The Wild Hunt’s horns tore through the night, each note a promise of violence.
We ran through the twisted paths beyond Thornhaven Hollow, the gaudy lights of the Nectar Nook already swallowed by darkness behind us. My kiss with Elle still burned on my lips—that desperate collision against the alley wall, the way she’d gasped my name, the possessive claim we’d both made. Now we fled with the Hunt bearing down on us like inevitability given form.
“Move!” I barked, pushing the crew harder.
Elle ran beside me, matching my pace despite the uneven ground. Through our bond, I felt her exhaustion from the tavern confrontation, the emotional toll of our confession, and underneath it all, a simmering frustration that even that moment had been stolen from us.
“Oh good,” Peeble buzzed sarcastically from Elle’s shoulder, somehow maintaining perfect balance despite our breakneck speed. “Running for our lives in the dark. My favorite Tuesday night activity.”
The horns sounded closer. Too close.
“They’re pushing us toward the old market square.” Sarnyx observed, her blade already drawn as she ran.
A killing ground. Open space, nowhere to hide, perfect for the Hunt’s mounted charge.
“Then we don’t go there,” Elle said, and without warning, she veered leftinto the thick undergrowth.
The crew followed without hesitation—we were learning to trust her instincts. The Root whispered to her in ways none of us fully understood, and right now, those whispers were keeping us alive.
But the Hunt adapted. They always did.
The shadows ahead of us erupted.
Shadow riders materialized from nothing. Their mounts were creatures of smoke and stolen starlight, shifting forms that hurt to look at directly. The hounds came with them, all teeth and hunger, circling us with predatory patience.
We’d run straight into their trap anyway.
“Back to back!” I commanded, and the crew formed a defensive circle instinctively.
Elle pressed against my side, and the contact sent power crackling through both of us. After what had happened in that alley—the claiming, the confession, the way we’d finally stopped pretending—every touch felt charged with possibility and danger.
“So much for one night of peace,” Elle muttered.
“Peace was never an option,” I replied, corruption already spreading from my marks like veins of darkness.
“Shocking,” Peeble chimed in, their metallic voice dripping with sarcasm. “The brooding murder prince doesn’t believe in peace. Someone alert the press.”
The Hunt’s leader spoke, and its voice resonated through the air itself, ancient and absolute.
“The Convergence approaches. The human carries what was never meant for mortal hands. Surrender her now, and the rest may flee. Resist, and we take her by force. Either way, she comes with us. She will not be allowed to choose again.”
“Over my dead body,” Elle shot back, her marks blazing in response.
The Hunt attacked.
Three riders broke formation, all targeting Elle. They could sense what she carried—Root magic that no human should possess, power that calledto them like a beacon.
Sarnyx had her blade out before I could even shout commands, the steel singing as she carved through a hound that materialized from the shadows. Vashael’s fingers danced, releasing pollen that bloomed into golden clouds, creating illusions that sent Hunt riders crashing into trees as they chased phantoms through the darkness. Even Nimor, still unstable from the Star Veil’s effects, managed to phase partially into mist, making himself a harder target as he darted between the twisted trunks.
But it was Elle who truly answered their violence.
She stood at the center of our formation, and the Root sang through her. Not the hesitant power she’d been learning to control, but something ancient and terrible and beautiful. The forest floor erupted with growth—vines and roots bursting from the earth, already there and just now choosing to manifest. They formed barriers of thorn and bark that even the Hunt’s supernatural mounts couldn’t penetrate, protecting our flanks as we fought.
“Holy shit,” Peeble buzzed from somewhere above, dodging a shadow-hound’s leap with nimble aerial maneuvers. “When did you learn to do that? Because last week you could barely make a flower bloom without passing out!”
She didn’t answer because three more riders were already closing in, weaving between the twisted trees that lined the path.
I intercepted the lead rider with violence that would have horrified me once.
