"I danced with someone at the Dawnroot tree," I say, watching the frost spread faster across the iron links.
See for yourself,I tell him.
I open my mind and let the memory spill across the connection between us. The dancing, the press of the crowd, the way the music pulled at everything. I trim the edges of it deliberately, giving him the feeling of it without the specifics. A partner, masked, faceless in my telling.
The ochre in Svenn's eyes turns purely red.
"Then he took me out to the terrace," I say quietly.
"And?" The word is barely more than a growl.
"The fae told me something fascinating." I meet those crimson eyes directly. "He said I'm his mate."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear my own heartbeat, the drip of water somewhere in the cave's depths.
Then—
CRACK.
The first chain crumbles to pieces. Shards of frozen metal scatter across the cave floor like shrapnel as Svenn's right arm comes free.
"He said what?" The voice that emerges isn't Svenn's anymore. It's something older, hungrier, infinitely more primal.
"He claimed me." I take an involuntary step back as another chain starts to splinter. "He said I was his."
CRACK. CRACK.
Two more chains shatter simultaneously. Svenn rises partially, no longer fully bound to the floor. Shadows pour off him like water in an otherworldly tide.
"Someone else… claimed my mate?" he says slowly, each word dripping with lethal promise.
The possessive words send shivers down my spine. It doesn't sound like Svenn's usual controlled, calm voice. Only two chains still hold and they're screaming under the strain of his pull.
"Svenn—"
"No, sweetheart." His form is shifting, becoming taller and broader. "Not Svenn. He's locked away now. But you wanted to see me, didn't you, little fawn?"
Cracks spread like spiderwebs across the remaining chains.
"Well, congratulations."
CRACK.
The first of the last two chains shatters.
"You're about to get your wish."
The final chain explodes into frozen shrapnel and suddenly he's free. Completely, terrifyingly free.
He stands to his full height, the shadows writhing around him. His eyes burn pure crimson and when he smiles, I see fangs that are longer, sharper, made for tearing.
"Run," he says, and it's not a suggestion.
It's the last mercy I'll get.
This was a mistake. Every instinct I have screams in agreement. This was such a terrible, terrible mistake.
I run.
