead, yellow squares glowed. Not fairy light. Ordinary lights, which felt bizarrely brave right now.
“Humans couldn’t be worse than what’s hunting me,” he said out loud, because sometimes you had to hear your own bad decisions.
And this had been his worst.
A stretch of lawn opened, lush and ridiculous, all clipped edges and moon-silver dew. The house loomed three stories high, its windows lit like it had no idea monsters lived in the trees behind it.
An earthy scent rolled over him on the breeze, musk threaded with smoke, like forest floor and warm skin. Not vampire. Not anything he recognized. It wrapped his nose and sat there, calm as a stone, while his heart flailed.
Was that how humans smelled? Newt liked it.
