Chapter 4

Crouched beneath the heavy, drooping branches of a fifty-foot-tall pine tree, I peered through the curtain of prickly green needles that surrounded me.

Whitby's escaped horse was dead.

It lay near a patch of lush green grass, its golden coat and cream mane contrasting starkly with the dark leaf litter. The palomino should've been beautiful, but its bones pressed against its skin, its body sunken with advanced malnutrition. It was no surprise Whitby hadn't wanted anyone to see this horse. Even his similarly callous peers would have called out his cruelty.

Bright white beams spun and flashed as Whitby and his companion shone their flashlights around the small forest clearing, a hundred yards north of Quarry Road. Rifles in hand, they murmured in low voices.

The razor-edged, red-tinged sharpness under my ribs ground with each slow breath I took.

I didn't know what I was feeling when these icy shards raked my insides. It was darker and deeper than anger. Something more like hunger, like thirst. A base, bestial need demanding to be purged.

My gaze tracked Whitby's steps, his boots crunching over fallen leaves as he circled the dead horse, assessing his handiwork. Would he be walking like the king of the mountain if his feet were rotting out from under him like Whicker's hooves? I'd already planned to make him feel the consequences of his neglect, and now he had killed his victim as well.

With a flick of my thumb, four inches of sharp steel shot out of my switchblade. Whitby's head spun toward the metallic snap, his flashlight's beam swinging past the tree where I hid. I hummed a soft note under my breath as I dug my blade into the ground, coating it in mud.

"Did you hear that?" Whitby whispered to his companion.

I clicked my tongue. Stiffening, the two men pointed their lights at my hiding spot, but the pine's branches were too dense, reflecting the beams. I clicked again, and Whitby's brow furrowed as he moved toward me, squinting suspiciously.

"It's just a squirrel," his companion muttered. "Let's get out of here, Harvey."

I rustled the leaf litter, imitating the quiet movements of an animal to lure Whitby closer. As his boots neared the curtain of pine boughs, I shifted forward on hands and knees, silent on the bedding of dried needles.

"Yeah," Whitby said hesitantly. "We should leave before—"

I lunged forward, thrusting my arm through the branches, and rammed my knife into the top of his boot.

He roared with pain and lurched backward, his flashlight falling from his hand. I dropped and rolled out from under the pine's heavy boughs. As I launched upward, a white crow dove from the highest branches of the same tree, flying at the other man's head.

Leaving Ríkr to distract Whitby's companion, I ducked beneath the farmer's rifle and slammed my shoulder into his gut. Precariously balanced on his uninjured foot, he pitched over backward, and I ripped the gun from his hands.

I planted my boot on his throat, cutting off his shout. Tossing the rifle aside, I bore down on my foot. He grabbed my sole with both hands as I sank into a crouch, applying more weight to his neck. His face purpled, eyes bulging.

I spun my knife across my fingers, the bloodied blade flashing.

"Who—" he gasped, his gaze darting from my face to the knife. His arms quivered as he lifted my foot a few inches. I leaned into his grip, my weight forcing his arms back down. The angle was wrong. He couldn't get enough leverage to lift me.

I studied his contorted face, the hungry edges inside me grinding. Coming to a decision, I slapped a hand to his lower face and used my thumb to pull his upper lip up, exposing his teeth.

Many horses' teeth required filing every couple of years, but Whinny's molars had become so overgrown that eating had become agonizing. If Whitby had bothered to provide basic care for either Whinny or Whicker, neither horse's simple, common health condition would've reached the point of constant pain, lameness, starvation, and possible death.

Tightening my grip on his face, I set the point of my knife into his gums between his incisor and first molar. He writhed frantically. I stepped harder on his throat and dug the blade in. Blood spilled over his white teeth.

"'Tis the rising of the moon," I sang in a whisper as Whitby's scream echoed through the dark woods.

A bestial roar boomed in answer.

Saber!

At Ríkr's warning, I sprang up. The snapping, crashing racket of something tearing through the underbrush filled the night.

Whitby rolled away from me, a hand clamped over his mouth. "You crazy bitch! What—"

With another ear-shattering roar, the bushes across the clearing flattened as something charged over them—something massive and shaggy, its muzzle ridged and fangs gleaming.

"Grizzly!" the other man shouted in panic.

Oh no, not a grizzly. The man was too human to see the blade-shaped horn protruding from the monstrous bear's forehead or the unearthly gleam of its pupilless topaz eyes.

The fae beast slowed its charge, confused by the dizzying dance of the man's flashlight. As I spun, intending to run like hell, Whitby lurched to his feet beside me, something in his hands. He swung it.

His rifle's stock slammed into the side of my head.

Pain exploded through my skull and I fell onto my hands and knees, my ball cap falling off. My long hair spilled down.

"Run, you fool!" Whitby yelled at his friend. "Don't shoot, just run!"

Footsteps crunched and bodies crashed through the bushes somewhere to my left. I raised my head, my vision blurring. My fingers curled tightly around my switchblade, somehow still in my grasp.

A low, rumbling growl—and the fae bear charged.

Stunned by the sight of the monstrous creature coming at me, I didn't move. Paws the size of dinner plates hammered the earth, claws as long as my hands tearing through the dirt. Blazing topaz eyes filled my vision.

Ríkr dropped out of the sky, the white wings of his hawk form flashing. He struck the bear's face with his curved talons.

The bear threw its head up, almost skewering Ríkr on its horn. It skidded to a stop a few feet away from me and reared back to swat furiously at the raptor.

Saber!Ríkr growled urgently. Get to safety!

I staggered up, then bolted away. The ground vibrated as the bear launched after me, undeterred by Ríkr's raking talons and beating wings.

I couldn't outrun the bear. My gaze whipped across the trees and I veered toward a young Douglas Fir with evenly spaced boughs. I leaped at the narrow trunk and climbed it like a ladder, branches scraping my shoulders and the trunk shaking with my urgent movements.

As I cleared ten feet, the bear hit the tree so hard the whole thing quaked, almost throwing me off it. Clinging to the trunk, I looked down.

Long teeth bared and eyes burning with mindless rage, the fae rose onto its hind legs—and I lunged for a higher branch as its jaws snapped inches from my ankle. Roaring, the bear slammed its weight into the tree. It bent and shook. An alarming crack rang out.

I scrambled higher, the trunk bowing with my weight and the branches creaking in warning under my feet.

Too heavy to climb the tree, the snarling bear slammed it again. The branch under my left foot snapped and I grabbed at my remaining hand and foot holds. I couldn't climb any higher. I had no escape.

Ríkr!

No answer. I tore my gaze off the bear to look across the clearing. A white hawk was on the ground, wings splayed and feathers bent as he shook his head back and forth dazedly.

The bear threw itself into the tree again. Another loud crack vibrated the trunk, and the bear leaned against it, bending the young wood with its weight. Snaps ran through the tree. It was only a matter of seconds until the trunk broke.

No way around it, then.

I turned my switchblade in my hand, calculating the best spot to strike: the fae's glaring right eye. My left foot scraped at the trunk, searching for purchase before I attacked. The bear heaved against the tree and it bent a little more. Its jaws gaped ravenously, inviting me to leap down into its waiting mouth.

Quiet stillness stole through the clearing, as though the forest itself were waiting for my next move—then the quiet shattered.

Thundering hooves filled the clearing, and in a swirl of shadow, a horse and rider appeared out of nothingness.