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I tried to sit up, but I shifted too quickly for the stranger’s liking, the sword’s tip flying to my neck. He also moved ethereally, with a practiced grace, giving that blade wings.

“I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you,” he warned.

I couldn’t stop my mouth. “And if you were me, you’d have a nick on your throat. And if I were you, I’d be sorry.”

“What business do you have here?”

“None,” I swore. “I’m not a grave robber—”

The blade swept forward, forcing me to scuttle backward on all fours. I could have used those reflexes a second ago when he’d pierced me.

Pierced me a little bit.

Okay, I might have been exaggerating there.

The man commanded, softly, dangerously, “State. Your. Purpose. Girl.”

Other than the weapon, I could only make out a pair of knee-boots. With him standing above me, I guessed that my feather hat blocked me from his gaze.

I flung my arm toward the spot where I’d last seen my sidekick. “This is a mistake. Ask the woodpecker.”

“I have slain vandals before.”

“I’m no vandal.”

“I have also slain liars before.”

“I’m no...It’s not a lie.”

“Why do I sense a shadow hidden within those words?”

How did anyone answer a question like that? He’d spoken with the lilt of someone who recited prophecies.

Before I could toss him a reply, the stranger sighed. And until today, I’d never heard a sigh sound equal parts beautiful and fatal. “To serve as a reminder, I’m the one with the blade. That knowledge shall lead you to injury, or to purgatory, or to the truth. Make your choice.”

Noted. “I’m telling you, the woodpecker forced me here. She saw a feather in my hat and got upset—it’s an avian thing. She’s very passionate about a bird’s right to its plumage, so she took it from me, and I chased after her, and when I caught up, I accidentally trampled over the grave.”

A girlish huff escaped me. “Now, would you let me stand? I’m getting my outfit dirty. Worse, I’m getting a crick in the neck, and that never happens.”

“You expect me to believe this tale.”

I knocked three times on my thigh. “Punk, tell him.”

Silence. And then,Chirp.

About time she’d spoken up, even if the feeble tone had been out of bird character, at least compared with her usual raucous calls. Listening to the flap of Punk’s wings, I sensed the man sizing her up.

His sword swooped beneath my chin, forcing my head to lift. On an exhale, I got a good look at him—and sucked everything back in.

Holy. Seasons.

As far as I knew, shifters didn’t exist. Then again, who could say?Iexisted.

This man resembled a falcon. Or the closest thing to one.

He had a beautiful face, with high cheekbones and brows that notched into his forehead. His blonde hair swept around his features, the layers tousled and thick enough for a girl’s fingers to nest in.

A male specimen. A gorgeous one, somewhere past his twentieth year.