Page 33

Sapphire

The tall, winged man flicks a wrist, and wind slams into Zoey, flinging her at a tree like a rag doll.

She crumples against it, her body going limp.

“Zoey!” I scream, hurrying to her, clutching the clean strip of fabric I was about to use to bandage her arm.

I skid to a stop halfway there, the winged man blocking my path.

He smirks, sharp and predatory, and strides forward. Every step is graceful and deliberate, as if he’s ready to spring like a cobra and bite.

I freeze.

Whatever this man is, he’s not a mindless monster like the Wendigo or the ice dragons. He’s not fae, since fae don’t have wings.

He’s more like a dark, seductive, calculating angel from the Underworld .

“That was one long jump.” He looks me over, studying me in a way that makes my blood run cold. “Your command over air is remarkable.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, since I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but that certainly wasn’t it.

“Air magic,” he repeats, his eyes so intense that it’s like he’s trying to see my soul. “You’re skilled at wielding it. The question is—why is a vampire sneaking around in fae territory?”

“I’m not a vampire.” I keep my hands out, palms facing him, to show I mean no harm. The last thing I need is to be accused of being a spy on dangerous territory—again.

“Vampires have air magic,” he says simply, slowly, as if I’m not doing a very good job keeping up with him. Which, admittedly, I’m not. “You just used air magic.”

“I don’t have air magic,” I say simply. “I’m fae.”

“Fae?” He raises an eyebrow, amused, and I nod. “Then prove it. Use your water magic.”

“All right,” I say slowly, not wanting to make any sudden moves. “I’m going to pick up some snow from the ground, so I can show you. Okay?”

“Go ahead.” He nods for me to continue, and I kneel, scraping a handful of snow from the thin layer of it on the ground. Technically, I could try pulling water from the humidity in the air again, but that trick uses a lot more energy than simply using my magic on water that isn’t evaporated. And right now, I need to conserve as much energy as possible.

Plus, as I grab the snow, I steal a glance at Zoey.

She’s still. Too still.

Don’t be dead, I pray. Please, don’t be dead.

“Stop stalling,” the man commands, and the intense way he’s staring at me pulls at me, bringing me back into focus.

I need to demonstrate my water magic. Now.

Then he’ll know I’m not lying, since fae can’t lie. Then he can… well, there’s no saying that he’ll leave us alone and let us go on our way—assuming Zoey will be able to go anywhere anytime soon—but at least he’s hearing me out and not attacking. It’s more than the Wendigo, that woman in the woods, or those ice dragons did.

So, focusing hard, I warm the air enough to melt the snow into a pool of water that gleams under the starlight.

But after that, nothing happens.

My body feels heavy, my head fuzzy. I’ve used so much energy today. And after that flying leap off the cliff, I’m depleted in a way I never imagined possible.

Then, of course, there’s the hunger gnawing at my bones. It’s deep and brutal in a way I’ve never experienced before .

The man steps toward me, his wings lifting behind him, the wind whistling through their dark feathers. “No water magic,” he says, as if he’s chiding a misbehaving kid. “Just like I thought.”

“No.” I glance at Zoey—who’s still frighteningly still—take a deep breath, and ground myself.

I can do this.

Reaching for my magic again, I connect with the water and coax it to glide up my skin.

My heart leaps as I watch it obey.

It’s working.

Feeling confident again, I guide the water to coil in my hand, lifting and twisting it like a living ribbon crawling up my arm. Finally, somehow staying focused through the man’s stare, I pool it into a floating sphere that pulses in sync with my heartbeat and sparkles as if it contains stars.

“See?” I meet his eyes and keep my voice steady, even as my breaths quicken. “I’m fae.”

“Impressive,” he drawls, but there’s no admiration in his tone.

Only calculation.

Then, without warning, he blasts wind straight at my chest.

I lose control over my magic and stumble back, miraculously catching myself instead of falling to the ground .

In seconds, I have my dagger in my hand, even though apart from shattering little ice dragons, I have no idea how to use it. Projection isn’t an option, since it’ll leave my real body vulnerable to his attacks. Which means I’m going to have to fight back with every bit of instinct and remaining magic I have inside myself.

He smirks and blasts wind at my dagger, knocking it out of my hand and sending it clattering to the ground. He’s holding water in his other hand, and it shapes into a spear that he shoots toward me, glistening and lethal as it flies toward me.

I drop at the last second, the spear slicing past so close I feel the cold burn on my cheek.

“What are you?” I ask between panicked breaths, barely dodging out of the way of another spear.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he summons another spear from the air and launches it at me.

He must really love those spears.

My muscles scream as I throw myself to the side, and the spear embeds into the earth where I stood, cracking through the frozen ground and turning back to water.

That was close.

Too close.

I gather more snow in my hand and reach for the spark of magic still inside of me, fingers twitching as I pull at the water, forcing it into a swirling shield in front of me .

He strides forward, his wings flexing as he closes the gap between us.

I brace myself for another attack.

But instead of attacking with another spear, he pauses, studying me with those hypnotizing dark eyes of his that send a strange wave of calm through my body. “What I am doesn’t matter,” he says, low and coaxing. “What matters is that you show me your truth. The one you’ve yet to discover.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My arms shake, and the shield quivers. It’s flimsy—a hollow barrier that won’t last.

Seeing my weakness, he flicks his wrist, and more wind surges toward me, bursting my shield apart and driving me back.

This time, I fall to the ground with so much force that pain shoots through every bone in my body.

He raises his hand to blast me again.

No.

I can’t take another hit.

So, I raise mine right back and scream, forcing as much magic as possible out at him to stop him from pushing me down.

A shockwave of air bursts from my palm and collides with his magic between us, the force splitting the night with a sharp, crackling roar that startles me nearly as much as him .

His smirk returns, this time sharper, almost triumphant. “There is it,” he says. “Air magic.”

“I’m not…” I trail off, relieved when he doesn’t attack again. “I don’t understand.”

He moves in a dark blur straight at me, crashing into me and slamming my back to the ground.

My breath escapes in a choked gasp, eyes wide as he pins me down, anchoring me in place.

“Stay still,” he commands, his face hovering inches from mine, shadowing both of us with the fierce spread of his wings. “Relax.”

His eyes lock onto mine, dark and probing, and a strange calm floods my senses.

The world softens, and my fear blurs around the edges.

It’s him.

Somehow, he’s doing this. Manipulating my emotions. Making me want to relax when I should be wanting to fight.

“Get off me.” I try to push up, but his wings wrap around us, the world narrowing to a prison of feathers and shadows.

“Not until I know what you are,” he says, and I can barely see now that his wings are blocking the stars.

I’m trapped.

Not knowing what else to do, I slowly reach into my pocket as I continue to squirm beneath him, my fingers wrapping around the whisper stone.

“I’m fae,” I say, but as I speak, I know it’s not a complete truth.

“Not just fae.” His face is so close now, eyes dark and unrelenting, insisting on more.

“I came here to escape the Winter Court. Then you attacked the moment we crossed that ravine, and now you’re trying to kill me,” I say. “I don’t know what I am, but I do know that attacking me and torturing me won’t get me to tell you something that’s a mystery, even to me.”

Through all of this, I don’t release the stone.

“You used air magic and water magic,” he continues to push. “Yet, you’re not of my kind. Your blue eyes—and your lack of wings—are enough to tell me that.”

His breath is sweet, like a drug he’s infusing into my soul. It makes me stop squirming and relax.

But as I do, I still remember to hold onto the stone.

“I thought I was human until a week ago,” I say, barely able to focus as I float in this warm, winged cocoon he’s creating around us. “I swear it.”

The tension between us crackles, sharp and charged, his face so close I can see the flecks of red in his dark eyes.

He takes a deep breath as he studies me, as if he’s unsure whether to believe me or not .

Believe me, I think. Please.

“If you don’t know what you are, then perhaps I’ll be able to taste what you are,” he decides, and his head dips down, his lips brushing the skin of my neck with an almost cruel softness.

Then two pricks cut through my skin—fangs—and I cry out, the pain mingling with a warmth that spreads like wildfire through my veins, wrapping me in a mix of agony and unwelcome bliss that numbs my bones and drowns my senses until I can barely form a single thought.