The moss had grown while she slept spreading across her legs, around her arms, gentle but present. Like being held by something that couldn't quite decide if it was helping or tasting.
A tendril touched her face, tracing the scratch Cairn's nail had left, and that was enough.
She forced herself up with a strangled cry, moss tearing away from her skin with soft, almost reluctant releases. The tendrils retreated into ordinary moss so quickly she might have imagined it, except for the faint green stains on her skin where the deepest wounds had been.
There was a soft creaking sound as the roots parted allowing her to tumbled from the hollow, biting back panic, her body protesting less than it should. Her feet still hurt, but she could stand. Her ribs still ached, but she could breathe.
Behind her, the space between the roots sank back into the earth, returning to their original positions. The moss appeared perfectly ordinary, nothing to suggest it had been anything else at all.
Then she heard it, a cascade of arguing voices, growing closer. She was reluctant to leave, to venture further into the unknown, but she couldn’t stay, not with danger lurking so close.
“Thank you,” she muttered, not really sure why.
Chapter two
The temperature began to drop as afternoon gave way to early evening and Briar moved deeper into the trees. The silence felt wrong, too heavy, as though even the forest itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next.
“You’ve lasted longer than any of us expected.”
Briar stopped short, twisting around to confront the speaker. A fae she was unfamiliar with stepped from behind a tree she could have sworn was empty shadow just a moment before. His antlers branched above his angular face, each point sharp enough to pierce, and his eyes held a hunger that made her skin crawl.
"In case you’re considering it, running won't help," he continued, matching her stumbling retreat with unhurried steps. "This deep in the old forest, the trees themselves will turn you around and drive you back to me. They know the natural order of things."
She tried anyway, turning to flee, but the trees had shifted while she watched him, forming an impassable wall behind her.
"Human futility is so endearing." His voice came from directly behind her, close enough that she felt his breath roll across the nape of her neck. "You certainly know how to keep things interesting."
His hand caught her shoulder, twisting her around to face him.
"Let's see what made Eliam so—"
Briar lashed out in desperation, her nails raking across his face before conscious thought caught up to instinct. Four lines opened from cheekbone to jaw, deep enough that dark blood welled immediately, running down to drip from his chin.
He froze. His hand went to his face, fingers coming away wet. For a moment he just stared at his own blood, expression unreadable.
Then he smiled wider, something dangerous and delighted flickering in his eyes.
"Oh, you want to play?" His hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could run. He yanked her against him hard enough it left her gasping, his other arm wrapping around her waist to trap her there, arms pinned at her sides. "Let me show you how it's done properly."
She struggled, trying to twist free, but he held her easily. “Normally I’d leave a mark to match, but it’d be a shame to scar such a pretty face,” he explained as his free hand caught the neckline of her dress and tore downward. The sound of ripping silk filled her ears just seconds before cold air hit her exposed skin. “This will have to do.”
"No—" she gasped, but his fingers were already tracing down her throat, across her collarbone. Where his nails touched, they tore, dragging lines of fire across her skin. She felt blood well up warm against the cold.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
His grip shifted, his hand moving lower. She grit her teeth as a single clawed finger dragged across the swell of her breast, leaving a welt in its wake.
"Should I go deeper?" he murmured against her ear. "Give you something to remember me by?" The claw pressed harder, and she sobbed. "Perhaps I'll write my name. I’ll take my time of course. Would you like that?"
His finger continued its path down across her chest, then back up to her shoulder, each line a promise of worse to come.
“Maybe on your back while I—”
Briar spat in his face.
The mixture of saliva and her own blood hit him across the mouth and cheek. His expression went from delighted cruelty to pure rage in an instant.
He threw her away from him in disgust and she hit the ground hard. She tried to roll, to get her hands under her, but her body wouldn't cooperate fast enough. He advanced on her, blood still dripping from the scratches on his face, his eyes promising violence.
