He’s out there right now. Looking for me. Calling my name.
The dog barks again, and it’s followed by a man’s voice telling it to hold.
They’resoclose. So close I could shout and they’d hear me. So close I could?—
I draw breath into my lungs, ignoring the pain, pulling in enough air to scream.
He moves.
One moment his hand is around my arm, the next it’s clamped over my mouth. His other arm locks around my ribs, and he hauls me off my feet. My scream dies against his palm. I thrash, kicking at empty air, and his grip tightens until pain whites out everything.
For a moment, there’s nothing but agony. Red and black pulsing behind my eyes. The taste of blood floods my mouth. IthinkI might be screaming, but I can’t hear it. I can’t feel anything except the fire in my chest and the iron band of his arm crushing my ribs.
When I can see again, I’m on my knees behind a massive oak tree. His body is pressed against my back, one hand still sealed over my mouth, and his arm still wrapped around my ribs.
I can’t move. Every inhale pushes the broken bones of my ribs against his forearm, sending fresh waves of agony throughme. But through the pain, I hear voices, and this time I can pick out individual words.
“—blood on this branch. And the ground’s torn up. Something fell here. See the handprint?”
Wil!That’s Wil’s voice. The low, careful tone he uses when he’s tracking. Wil, who taught me how to read bent grass and broken twigs when I was twelve. Who showed me how to see the story the forest tells.
He’s reading the trail right now.
“What about the fae?” I think that voice is the huntmaster, Cowen.
“Aye, less often. It knows how to cover its tracks. But hers are here. She’s still alive.”
Tears burn my eyes.
I’m right here. I’m right here, Wil. Behind a tree. Look. Please. Please look.
“We keep searching until we find her.” Brennan’s voice cuts through the others, hard as iron. “We bring her home. Understood?”
A chorus of voices agrees with him. The dog barks again.
I try to scream, to force sound past the hand over my mouth. My jaw works, my throat strains, and what comes out isnothing. A muffled whine that dies against his palm.
From somewhere deep within, I find a hidden reserve of energy and bite him. My teeth find the fleshy part of his palm, and I bear down as hard as I can.
He hisses, then his lips brush my ear.
“Call out,” he murmurs, “and they die first.” His voice is low and rough.
He’s not even making a threat. There’s no menace in his voice, no anger. It’s a flat statement of fact.
If I scream, he will kill them.
I go still.
The dog barks again.
I could do it. I could bite harder, thrash harder, and make enough noise to draw them in this direction. Brennan would come running, sword drawn, ready to fight for my freedom.
And then he would die.
The men out there have swords and bows and dogs, andnoneof it would matter. He’d cut through them like a scythe through wheat. I’d have to watch Brennan and Wil fall. He’d make me watch all of them die, one by one.
Then, at the end, I’d still be here. His captive, with their blood on my hands.
