Prologue

PROLOGUE

The front porch steps protested my every step with the creaking of wood and the squeaking of nails, as if the farmhouse was channeling the spirit of a banshee in an attempt to scream and scare me away.

The farmhouse, while not sentient, did have remnants of long-lost magic in its fibers, so I was not necessarily imagining this objection to my presence. No doubt the human who'd built it so long ago had mistaken a sleeping forest spirit for an actual tree and had used its body in the framework. It was the reason the hobs and the pixies—wisely hiding away or feigning hibernation in that little house by the fence—had been attracted to this place. Its dormant magic had woken with the presence of the witches, one in particular.

My knock on the front door sounded dull, the farmhouse purposefully and defiantly dampening the sound.

"I don't have to be cordial," I warned. I didn't even have to knock, but I'd learned from my centuries here that shattering doors from hinges did not provide the subtlety needed when dealing with mortals. Most mortals, anyway. Though, my patience was already quite thin.

I was an enduring creature by nature, but everything had its limits. I'd been able to stave off my curse's effects by consuming the magic and life essences of others, but only those who had been loners in secluded villages and towns, lest the rabble discover me and overwhelm me with sheer numbers. Not so in Redbud. This Meadow had an entire coven of Violet Ní Dara's descendants and that Coalition behind her. Pride be damned, I did not have the strength to thwart them all, and it was only a matter of time before they discovered what was happening here.

My next knock resounded strongly, rattling the closest windows in their frames.

Footsteps echoed from within, and the gauzy curtain obscuring the window to my right was swept aside to reveal two glaring ivy-green eyes. The face jerked back almost instantly, and there was a frantic stampede of footsteps before the front door opened just a crack.

"Stag Man," Iris Hawthorne spat.

Such venom, especially since she'd been quaking before me not four days ago. Then again, I had resembled something less than human, and that always set these mortals' teeth on edge.

The soft smile I gave her didn't reach my eyes. "You sound like a jilted lover, Iris. Still stewing about that kiss?"

Only a light push from my bronze hand threw open the door, the haggard old witch leaping back as she raked the iron cuffs on her wrists against each other, activating red runes.

Battle magic.

No other green witch other than a Hawthorne—Violet Ní Dara's offspring, I'd learned—had such magic, the Death aspect of Nature. But there was no reason for worry; they couldn't use it on me if they wanted Meadow back alive. If summoning the portal to Elfame didn't claim her life, like it had all the other witches before her.

Maintaining an unfazed expression, I ignored Iris and swept my gaze through the farmhouse. The air was stale and hollow, and despite its furnishings, it seemed lifeless. Shrouded in despair. Down the hallway and through the kitchen was the hearth, its flame pitifully small without the presence of its mistress.

Three witches—a wife, husband, and son trio—had clasped hands and formed a circle in the den, green light glowing from their eyes as they chanted softly in unison.

An obscurity spell, much like the glamour maintained by the golden aura of my skin. They don't want me to find their grimoire .

I didn't have any use for a coven's spell book, but let them tire themselves out. Costly wards and illusions placed around the farmhouse prevented any of them from going outside and grounding themselves, from replenishing their magical cores. And with their hearth's ember in the censer hanging from Meadow's belt, they had no hearth magic. They would drain themselves dry and be as mortals come the winter solstice. Maybe even sooner. And there'd been nothing about that in the fine print of my bargain with Meadow.

In the dining room, where I'd clearly interrupted afternoon tea, were Meadow's mother and father, both with deep hollows under their loathing eyes. In the kitchen was the fat one, wooden spoon in hand, and the stick one with the kohl-lined eyes was in the hearth room trying to coax Meadow's flame into accepting them as its new master.

It never would.

And its stubbornness would further their undoing. Even the young lanky one casting the obscurity spell with his parents looked ashen, new lines seaming the corners of his eyes. Drake, one of Alec's new recruits into his Brotherhood after that devastating fiasco with that silver mallaithe, had been by just a day or two ago to resupply them before continuing on to their ancestral home, but it wasn't food that wholly sustained them.

Outnumbered seven-to-one, I still closed the door behind me, knowing, as they surely would soon realize, that these little magical displays were just empty threats or wasteful endeavors.

There was no creak of battle leather, no minuscule twitch of his fingers, but two bright knives slid into Meadow's father's hands just the same.

Definitely not an empty threat. I was immortal, not impervious.

Had I not made a bargain not to harm them, before his heart could beat again, I would have had that witch by the throat and his body slamming down on top of the dining room table.

Instead, I wagged a chastising finger. "Hurt me and you'll never get your witch back. Meadow, or the one in the Unseelie prison." I'd overheard everything in the woods—it'd been impossible to ignore that surge of power contacting that despicable demon.

"Tod," Meadow's mother whispered. Forsythia, that's what Alec had said her name was. As if that was important.

The knives disappeared.

My green eyes flicked to Iris, her iron cuffs still humming with power. I kept the displeased sneer from my face. Iron, in the human tongue. Faebane to the rest of us Seelie.

Stalking to the table, I pulled out a chair and sat, helping myself to the tea. It was cold outside and barely warm in here. The hearth might consume wood for heat, but it didn't warm the place like it had when this had been Meadow's home. I'd felt the blast of heat come roiling out the back door when the hobs had carried the unconscious witches inside just a few days ago.

The tea was pleasantly hot and sweet from blackberry honey. I lifted the teapot in Iris's direction. "Care to join me?"

The witch released her hold on her battle magic and stormed to the table, but she didn't sit. "What are you doing here, Stag Man?"

Setting the teapot down, her cup not refilled, I took another sip of tea. "I'm here about your granddaughter."

"What have you done to Meadow?" her mother demanded, seizing the back of a chair and digging her nails into the wood like she was imagining it was my neck beneath her hands.

"I was going to ask her the same thing." I gestured to Iris with my teacup. "What did you do to her?"

"I've done nothing!"

"Do not lie to me," I snarled, launching upright and dropping every ounce of my composure.

The Hawthorne matriarch shuddered. No longer before them was the man my glamour projected, but a high fae, the rightful fae lord of the Court of Beasts. The tips of my magnificent antlers scraped against the ceiling, my frame grew and thickened with muscle, and the golden glow of my aura brightened to rival the noonday sun. With one brush of my hand, the table separating us careened to the side, the cutlery burying themselves like darts into the walls and the mismatched porcelain shattering against the floorboards and weeping tea into the cracks.

In the den, the three witches in the circle flinched, their chant wavering.

"There is a curse on her core," I thundered. "She can barely make a flower bloom, so there's no chance of her summoning and anchoring the portal. You put it there, you spiteful wretch, and you'll remove it."

"I've done no such thing," Iris fired back, her anger giving her the courage not to cower. "Saving Marten and making this coven whole are only made possible through the deal she made with you. I would never sabotage this chance!"

She must be telling the truth to speak so vehemently in my presence.

My suspicions proved correct when she waved a hand at the table I'd upended and magic set the dining room back to rights in a matter of seconds. Glowing green tendrils, thinner than I remembered them, plucked forks and spoons from the walls and set the sturdy table back on its four legs. The tea set was unsalvageable, but the pieces were whisked up and deposited in the wastebasket in the kitchen. The fat witch hurried forth from her domain with a steaming kettle and two new mugs, and while she kept her long lashes lowered, I could feel the heat of her glower. It was matched by the stick-like witch with the kohl-rimmed eyes, who had abandoned the hearth and come to the kitchen doorway.

At the same time, the matriarch and I sank down into our seats, my exterior once again that of a tall human man with a mane of copper curls and no antlers—or hooves—in sight. Neither Iris nor I touched the new tea, the witch's hands clasped in front of her on the table. No, gripped . Her knuckles were white, the tendons popping.

"My coven's fate depends on my granddaughter," she began without preamble. "I will help her in any way I can, even if that means helping you . Now, tell me what you know about this curse."

So this is where Meadow's directness comes from. "Meadow's core manifests as an oak tree with a sweeping canopy and splayed roots—"

"You can see it?" Meadow's mother blurted, sinking into the chair beside the matriarch. The one called Tod stood right behind her.

Iris gave her an impatient wave of her hand, gesturing her to silence. That was an interesting fact: she hadn't felt the need to divulge to her own family that she knew a thing or two about fae abilities. It was more interesting that she even knew that high fae had that ability at all—to sense the aspect and strength of an entity's magic. It was only through the conduit of that stolen fated mate bond I was actually able to visualize Meadow's core, but I didn't think Iris knew that. And finding out how she'd discovered such a secret would have to wait for another time.

"That's the Tree of Life," Tod said. "She never told us…"

"But you suspected," I accused Iris.

She only wet her lips, her silence prompting me to continue.

"The curse is a net over the entire tree, including the roots," I said. "Imagine chain mail with each link resembling a leaf—"

"What color is it?" Iris asked. "The chain mail."

Another interruption. This family, like the rest of the mortals of this realm, had no manners. In the Court of Beasts, I would be in the right to snatch their tongues from their heads for such rudeness. Except the bargain forbade me.

"Golden green," I answered.

Iris burst out laughing.

I'd been in complete mastery over my emotions since arriving at this farmhouse—that stunt with the table had been a calculated outburst—but now I felt my composure truly slipping. She was laughing at me . The unaffected calm I'd cultivated vanished, tension roiling off my shoulders like steam off mutton pie.

The witch was close to hysterics, the venom in my gaze having no effect on her. The other witches, however…

"Mother," Forsythia whispered, casting me a fearful look.

"You fool ," Iris crowed, spittle flying from her lips. "That's not a curse on her core. That's a defensive shield!"

"Stop. Laughing."

She only cackled some more, her shoulders shaking and steel-streaked hair coming loose from the bun at the top of her head. "Did you forget Violet was a primal force of Nature?"

I hadn't. It's how she'd escaped me, as well as the entirety of Elfame, leaving me a laughingstock before the courts.

"Her daughter must've known what you were about and sealed away her magic so you'd never get it. And the bargain she made with you?" Iris howled at the ceiling, becoming truly unhinged. "You vowed to help unlock her magic. You'll never get through that shield—it's fueled by her very core. Only she can unlock it. Tell me, Stag Man, what are the consequences of you breaking your end of the bargain when you fail to help her unlock her potential before the winter solstice?"

My hands, which had balled into fists on top of the table, shook with the rage that trembled down my entire body. Depending on the nature of the bargain, the consequences for breaking one were… messy. The greater the promise, the greater the risk. And I had promised Violet's daughter to release her full magical potential.

The Old Gods help me if I don't deliver .

My very life, perhaps even my soul, were at stake—something I hadn't even considered when I'd made that bargain. Hubris had convinced me Meadow would be like all the rest—pliable, manipulable, fully submissive to my glamour and influence.

But her magic… I'd attacked that shield twice already to no avail—me, a high fae lord, the true king of the Court of Beasts! It was Violet resisting me all over again, this time through her descendant and chosen heir.

And this witch was laughing at me. She was not fit to snivel at my feet, much less lick the dust off my hooves!

With a feral snarl, my fists flung open. The gemstones around my neck grew hot as I drew upon their stored magic, supplementing my own. Copper light shot from my fingertips like lightning, seizing hold of the male witch Tod. He wasn't a true Hawthorne, but he was strong. At least, he had been before his purgatory within the farmhouse had worn on him.

In two steps, he was directly behind Iris with those two knives digging into either side of the matriarch's throat. Iris choked on her laugh, blinking away the crazed glaze from her eyes. Two spots of garnet red beaded at the tips of the knives, trickling down her neck in twin thin threads.

"Mother!" Forsythia burst upright and raked her iron cuffs against each other, summoning her battle magic. "But the bargain—you can't hurt us!"

" I am not hurting her," I answered in a carefully controlled voice. Mortals always seemed more afraid of those who were calm in their cruelty rather than hot-tempered, and they needed reminding who was master here. "Tod is."

"Let them go!"

When she chambered her fist back to her ear in preparation of punching a bolt of dark green magic at me, I merely flicked a finger.

One knife left Iris's throat to lay across Forsythia's, and the witch stilled. On the opposite side of the table, his blades pressing into the necks of those he loved, Tod's light brown eyes blazed with a hatred so intense I knew I'd made an enemy for life. I snorted; as if a high fae ever needed to fear a witch.

"Remember," I told Iris, "if I can't help Meadow, you never get your witch back. Would you like me to tell you stories of the Unseelie Court prisons, or would you like to speculate? I can assure you, my facts are much more terrible than anything you can possibly imagine.

"And if you decide you'd rather risk sacrificing him to that fate rather than helping me, you must know my magic does not disperse with my death. Fae magic is not like your paltry tricks. It lingers. Sometimes a year, sometimes a century. For how long can you—can this entire town—exist should I perish?"

An appropriate level of fear filled Iris's eyes that I released the hold on Tod without being begged. The male witch staggered, his wife catching him. He'd fought against my control the entire time, the strain weakening him almost to the point of unconsciousness, but even now, he never let go of those cursed knives.

When I was sure he wasn't going to fling one at me, I returned my attention to Iris.

She was trembling. Good.

"You must persuade her to release the shield," she whispered.

"That's rather difficult considering how alternatingly despondent and combative she is. I've had to drug her with toirchim tonic and Caer powder just to stabilize her."

"You… you must woo her," Iris said, looking pained. She should. She was basically informing an enemy how to breech an ally's castle.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Woo her? As in, seduce her? I could do that. Quite easily, in fact."

Tod's face went from red to purple with rage. "You bast—"

"No!" Iris interrupted, sending him a scathing look to shut his mouth. "A fae marriage will not get you what you want, Stag Man."

Again, she proved she knew too much about high fae. A consummated marriage would grant me a portion of Meadow's power, and perhaps even bludgeon past that infernal shield around her core, but it would not be enough to summon the portal myself. The magic of the portal would know it was me summoning it, anyway, and reject my call. However, bedding Violet's daughter would definitely give me a considerable advantage when I returned to Elfame to reclaim what was rightfully mine.

"I said , a fae marriage will not get you what you want," Iris repeated firmly. Obviously my internal musings had projected onto my face. "It's not that kind of wooing. Meadow's acting out because, though you've beguiled her with your illusions, her instincts are telling her something entirely different. And a Hawthorne always trusts her instincts."

The matriarch swallowed. "The most convincing lies always have the most truth in them. Let her see her friends, let her bake, let her breathe fresh air—I assume you have her locked away somewhere just like us, yes? The more you convince her and make her feel comfortable, letting her get on with the normalcies she's come to expect in life, she will relax. When she feels she's no longer in danger, the shield will allow itself to be unlocked."

I leaned back in my chair. "Spoken by someone who seems to have first-hand experience with such methods."

Iris dropped her gaze to her wrinkled hands. "You have what you need. Leave us in relative peace and go."

"I don't have all that I need, actually," I said, rising and holding out a hand for her.

It took her a second or two to raise her lowered eyes, first to my outstretched hand, then to the gemstones at my neck. A few twinkled, most were dormant and drained. Were I in Elfame, I would have no need for these caches. Here, it was exhausting work to keep the various wards, illusions, and my glamour intact, and I needed refreshing since the magic of this realm was cut off from me. No doubt as Meadow unlocked her magic, I would need more at my disposal to keep her under control.

Iris erupted from her seat, backing away. "Absolutely not!"

This witch was a smart one, I'd give her that. My hand remained outstretched. "Come, come, Iris. You said you would do anything to help Meadow, even if that meant helping me."

"You don't need—"

"It's you, or it's all of them," I told her sternly. "I cannot take that which is not already mine, but I have methods of persuasion you're quite familiar with."

At my words, the golden aura radiating from my skin thickened, like mist condensing into a fog. Influence and lust, whether for my body or for the power I represented, filled the air between us. It didn't matter which—it was an angler's lure that always made mortals succumb to my will, eventually.

"Alec and that wretch of a hobgoblin have been very good at supplying me with supes to feed off of, but none of them compare to you, Iris Hawthorne. I might not even need the others if I have you. Your magic supplements my own, which I have vowed to use to help Meadow unlock her true potential. And I will. But I can't do that outside my court, and magic is needed to sustain it. You see my dilemma."

"And those gemstones around your neck, what of those?" she snapped.

I kept the frustration off my face. Though she swayed on her feet from the power of my aura, she must've learned from last time and had taken steps to guard herself from my influence. She would come around, though; she was a practical mortal.

"All batteries must be recharged," I answered. "These caches have become low."

"And that big blue one in the center? That one seems healthy enough."

I fought the urge to touch it, to convince myself it was still there and unharmed. What looked like a gemstone was actually a cloch, a crystalline prison, and what was trapped inside was not magic. It was an easy mistake to make, and I wasn't going to correct her. Not when a well-placed strike could rupture it and release the hold I had on that cursed bear.

My gaze narrowed as I increased the output of my aura, the gemstones twinkling madly. "Stop. Stalling. Your choice is truly only between whether it is just you who comes with me or your entire family."

Iris gasped, but it was Forsythia and Tod who moaned in response to my lusty persuasion. In the kitchen, the two witches who huddled together, the fat one and the stick one, sagged against the countertops, breathing heavily. In the den, the trio performing the obscurity spell stammered to a halt, the green light fading from their eyes as their concentration was overpowered. It was an obscene expenditure of magic to intensify my aura this way, but the effect was worth it. They had to know they had no true power before me. That despite everything they had done, from keeping Violet's daughter from me, from cursing their own grimoire to fuel a protection spell, all of it, they had lost.

"Oh," I purred as the two younger witches at the table started to pant with longing. "It looks like I have some willing volunteers after all. Come here, loves."

Forsythia stumbled on her way around the table while Tod dragged himself out of his chair, fighting to keep his balance by using the table edge as a prop.

" Stop ." Iris snatched Tod's shoulder and shoved him back down, then grabbed the back of Forsythia's sweater and yanked her into Tod's arms. But their desire was only for me, and the two of them strained to get back up. "Stop it, Stag Man. I'll go with you. But only if you—"

"There will be no bargaining, Iris. I told you the choice you had, and you've made it. Remember, the bargain I made with Meadow prevents me from harming her family." Coming around the table, I took her hand off Tod's shoulder and pulled her close. She shuddered in a mixture of revulsion and desire. By the Old Gods, she was a strong one. I would enjoy bending her into submission. "Because of that, I'll make sure you enjoy this, unlike the others in the dungeon." When my hand framed her face, she didn't struggle. Her lips parted, her breath whisper-soft with anticipation. "In fact," I promised her, "you won't be able to resist me."

Iris swallowed thickly, her ivy-green eyes, so much like Meadow's, so much like Violet's, beginning to glaze over from the power of my aura. "I might not," she forced out, "but in the end, you'll regret the day you ever met my granddaughter."

I lowered my face for the first of what were to be many magic-draining kisses, my hand shifting from her face to her throat and tightening. "I sincerely doubt it. No witch, Violet's daughter or not, can ever fell me."