Was it just the adrenaline of the moment? Fear or shock? My mind playing tricks on me?
No. No, I heard it. I know I did.
But fae don’t speak. Theycan’tspeak any more than a hound or a fox can speak. No one has ever mentioned speech. No one has ever suggested they can talk.
That face, though. Those eyes, looking at me with such cold contempt. The curl of its lip before it spoke.
I don’t know what this thing is. But it’s not what the stories said it is.
The light is almost gone when the fae finally stops.
We’re in a hollow, ringed by trees whose gnarled branches weave together overhead like the vaulted ceiling of a palace.
The fae releases me, and I slide down from its shoulder and hit the ground hard, too exhausted to catch myself. Damp earth presses against my cheek as I lie there gasping and shaking.
Everything hurts.
My wrist throbs where it squeezed me, a deep grinding ache that pulses with every heartbeat. My ribs scream with every breath. My face burns where its fingernails dug into my cheek. When I run my tongue over my teeth, I can taste blood. My shoulder feels wrenched half out of the socket. My fingers sting where I tore the skin trying to hold on to the trees.
Get up.
The thought comes from far away, muffled by pain, exhaustion, and terror.
Get up and run.
I push myself up on trembling arms. My muscles shake andmy vision swims. When it finally clears, I find the fae standing between me and the only path out of the hollow. The antlers spread above its head like a crown of bone. Its chest rises and falls evenly, not winded from the race through the forest at all, while I can barely draw a breath.
It watches me with that unblinking stare. Patient. Predatory. Waiting to see what I’ll do.
I think about Brennan, Wil, and Nella, out there in the forest, searching for me.
I think about running.
I think about screaming.
But I’ve seen how fast this thing moves. I’ve felt how strong it is. Iknowwith a cold, sick certainty that if I run, itwillcatch me. If I scream, it will silence me. And if I fight, it will break me.
This morning, I woke up excited.
I put on my hunting clothes and kissed my father’s cheek and climbed into a carriage, thinking about trophies and glory, and the story I’d tell at dinner.
Now I’m lying in the dirt, bruised and bleeding and utterly alone, and I finally understand.
I wasneverthe hunter.
I am the prey.
THREE
ALLERIA
The fae stands over me,so close I could touch it if I dared.
Those pale gold eyes haven’t left my face since it dropped me to the ground.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. That deep, instinctive part of me, the part that understands the danger before my mind does, shrinks in on itself and hisses.
Don’t twitch. Don’t flinch. Don’t give it a reason.
