His grip tightens.
The pressure builds steadily, making each breath harder than the last. My pulse slams against his fingers, franticallyfighting for space that’s being taken away. My hands come up to claw at his wrist, his forearm, but it’s useless. I might as well be trying to bend iron.
I can’t breathe. My mouth opens and closes, trying to drag in air that won’t come. My chest spasms. My lungs burn. The darkness closes in, eating the world away piece by piece.
I’m going to die. I’m going to die right here with his hand around my throat, and the cold, assessing look will be the last thing I’ll see.
Then he lets go.
Air floods my lungs, choking me. I roll onto my side, coughing and gagging, dragging in frantic, broken breaths that hurt on the way down. Tears stream down my face. I curl into myself, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
I can’t stop. I can’t make it stop.
“Don’t.” One word, in that guttural, low voice.
His hand closes over the back of my tunic and hauls me upright. My legs won’t hold me, and I sag in his grip. He drags me a few stumbling steps, then lifts me, and throws me over his shoulder.
The world turns into jolting motion and upside-down trees. Pressure builds in my head. Every step bounces my ribs against his shoulder, until it feels like they’re splintering.
I try to break free, but I’m too spent. My hands slide uselessly over his back. I grab at the antlers, and he shakes me until my teeth rattle. Until all I can do is hang there and watch the forest roll past in sick, disjointed pieces.
Eventually the ground levels out. The trees thin. He ducks under a low branch and the world opens up into a shape I recognize.
The hollow.
The ring of trees. The dark earth. The pale mushrooms in their circle.
He drops me, and the impact knocks the airout of me all over again. I lie there, gulping cold air, trying to force my lungs to work, and he walks away without a word.
The shaking won’t stop. My throat throbs where his fingers pressed, and when I swallow, I taste blood.
I ran. I ran as hard as I could and he was somehowthere, ahead of me. How was he ahead of me?
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. I can’t slow it down. I can’t make my hands stop shaking. I can’t?—
Slowly,painfully, I push myself upright. The fae is at one of the trees, back at whatever he was doing before I ran. The thin tunic hangs from his shoulders, torn at the neck and hem, and I can see the muscles moving in his back, the way his bare feet grip the earth. The antlers rise up from his skull, casting a nightmarish shadow across the ground.
Did it hurt when they modified him for my hunt? Did he fight against it?
I shove the questions away. I can’t afford them right now.
The cold deepens. Any warmth the autumn day held is long gone, replaced by a chill that sinks into my bones. My hunting clothes were never meant for this—light wool and leather, perfect for a day’s ride, but useless for a night on the forest floor.
There’s a stream somewhere beyond the trees. I can hear the trickle of running water. My throat is sore from screaming, from being choked, and the sound of it is torture.
“Water.” My voice comes out as a croak. “Please? I need water.”
He doesn’t even look at me.
At some point he moves back to the center of the mushroom ring and stands there, head bowed, hands at his sides. The glow from the mushrooms flares bright enough to make me squint, casting the entire hollow in silver light, then it fades.
The air shifts. There’s an odd pressure against my skin. Thehair on my arms stands up. My ears pop.
The fae steps out of the ring and crosses to the far edge of the hollow. He sits down, back against a tree, and his eyes find mine across the clearing. They hold for one long moment.
Then he closes them.
I wait. Minutes pass. He doesn’t move.
