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Evelyn grabbed his tunic, pulled him close, and planted the briefest of kisses on his lips. Her assault happened so quickly, done and over with before Cyrus had the time to react. She left him standing there with his arms braced out, utterly stunned into silence.

“Let’s go, Huntsman.”

His eyes had softened, more honey than gold, yet he’d not relaxed. He followed, ducking under the branches with disdain. He appeared to be a giant compared to the Gray Wood, and Evelyn had to remind herself why they were here in the first place in order not to laugh.

“Has it ever occurred to you that we enter these places without so much as a plan?” Cyrus asked.

Evelyn stopped on the path, turning to face him with wide eyes. “I thought saving Tessa was our plan.”

Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Lead the way, Princess.”

As they continued their walk into the forest, Evelyn wondered why the Byrne family or anyone in Callum believed the Gray Wood to be dark. Her magic danced about, curious of the other magic around them. No darkness. Just life, old and restful with a hint of pain, like an aged bruise.

The branches of the trees warped farther down the deeper they went, causing both Evelyn and Cyrus to duck and bend. The roots and branches twisted and turned together into a tunnel, so thickly woven that the sunlight couldn’t breach the canopy and no dirt brushed beneath their boots.

Evelyn’s legs burned from crouching, her magic skirting out to sense any danger present in the forest, though there appeared to be none. She twisted her fingers and wrist, conjuring a small orb of flame that floated and lit the way.

She turned to Cyrus and found him scowling and brooding behind her. His head tilted and his eyes went wide. He grabbed the back of her tunic to stop her.

“Listen.”

Evelyn concentrated, her orb of fire stopping and hovering over them as a sound like the distant rumbling of thunder pounded toward them through the forest. Not thunder. Drums—a persistent, percussive rhythm. Up ahead, the end of the path glowed with wavering light like the glow and sway of fire. The low beat of the drums matched the flickering of the shadows.

It reminded Evelyn of the dark eerie drums that beat at Lake Glenn, surrounded by the dark magic of the kelpie.

Evelyn leaned in close, making sure her words were hushed and only for Cyrus. Except it left them a breath apart, her head so near his chest that she could smell a forest after rain—his scent. More than the drums, it made her heart beat faster, her palms sweater, her fingers itch to caress his face, his neck . . . everywhere. The drums beat louder. Goddess. She couldn’t be feeling this way right now. She shook the bone-deep, body-altering attraction away and cleared her throat. “What if it’s the Far Darrig?”

If they continued to head down the path, they risked exposing themselves to an entire tribe of faeries.

Cyrus seemed to have the same idea. He looked around the tunnel of trees, his eyes landing to the left of them. “Don’t suppose we could try and go around.”

The branches parted in a slight gap, large enough for Evelyn to fit through but not large enough to check what lay on the other side first. As for Cyrus making it through, they’d have an issue. Evelyn laid her hand on the branches, finding the foxy-colored bark and ash shavings to be soft and plush. Her magic met the other, and it tingled in greeting.

“I’ll go through first, making sure it’s clear, and try to open more of a gap for you,” she said in a whisper. Without the sunlight above, they had no idea how much daylight remained, how much time they had left before potentially facing off with a vampyr.

Cyrus grabbed Evelyn’s wrist, her breath catching and her magic humming at his touch.

“That’s too risky,” he said.

“Walking straight into whatever is down there is more of a risk.”

Cyrus didn’t let go of her wrist, his hold firm but gentle. Apprehension swam in his stare. Evelyn pulled her hand from his grasp, took hold of his hand, and gave it a squeeze.

“I know sometimes I doubt myself but . . . I trained all my life to protect,” she said. “This is what I know, what I do. Trust me.”

Now wasn’t the time to tell him everything, and she didn’t have the courage to even if they did, but maybe if he learned this small part of her, she could reassure him.

“Saige . . .” He opened and closed his mouth. Evelyn waited. Crickets and drums built in tempo together in the background. “I have never felt this way about anyone, let alone imagined ever feeling this way about someone,” Cyrus said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek. “I believe in you, Saige, and it frightens me.”

Evelyn’s heart dipped and swayed, while her physical body stayed rooted in the tunneled darkness of the Gray Wood.

“So it is not doubt you see and hear, but fear,” Cyrus said.

Truth and sincerity rang in his tone.

She had no idea what to say, what to do, so she tilted up and kissed him again. It was slow at first, and then the same hunger from their first kiss awakened, burning like fire in her belly. Cyrus filled her with elation, his kiss igniting something fierce within her.

Evelyn pulled away, reminding herself why they were here. She stepped through the small gap. Cyrus’s words gave her hope, and she appreciated his confession, but her own thoughts sent cold guilt through her. His view of her was skewed. He did not truly know her.