The name carries out of me like a bolt of heat, tearing through my chest and flooding every inch of my body until it sears behind my eyes. The forest, the sky, the world all flicker at the edges. My grip tightens around Ares because if I lose hold of him for even a breath, he will be gone. And then the Fetches’s laughter slinks through the ruined path behind us, followed by the scrape of its claws, slow at first, savoring the approach as if confident that even magic can’t save us in time.
It steps into view, its hollow sockets fixed on Ares’s blood like a predator that’s already decided how we will die. I fold myself over him, shielding as much of his body as I can. The essence of the spell grows hotter, brighter, wilder. For a moment, I’m sure it will tear me in half. The Fetch lunges, claws slicing downward, and the world detonates in silence.
A violent crack hurls us through nothingness, and when sensation returns, my knees slam into cold earth. Debris and roots dig into my palms as I hit the ground with all my weight. Ares tumbles from my grasp like dead weight, landing with a heavy thud that sends panic ricocheting through my chest. My vision blurs, spots swimming in and out, but I manage to crawl to him on trembling limbs. He doesn’t move. Not a flinch, not a breath I can see.
I lift my head, forcing my eyes to focus. We’re in a different part of the woods entirely, older trees, thicker shadows, everything quieter as if sound has been swallowed whole. A small cottage sits beyond a weather-beaten fence, smoke curling from its chimney. The sight of it knots reliefand dread together in my chest. Someone lives there. Someone who might help. Someone who might refuse.
“Ares,” I whisper, pressing my fingers to his neck. His pulse flutters weakly, sporadic. The poison has crept farther up his ribs, turning the veins black like living ink. My stomach lurches. If I don’t move now, he will die right here on the forest floor.
I stagger to my feet and run.
Branches whip against my face, my legs moving on pure instinct. I shove open the rusted gate, nearly tearing it off its hinges. When I reach the cottage door, I pound hard enough to splinter wood. Every strike of my fist reverberates through my bones.
“Please!” My voice breaks open. “My friend is injured...I need help!”
Movement stirs behind the small window. Curtains flutter. A single brown eye appears, widening into disbelief so quickly it startles me. Locks clatter in a frantic sequence, one, two, three, four, before the door swings open violently.
A young woman stands there, red curls tumbling wildly around her face, freckles scattered across her nose, breath unsteady as she stares at me as if I’ve materialized from memory rather than air. She steps forward slowly, her eyes softening in an inexplicable way.
“Harper?” Her voice is barely a whisper before she grabs me, pulling me tightly against her in a hug I’m too shocked to return. Her arms wrap around me as though she’s known me for years, as though she’s been waiting for this exact moment. My own hands lift uselessly away from her, the urgency of the situation snapping me back into myself.
“I need help,” I say, pulling back from her hold. “Please, Ares is hurt.”
The name hits her like a dropped stone. Her whole expression changes, fear sharpening into purpose as shepushes past me and bolts into the woods. I chase after her, my heart thundering as she crosses the clearing with stunning speed.
She skids to her knees beside him, hands immediately probing the wound. His body recoils on instinct, a faint gasp escaping him before he sinks deeper into unconsciousness. Althea’s eyes widen at the sight of the darkened veins.
“How long ago did a Fetch attack him?” she demands without looking up.
“Fifteen minutes, maybe less.”
“That’s cutting it too close.” She hauls him upright with surprising strength. “Get under his other arm. We don’t have time.”
I do as she orders, ducking beneath his weight as it collapses over my shoulders. Together we drag him across the clearing, his boots catching on roots and dirt until we manage to wrestle him through the door.
Inside, the small cottage is bursting with herbs strung from rafters, jars stacked on shelves, books thrown into organized chaos. Dozens of framed photographs hang on the walls, faces watching us from every angle as if the house itself is judging our intrusion.
Althea clears a space on the table with one violent sweep of her arm. Plates and glass shatter across the floor. We lower Ares carefully onto his side, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“You idiot,” she mutters under her breath, already rushing to cabinets and tearing through shelves. “You know better than to get near a Fetch. You always know better until the moment you don’t.”
“What is going on?” My voice trembles despite how hard I try to steady it. “What is happening to him?”
Althea pauses only long enough to throw me a sharp look. “Your father’s pets don’t just maim. They curse. And thepoison works faster on anyone who has Shadeborne blood in their system. He’s dying, Harper. Dying from one of your father’s favorite party tricks.”
The words sting like open flame. I can’t breathe for a moment.
“How do you know me?” My throat pulls tight around the question. “How do you know him? How do you know my father?”
Althea laughs bitterly, grabbing a red vial off a top shelf. “How does anyone know a Shadeborne? Through love, admiration… or hate. And your father inspires more hate than any man I’ve ever met.”
She uncorks the vial, and the liquid glimmers strangely. She tips it slowly over Ares’s wound. The instant the substance touches his skin, his entire body arcs off the table, his back bowing as a raw, animal sound rips from his throat.
I grip his hand, holding on for both of us as he fights the pain.
And for the first time, I truly understand how close death is, and how little time we have to outrun it
Althea works with a speed and precision that tells me she has done this before, maybe too many times. Her hands never stop moving, but her eyes flick toward me with a sharpness that pierces deeper than any blade. “Your father didn’t make it easy for anyone to speak to you about your situation,” she says, and her voice trembles at the edges as though the words themselves scrape her throat raw. Suddenly, she inhales sharply and presses her fingers hard against the base of her neck, the same motion Ares made when he tried to speak earlier. Her face tightens, jaw locking through the pain. “We’re cursed to never repeat what we know. If we try… it causes unbearable pain.”
