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This situation is unraveling. I came here to save my mate, and instead the Thief has proven that nothing at my disposal can harm him.

I back away from him, and he lets me, even though he hasn’t finished disarming me. I still have a dagger strapped to my thigh, and another holstered around my calf. To leave me with some weapons … they must truly be useless against him.

My attention returns to Des. The Night King is still as death itself. I could pretend like my heart isn’t lying right here on this slab, but then the Thief already knows what he has.

I rest my hands on my soulmate’s arm; there’s a frightening chill to his skin. “Why did you do this to him?”

The Thief steps up to my side. “If you knew anything about leverage, you’d know the answer to that.”

I turn to the Thief, a retort on my lips. But in an instant, he disappears, vanishing just as Des and Galleghar have.

I feel his dark, cruel magic all around me. It’s wild in a way that not even fae magic is. It swarms in the air, then slips down, towards the Night King, until it’s no longer in the air but inmy mate.

Beneath my fingers, Des’s arm twitches. I start at the sensation. Then my grip tightens.

“Des?”

His eyes flutter, and his lips move, like he’s murmuring something. But if anything, our connection seems to grow fainter.

Dear God, what’s happening?

The wild, malevolent magic lifts from Des, and he’s still once more.

I rub my chest as our bond restrengthens.

“Ah, well, it was worth a try.”

I jolt as the Thief crowds in behind me.

“And here I’d hoped I’d have a few more days,” he says. “Then perhaps my form,”—he smooths his shirt down—“would be a bit more … to your liking.”

I rotate to face him. “What are you talking about?” Even as I ask, realization dawns.

The Thief was trying to invade my mate’s body.

A bolt of sheer terror courses through me.

Is that what he intends to do? To wear Des’s form just like he did the Green Man’s? To terrorize me with the face of my mate while he inhabits the Night King’s body?

Bile rises up my throat as I stare at his dark features.

Don’t, I want to warn him. There are lines that are crossed, and then there arelines that are crossed. Parading around as my soulmate falls into the second category.

But, of course, I don’t say that because I have a deep-seated belief that the more I give away my fears, the likelier the Thief is to exploit them.

“Is that your real face?” I say instead.

“Who says I truly have a face?” he retorts.

A chill runs down my spine.

“This, enchantress, is the form I choose to take—for now,” the Thief says.

The sound of footsteps interrupt our conversation.

Galleghar enters the room, looking vaguely peeved. Or maybe that’s his normal expression.

It’s probably his normal expression.