Branches tore at her traveling clothes as she crashed through the undergrowth. The corrupted forest seemed to shift around her, paths appearing and disappearing, roots rising to trip her, thorns reaching for exposed skin. The warmth in her chest pulled desperately backward, toward where Eliam and Arion fought, but she couldn't stop, couldn't turn back.
She could hear him following. Not running, just walking. His footsteps were steady and patient, like he had all the time in the world and he knew exactly where she would go.
"Running through corrupted woods, dear one?" His voice carried impossibly well through the trees. "That's rather dangerous. So many things here that might hurt you. Better to come back. I promise to be gentle."
She ran harder, lungs burning, the metallic taste of corruption thick in her throat. A root caught her foot and she went down hard, palms scraping against bark that felt wrong, too soft, too warm, almost flesh-like.
When she pushed herself up, he was there.
He stood several feet away, not even breathing hard, looking at her with that mixture of amusement and satisfaction that made her stomach turn.
"Did you miss me?" he asked again, taking a step closer. "Because I've thought about you every day. The way you felt beneath me. The sounds you made."
She scrambled backward, but her back hit a tree—no, not a tree, one of the creature's tentacles, positioned perfectly to stop her retreat. She was trapped.
"There's nowhere to run." He closed the distance between them with casual grace. "Your defenders are busy. The Drak are falling. And you, dear one, are exactly where you're supposed to be."
His hand caught her chin, tilting her face up with deceptive gentleness. The autumn marks at her throat pulsed warm, reaching toward him like flowers toward sun.
"Such a long chase for such a small thing," he murmured, studying her face with the same attention he might give an interesting specimen. "Though I suppose you've grown more intriguing since our last encounter."
She jerked her head away, but his fingers tightened just enough to hold her still. Not painful—he rarely needed pain when control would suffice.
"Let go."
"No, I don't think I will." His thumb traced along her jaw, autumn magic seeping through the touch, making her limbs feel heavy. "Do you know what the most tedious part of ruling is? The constant need to appear reasonable. To pretend that violence is a last resort rather than the most efficient solution."
In the distance, the battle sounds were fading—less clashing, more screaming.
"But here, in these corrupted woods, with no one watching but the twisted trees?" His smile was almost fond. "I can be entirely honest about what I want."
"They'll come for me," she said, hating how her voice shook.
"Oh, undoubtedly. Your collection of would-be saviors is nothing if not persistent." He glanced back toward the battle sounds with mild interest. "Though I wonder how many will survive the enthusiasm of my new pets. The corruption makes them so... thorough."
He looked back at her, and his expression shifted to something almost regretful.
"I had hoped you'd come to me willingly, you know. After enough time, enough gentle pressure. But you're remarkably stubborn for someone so breakable." His grip shifted from her chin to her arm, fingers closing around her bicep with careful precision. "So we'll do this the crude way. Disappointing, really."
Without warning, he yanked her against him, his arm locked around her waist, half-carrying, half-dragging her back towards the fight. She fought, clawing at his arm, trying to dig her heels in, but he was fae-strong and she was just human, just tired, just small against his magic and will.
They emerged into the clearing where the battle had devolved into chaos. Several of Veroc's warriors were down, their blood staining the corrupted earth. The creature hadwrapped tentacles around Halian, lifting him off the ground. Sian was trying to free him with water blades while dodging the corrupted guards.
Malus walked into the center of it all, dragging Briar with him, and simply stood there. Waiting.
It took only moments for the others to notice. Eliam turned first, thorns already sprouting from his hands, but Malus's arm had shifted to wrap around Briar's throat from behind, his forearm pressing against her windpipe with practiced precision.
"Careful," Malus said mildly. "I'd hate for my grip to tighten accidentally."
The pressure increased slightly, not enough to cut off air entirely, but enough that breathing became work. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.
One by one, the others stopped fighting to stare. The corrupted guards stepped back in unison, weapons remaining at the ready. The creature's tentacles stilled, though they kept Halian suspended.
"Much better," Malus continued. "Now then, let's discuss terms. You're all going to lower your weapons and accompany me to the seal. Willingly. Cooperatively." He paused, his breath warm against Briar's ear. "Or I'll discover exactly how long a human can survive with a crushed windpipe. I'm genuinely curious—the texts are contradictory on the subject."
His arm tightened another fraction. Briar's hands came up instinctively, clawing at his sleeve, but she might as well have been trying to bend iron.
Eliam took a step forward, shadows gathering around him like storm clouds.
