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Jon

T he crowd exploded with cheers and hollers and vicious boos. Apparently, some people had a little more faith in Sylvia after seeing her annihilate the alp. Hell, if it weren’t for the iron, I had no doubt that she could have killed me.

She was a patchwork of blood and scrapes that I didn’t have time to assess as the mist faded. The image of her lying there, flushed and unmoving, made my heartbeat stagger.

“Sylv?” I breathed, quiet as possible.

The tiniest dip of her chin assured me. She was good. Too fucking good.

I snatched her up in a single hand, cradling her wings carefully before closing her up out of sight. Thrusting my fist triumphantly, I gave the onlookers what they wanted. I tossed the iron bar against the cage, making it clatter noisily. Sylvia flinched at the sound. I held her close to my chest, boots crunching over glass and blood as I stepped over the alp’s body, sweeping up my jacket as I went.

Just a little longer, carino.

The Pit keeper flung the door open, and I was praised with claps on the back as I exited. I sidestepped, pointedly dodging curious stares. No one could fault me for keeping my kill hidden—she was a rare prize, after all.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Cliff collecting money from bets and hurrying over with Gwen. His cheekbones were flushed—more breathless than I’d seen him in years.

“Weapons,” I said flatly to the hunters who had searched me. I stuffed my leather jacket over one arm and reached out expectantly.

“Now, hang on a minute. I’d like my merchandise first.” Rhett materialized beside me, clapping my shoulder. I grit my teeth against the sting of my open wound. “ Please, ” he added, a wolfish smile tugging at his lips.

“I said I’d kill her without a scratch. Didn’t say anything about taking your offer." I lurched back from his touch, turning back to the young man who was clutching my knives and handgun with white knuckles. "Weapons, now .”

The snap of my voice made the younger man flinch—he couldn't have been more than twenty-three at most, with that wispy attempt at a beard clinging to his jaw. He looked around the others, to Rhett, and then back to me, a quiver in his voice.

“Listen, man,” he said. “I know who you are, and it's an honor to meet you, but I—I'm just following orders.”

I ducked closer, near enough to feel the shaky pull of his breaths. “Move,” I growled.

The younger hunter staggered back a step, but he looked over my shoulder to Rhett, cowing for instruction. Gritting my teeth hard enough to feel it in my jaw, I turned back to face him, too.

“I earned the trophy,” I said. “I fought for it through blood. That’s the rule.”

“I hate to pull the o utpost marshal card, but…” Rhett sucked through his teeth—a mocking motion that gave me fantasies of smashing his face against the domed wall of the Pit. His eyes flickered to my closed fist. “There are some new rules. That thing set loose a damn good catch. You got any idea how rare it is to find a siren wandering alone? Especially one that young? I’m owed compensation.”

“That’s got nothing to do with me,” I snapped.

The dull roar of the onlookers seemed to dim. That stupid half-smile on Rhett’s face faltered like it was now a plaster replica of the real thing. I’d seen this unsettling coil in him before when we’d ordered him at gunpoint to stand back while we burned the prowler’s corpse. His eyes were his tell—fiery, yet cold and tracking every move like a mantis ready to strike.

“You know, I have a good sense of humor but my client’s not as good-natured as me.” Each word dripped with that veil of Southern charm—poison hiding in honey.

“Unfortunately for you,” I growled. “We don’t give a shit.”

Out of the corner of my eye, two other hunters—a man and a woman—stepped into the walkway, blocking any path toward the bridge.

“Just give me the body, Nowak. I’d hate to add yours to the bill. Really, it would tear me up.” Rhett took a beat to look me over. His appraisal made my skin crawl. “Though… Bones of an Appalachian Reaper might make a mighty fine talisman to some folk. You boys are probably worth a fortune thanks to that shitty story.”

I grimaced, shooting him a look for the comment. I swore I felt Sylvia flinch against my palm, too. Rhett stepped closer, one hand pushing his jacket aside to rest the handle of a 9mm tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

“I’m going to ask nicely just one more time, Nowak,” he said, placing his other hand on my shoulder. "Give me the body, or you can kiss that silver goodbye."

He was too close to Sylvia. Too close with that goddamn smirk. “Get your fucking hand off—”

CRACK.

A gunshot sliced through the air, close enough to graze the fabric of Rhett's outstretched sleeve and leave a shallow, bloody smear in its wake before it tore through a crate of supplies.

Everything stopped.

Rhett froze, eyes flashing to the side to find the offender. I didn't have to look to know who had fired.

“Touch him again,” Cliff's voice cut through the tension, “and I won't miss next time.”

Cliff shoved through the crowd to put himself between Rhett and me, Gwen pressed close to his side. Her borrowed handgun was drawn, clutched in a low position between both hands. The faint ripple of surprise that she was defending us, not working against us, ebbed through me.

Rhett’s chuckle chilled me as he glanced between us—a stark contrast to the rage building behind his eyes. “You two are adorable. I mean, wow . Points for entertainment value. I’ll let you keep the wings, how’s that sound?”

He silently gestured for a hunter behind us to move in toward me. Cliff raised his arm and fired off a round that clipped the man’s shoulder. The hunter cursed, staggering back while others began murmuring, gazes shifting between Cliff and me with both wariness and rage.

Turning back to Rhett, Cliff matched the cold smile point for point. “How about you suck my dick?”

Gwen snorted, and I caught Rhett’s glare shift toward her before sweeping over the hunters around him—as though her laughter might be contagious.

Rhett stared at him for a long moment, a vein twitching in his forehead like a sick beacon. “You know, I feel bad for your father,” he ground out, his drawl stripped of its trademark charm. “God gave him one son, and this is what he got.”

The corner of Rhett’s mouth lifted in cruel victory. Red flooded my vision as Cliff’s face went blank. The words had cut deep—as though Rhett had known precisely which strings to tug at to clip beneath Cliff’s armor. Then, Cliff snapped—moving with brutal speed.

Rhett met his blow like he'd expected it, seizing Cliff’s left hand and twisting hard. The gun dropped with a hard thump on the walkway. Another hunter—a burly man with a cropped beard—stepped in to aid Rhett, clasping Cliff’s arm in place to restrain him. In the same instant, another hunter took Gwen’s shoulders, pulling her back. She cursed and bucked but was no match to outmaneuver him hand-to-hand.

“You make an enemy of me, you make an enemy out of everyone here,” Rhett said in a low voice, angling his head to meet Cliff's seething gaze.

“I’ll take my chances if it means I get to beat your hick face into the ground,” Cliff replied, strained. His eyes skimmed the hunters around us, making note of which hands were tensed toward weapons—and the man who held Gwen. Our gazes caught briefly, but I struggled to make sense of the glimmer buried beneath his gaze. I was all too aware of Sylvia’s fragile body in my grasp and how outnumbered we were.

“You know, if you were so desperate for my help, you’d have known one thing about me,” Cliff said, straining against the men’s grasp.

Rhett rolled his eyes, and for a moment, I thought he’d shoot Cliff on the spot. “And what's that?”

Cliff’s smile widened into something sinister in its ease. “I’m not left-handed.”

Gwen drove her heel into her captor’s shin with vicious precision. He buckled with a shout of pain, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free and toss her weapon to Cliff. He caught the gun deftly in his right hand, slamming the butt of it into Rhett’s skull with a sickening crack of bone against metal. Rhett slumped onto his side.

Twisting with a shout of effort, Cliff broke free from the other man restraining his left side. He chased this with a brutal kick that sent the man sprawling against the railing. The barrier splintered under his weight with a crunch of wood, leaving the hunter to plummet into the swamp below with a startled scream.

“Jon!” Without breaking his stride, Cliff kicked his fallen gun to me. It skidded across the wooden planks, and I dove to snatch it up with a swift, desperate motion. The cold weight of it was grounding as I pulled it into my grasp.

Though Rhett was still dazed, barely able to peel himself off the ground, it was clear his authority was not a bluff. The two dozen hunters that had been cheering for me mere minutes before were now ready to apprehend me for crossing their marshal.

I couldn’t let them get near—not with Sylvia in my grasp.

I shared a brief look with Cliff, who gave the smallest nod. Run . He’d hold them off as long as he could.

I turned and bolted, my boots hammering on the walkway. Years of hunting had honed my reflexes—I dodged a swing and ducked through an opening between bodies—but even during the most dire hunts, I rarely had such precious cargo in my grasp. I could feel the air pressing in on me as people lunged for me, only for them to grunt and go down as a bullet clipped a shoulder or leg. Cliff was clearing my path.

Another man seized my wounded shoulder, trying to pull me back. The pain alone nearly sent me off balance. I threw my elbow back, connecting with his nose and jaw. Something warm spurted, spraying my tee—and then I was free.

Rounding the corner of the main hall, I pressed myself against the wall and opened my other hand. Sylvia was ashen, eyes wide with terror.

“Can you fly?” I demanded. The chaos was seconds from catching up to us—yelling, gunshots, wood splintering.

Sylvia’s voice was a choked sob, tearing at my heart. “Yes.”

I spared a glance over my shoulder. “Get back to the clearing. Go! ”

She hesitated, an argument on her lips. Then, with a snap of her wings opening, she bolted—flying for the tree line, a blur too quick for my eyes to track.

My breaths came easier, watching her vanish into the golden haze. Safe .

And not a moment too soon, as the sound of the remaining attackers caught up. Cliff backed around the corner, firing a deafening shot. Then, click —the sound of an empty chamber. He muttered under his breath as he ejected the spent magazine with a grace that was almost clinical. He slammed the fresh one home with a satisfying snap. Standard steel bullets. Maybe they wouldn’t kill a monster, but it would certainly stop these fuckers.

“Where's Gwen?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the semi-automatic in my right hand. Judging by the weight, it had maybe five or six shots left in the chamber. Not great, but it would have to do.

Cliff’s eyes snapped behind me and widened. I pivoted to see the flash of movement through the reinforced window. Fuck —a few of the hunters had gone through the interior to cut us off at the entrance. The main door flew open, a man and woman filling the doorway. I raised my gun, planting my feet with a deliberate movement.

“We don’t have to do this,” I said, even as tension built in my trigger finger.

The woman’s expression twisted with betrayal rather than rage. I tried to place her, but at a brief glance, nothing seemed familiar.

“You think you’re above the marshal because you’ve got a good kill streak?” she snarled. “You were supposed to be with us. Have you lost your minds?”

You don’t understand , I wanted to snap back. My eyes cut briefly to the dock to my right, jutting into the water with steel-lined crates secured by cutting-edge locks.

Maybe they did understand—it was possible half these people knew Rhett was selling out everything hunters had stood for, piece by piece. Maybe they just didn't care, and profit was more appealing than standing on principles.

She adjusted her grip on the pistol between her hands. The man beside her tensed, mirroring her practiced body language. Even a stand-off would be a victory for them, if they could delay us long enough for Rhett or the others to catch up.

A cry tore from behind us, shrill and wild. I snapped my head toward the sound, but before I could make sense of it, something small—something fast —blurred past right past me. Gwen threw herself at the man on the right. He cursed, seizing her under the arms to throw her off. She landed like it was a dance—graceful, almost beautiful in her steady movements. Gwen spun, kicking up from the ground to the back of the man's knees. He staggered forward, and she leapt onto his back, arms locked around his throat.

The female hunter spun her weapon onto Gwen, only to falter. Rage flickered with shock. “What the fuck? Gwen ? I thought you were dead.”

More footsteps pounded behind us. Three more men. Cliff turned on them, his movements defensive and calculated as he held them at bay.

I fired off a round, catching the female hunter's shoulder and making her stagger away with a scream of pain.

As the male assailant lost consciousness from Gwen’s grip, she sprang from his body, letting it slump to the ground, and caught the woman in the stomach with her boot. Even seeping blood from the superficial gun wound, the woman wasn’t going down without a fight. Her surprise that Gwen had miraculously resurrected clearly didn't supersede her survival instincts. She caught Gwen’s knee with a brutal kick that sent her down. I charged forward, but Gwen was back on her feet. She tackled the woman's legs and wrestled the gun from her grasp, swinging the handle down to the back of her head with a sharp crack .

The female hunter went limp, sprawled across the wooden planks.

Breathing heavily, Gwen dismounted, her skin gleaming from exertion. For a slight thing, I had to admit she was damn impressive.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, eyeing a streak of crimson on her cheek when she brushed past me. It looked like a fingernail scrape—like someone had clawed at her face.

“You wanna kiss it better or get out of here?” Gwen asked, not looking back at me.

I jogged behind her, using Cliff’s cover to start across the bridge. Gunshots had turned to blows—fists and elbows connecting in a blur beside the shattered remnants of the siren's tank. But more men were coming, and even Cliff couldn't hold them off forever.

Then, I saw him—the younger hunter who'd been holding onto my weapons. He cut through the chaos, eyes locked on me with abject panic.

Gwen started toward him, only to stagger back as a warning shot exploded near her boots. She fell hard on her side, her gun sailing from her grasp. It skittered across the damp wood before ultimately dropping off the side, vanishing with a hollow splash into the swamp.

Fuck .

“Not another move!” the young hunter barked. “I’ll shoot you next time. I swear I will.”

He stepped fully into our path, his face pale and set with determination.

“You really wanna follow orders from a guy like Iverson?” I took a menacing step closer, noticing how the kid's grip on the gun— my gun , I realized—began to shake. “A guy who’d sell out his own people for the right price? You’re nothing to him.”

I took another step toward him. I kept my weapon lowered, silently offering a peaceful stalemate.

“You don’t know anything,” the kid snapped. Fear wavered beneath the ambition in his gaze as he sized me up. He straightened instinctively, trying to close the gap, but the inches I had on him wasn’t lost on either of us.

I let a small, cruel smile touch my lips. “You heard him earlier, didn’t you? You're a joke to him.”

This struck a chord. He readjusted his grip on the gun with a growl of outrage, knuckles white as he leveled a shot at my chest. The space between us had shrunk to just two feet—close enough to smell the clammy sweat on him.

“For the record, I meant what I said before. It really was nice meeting you,” he said. “But even the Appalachian Reapers aren’t immortal. I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

I didn’t think, didn't give him time to react. My body moved on instinct, closing the remaining distance between us in a fluid motion. I shot out my free hand, thrusting the gun away and twisting his wrist until I heard the snap of tendons. The weapon slipped from his grasp, landing between our feet on the ground, but I didn’t ease up.

I grabbed his jacket, swinging him into the railing with enough force to rattle the wood. His breath left him in a surprised burst. My hand plunged into his inner pockets, rooting around for the familiar weight of my silver blades and the box of ammo he'd been withholding at Rhett's command.

The young man spluttered broken pleas, all bravado evaporated in my unforgiving grasp. His wide eyes darted to my weapons. He thought I was going to kill him. I could—but pity stirred through my rage.

“Nice meeting you, too,” I said before hauling him over the railing into the water.

I hurriedly helped Gwen to her feet, pressing my knives into her hands. “Can you use those?” I asked.

“They’re perfect. I can stab both of you at the same time when we get out,” she said, glancing up at me with a begrudging… was it gratitude? Admiration? Whatever it was flickered out as Cliff stepped onto the bridge—followed by a trio of seasoned hunters.

A silver-haired hunter in the middle kept his shotgun trained on Cliff, as did the two men flanking him. I didn't blame them. Back near the Pit, a dozen hunters were either unconscious or still tending to wounds Cliff had inflicted. Lucky for them, he was showing remarkable restraint. He could massacre them all, but then every hunter in the country would be on our asses by sunset.

“Lower your weapons, now ,” the silver-haired hunter growled. “If the marshal hadn’t ordered you boys to be captured alive, you’d be dead where you stand. ”

Cliff didn’t waver.

The lead hunter chuckled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth behind the untamed beard. “Son, you need to know when you’re outnumbered. If you shoot me, my boys will have that pretty face turned into Swiss cheese in seconds.” His eyes narrowed, that smile widening into something certain. “You won’t do it.”

I watched Cliff's steely profile, the way nothing budged in his expression, even though I could see him scanning his options—which weren’t plentiful. He adjusted his aim a small amount—scarcely a quarter inch upward—and squeezed the trigger.

BLAM .

The hunters facing us flinched, coiled with tension, but quickly relaxed into relieved laughter. The shot hadn’t come close. It had pierced one of the crates on the shipping dock. The advanced lock hanging off the front was smoking, its mechanism frayed. Black wings burst from the lid—there had to be at least five ahools. The bat-like monsters gave piercing cries and descended upon the nearest threats—the trio of hunters standing at the threshold to the main building. Monster and human screams bled together.

“Let’s go!” I shouted, waving to Cliff.

As he turned to follow, one of the men managed to shake off an ahool and snap its neck. The creature hadn’t even hit the ground before the hunter was lunging at Cliff.

Gwen launched herself at the man, burying one of my blades into his shoulder before he could reach Cliff. The man’s howl of pain rivaled the cries of the ahools behind him. He seized Gwen’s wrist and gave a brutal kick that connected with her knee. She screamed, staggering.

“Gwen!” Cliff shouted, catching her under the arms before she could fall.

The assailant lurched back unsteadily, the knife still protruding from his shoulder. Gwen struggled against Cliff’s grip, trying to take another swing at the hunter with the second blade.

“Forget them,” Cliff grunted. “Let’s get the hell outta here!”

“My knee’s about to give,” she gritted out. “I can’t run.”

Glancing back toward the fast-approaching assailants, Cliff slipped his arms under her legs and threw her over his shoulder, sprinting past me while Gwen loosed a stream of shocked profanities.

We cleared the walkway and dodged through the trees, using them for cover as gunfire rang out behind us. I searched the branches overhead, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of gossamer wings. My mind spun, wondering if she had the energy to make it to the car, wondering if I should be worried about birds of prey in the area.

The goddamn bridge came into view .

Fuck . The golden mist had pooled even thicker, making the fall seem even more endless than before. I forced myself to follow Cliff onto the bridge. The boards rattled like it was about to give, but the thought of our pursuers crowding onto it made me move faster.

“They’re coming!” I gasped ahead.

Voices drew nearer, but to my surprise, the rickety boards didn’t shake with the weight of the other hunters. The end was in sight. Cliff crossed the last of the boards, setting Gwen carefully on her feet while she batted his arms away with a scowl. I was five feet from solid ground when one side of the bridge gave way with a deafening crack .

A scream caught in my throat. I let go of the gun, lashing out both hands to grab the other side of the rail. My boots fought for purchase that couldn’t be found. Another crack . The bridge was giving out from beneath me—they hadn’t boarded the bridge because they were destroying the other side.

“Jon!” Ahead, Cliff threw his arm out to grab me.

Our fingertips fell short of each other’s. The boards gave way entirely and swung down. I scrabbled at the planks, trying to launch myself up to solid ground, but the wood was too slippery to catch a firm grip.

Icy pain burst around my wrist. My shoulder smarted as my fall came to an abrupt halt.

Breathing heavily, I craned my neck to find a cluster of ice growing around my hand, pinned to a board. The end of the bridge was frozen in place, crackling with splinters of frost.

Sylvia fluttered above me, her hands aimed at the ice as she grimaced. “Hurry,” she croaked. “I can’t hold it!”

I swung my other arm up. The ice chunk melted off my skin as Cliff caught my hand and hauled me onto the frozen bit of bridge. The moment we were on solid ground, Sylvia released the spell. The planks fell away, splashing into the water below .

We put distance between ourselves and the steep overhang. I sank to my knees. My lungs burned as I caught my breath, my gaze darting between Cliff and Gwen before finding Sylvia hovering above us. She looked so pale, so exhausted, it was a wonder she could stay on her wings.

“Sylv,” I said between heavy breaths. “You need to…” My insistence that she should rest died on my lips. She wouldn’t look at me. All at once, the pain from my Pit injuries surged back into focus, stabbing my shoulder, head, and hands. But worse was that I couldn’t shake the sound of her horrible, broken gasp as she’d accepted her fate at my hands.

Before I could puzzle out what to say, movement swayed the trees overhead, swiftly approaching us.

“Fuck!” Gwen hissed, shooting her head up in unison with Cliff. “One of those things followed us!”

Sure enough, the shadow broached land, moving with unnatural speed. The skittering of claws against bark sent a chill down my spine. The ahool was small—barely two feet high with a five-foot wingspan—but its bite was just as venomous as a mature adult. It prowled along the branch, watching warily—and hungrily .

Cliff raised his gun, but the uncertainty on his face wasn’t promising. He had to be low on ammo.

The car was visible at the top of the slope, its weathered green exterior like a beacon. Ahools were difficult to put down without fire, but we didn’t have to make it far. A few key shots would slow it down, give us the crucial seconds we needed.

Then I saw Gwen leaning against a tree, clutching her bruised knee, and remembered she couldn’t run. She still wielded a blade in her other hand, but that wouldn’t do much good if the ahool sank its teeth into her.

A nearby flutter of gossamer wings moved higher .

“Sylv.” I jerked my chin uphill, voice low to keep the ahool from startling. “Get back to the car.”

She ignored me, lifting her hands with her eyes set over our heads. No, no, no—

Sylvia conjured a serpentine line of frost, solidifying into a spear and shooting it into the rustling branches above us. The ahool shrieked as the jagged end clipped its side. Glittering frost settled like snowfall when the creature burst from the foliage overhead. It swung, diving for us. Cliff fired, lodging a shot in its left wing and its chest, forcing it to land.

Click .

His gun’s chamber was empty.

Blood seeped from the ahool’s injuries, but it kept moving toward us as though spurred by personal vengeance. Its glistening fangs were bared in a cry that carried the rotten stench of carrion. I jolted away from its approach, glancing over my shoulder toward Sylvia, certain she was going to drop out of the air with magic exhaustion at any second—

A targeted line of flames cut through the air like a blade.

Cliff and I staggered back as one, reacting instinctively to the intense heat. We were cleared of its radius, but the ahool howled in agony. It curled in on itself, spasming in the consuming fire. Shrieks turned into whimpers. Finally, it collapsed in a smoldering heap.

The flames petered out.

Rhett lowered the flamethrower in his hands, stepping out from his vantage point between two nearby oaks.

“Well,” he said. “That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

Though it wouldn’t do us any good, Cliff raised his gun while I fought the urge to take my chances in shoving Rhett toward the broken bridge.

Gwen snapped, “Where the fuck did you come from? ”

“I know my way around here better than most, lucky for you.” But Rhett didn’t look at her while he answered. He only had eyes for Sylvia, amazed like a kid in a candy store. He withdrew a pistol from his waistband and drew back the hammer. Though he held it relaxed at his side, the threat settled heavily all the same. A smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth. “Now, what the hell should I make of this?”

To my dismay, Sylvia darted closer, putting herself between us and Rhett. She thrust out her palms and sent Rhett staggering back to dodge a blade of ice through his boot. It embedded itself into the soft earth. Icy mist pooled around her like she couldn’t keep it inside, but the spear was brittle and crumbled away. She was exhausted. Her magic wouldn’t hold much longer.

“Back away,” she snarled. “ Now .”

“You’re looking a little winded, sweetheart. Not your everyday catch, are you?” Rhett lifted his gun, and though I doubted he could land a shot on such a small target, I started toward him with my weapon raised.

“Don’t!” I barked. “I told you, she’s mine.”

He whistled under his breath, giving me a leisurely scan before settling his gaze back on Sylvia. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were sweet on her, Nowak. I haven’t seen someone so excited to volunteer for something since they invented dick pics.”

My mind raced with lies and excuses to explain away Sylvia’s vicious protectiveness.

“Don’t get it twisted,” I said. “She’s nothing but a trophy—a useful one. We caught her a couple months back and turned her glamour against her. She’ll tear you apart if I tell her to.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt she’s a loyal little thing. But the rest? Bullshit. You’re too high and mighty to be toting around a trophy.” Rhett flicked his tongue, smiling as he gestured toward me with the barrel of his pistol. “No… You’ve got a soft spot for her. Hell, if I’d known how attached you were, I would’ve called off the fi ght before it started. You could’ve just given her leash a little tug.”

To my surprise, he lowered the gun and held up his other hand in peace. He shifted his weight, looking up at Sylvia. “Look—for the record, my money was on you, Miss.”

Fuck, I wanted to end him for daring to speak to her.

Sylvia didn’t budge from her brash stance midair, exhausted or not. “I heard exactly what you wanted,” she said, her voice all venom.

Rhett softened like he genuinely meant to console her. “Forgive me for all that talk back there—I didn’t think you were a friendly one. Can you blame me? You set a siren loose.”

“She was innocent!” Sylvia snapped.

“And you believed her?” He laughed like they were having a chat by the office cooler. “A fairy with rose-colored glasses. You’re really something else.” His eyes flickered to me, then to Cliff—bearing that same unsettling glint as before. “If you thought being the Appalachian Reapers won you admiration before, wait till word gets around that you can tame fairies. My client happens to be very interested in her kind.”

Sylvia shuddered bodily, but he didn’t seem concerned about her magic having a second wind.

“Look, get it through your thick skulls–I'm not your enemy," Rhett went on. "I want the same thing as you guys: less monsters hurting innocent people. You're coming at me for not doing it the way you want, wrapped in a bow? Go fuck yourselves." His jaw ticked, blue eyes flicking from face to face. “We can clear everything up back there as a misunderstanding, so long as you boys start playing nice and come with me.”

He reached behind him—not for another weapon, but for a burlap satchel slung over his shoulder. Metal clinked within as he tossed it on the ground between us.

“Silver,” he declared. “See? I’m fair. You just need to hold up your end. What do you say?”

“I’ll let you guess,” Cliff said. “It rhymes with ‘get fucked.’”

“You sure you don’t wanna at least hear what I could offer you?” Rhett didn’t waver, but his grin tightened a fraction. “How’s that nest egg treating you, Everett?”

Cliff inhaled sharply. “How the fuck do you know about that?”

Rhett seemed to revel in how Cliff’s face drained of color. “My client has eyes and ears everywhere. He can be generous, too. Hey, he might even let you keep your fairy if that sweetens the pot…”

“I’m not a bargaining token!” Sylvia shouted in a strangled voice.

“I don’t think you have much of a say in the state you’re in, darling.”

“Don’t fucking talk to her,” Cliff spat. “We don’t work with psychopaths.”

Glancing at me, Rhett smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Cut the shit and shoot him already!” Gwen interjected, glaring between us.

Uncertainty rippled from her when Rhett shifted his focus to her. His fingers rested loosely on the strap of his flamethrower. “What about you?” he said with feigned concern. “Gwen, right? Surprised you’re backing the Reapers after what they did to you. What do they got on you—some dirty photos? Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out. I’ve got people behind me now. They can protect you, too. I mean, now all those folks back there know you’re not dead—and that you’re a dirty little traitor to boot.”

Breathing hard, Gwen sneered. “Bite me. I don’t need shit from you.”

Rhett groaned, shoulders slumping dramatically as he looked to the sky. “The swear jar around here must be overflowing. Trust me—I’ll change your mind eventually. Everyone comes around once I find their soft spot.”

He smiled, and that severed the tentative restraint Gwen clung to. I knew that kind of rage—terror not for yourself, but for what you stood before. Hannah –just miles away, blissfully unaware of Rhett's vendetta.

“You fucker,” Gwen seethed, straightening on her good leg, grip tightening on her blade. She drew back her arm, gaze narrowed on Rhett’s chest.

I couldn’t move in time—couldn’t react as Rhett’s arm lifted. Before she had taken two painful steps, a gunshot rang out. Gwen staggered, sprawling onto her side. Blood seeped from a bullet wound in her right thigh, a morbidly black mark blossoming down the dark fabric.

Shock rippled through me.

“No!” Cliff roared. He started to race to her side, but Rhett fired off a warning shot that burst through the wet ground beside Cliff.

Rhett’s eyes flicked between Cliff and me. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Drop the guns and come with me, or the next one goes through her brain.”

I couldn’t move—couldn’t fathom why the hell he wanted us alive so badly. My thoughts staggered with ways to use that against him, but Rhett’s sudden cry of pain jolted me back to full attention.

Ice was crawling over the barrel of Rhett’s gun, spreading rapidly. In a matter of seconds, frost enveloped his palm and fingers and raced up his arm. The glow of the magic was strange—a shade of lavender I had never seen in Sylvia’s magic before. I might have thought there was another fairy present if it weren’t for Sylvia’s raised hands.

How the hell was she doing that?

“Fuck,” Rhett hissed, eyes bugging wide. “ FUCK! ”

But the ice didn’t stop. It spread like it was hungry, feasting on his form. He backed away from Sylvia, fear mingling with the pain in his voice. She followed him and rose above his eye level, closing in like a delicate goddess of vengeance. I faltered where I stood, watching with an odd mix of pride and horror as Rhett’s movements were forced to halt.

Sylvia’s chanting voice was a ragged, unrecognizable cry, growing louder with each verse. The pale purple first completely covered Rhett’s body, solidifying around him like a statue. It crackled as clear layers thickened.

A small gasp—and then the spellwork flickered. Sylvia plummeted like a stone, magic exhaustion finally staking its claim on her.

I shouted her name, diving for her, but she hit the ground before I could reach her. She lay unmoving on the mossy earth—but she was breathing. She was alive.

A glint caught my eye. Her amethyst shard lay just short of her fingers.

That was how she’d pushed through the magic exhaustion. She’d finally spent the gem shard her mother had given her. As I scooped up her prone form, I made certain to take the shard too.

I heard Cliff sprinting behind me, helping Gwen sit up. Blood stained both their hands as they applied pressure to the bullet wound. She whimpered through gritted teeth, shaking.

“Deep breaths,” he commanded, then glanced toward Rhett. “Is he dead?”

With Sylvia cradled carefully in one hand, I got to my feet and approached Rhett. Faint panting and shifting could be heard within the shell of ice. His eyes followed me as I circled him, vocal cords straining to say something. It was as horrifying as it was impressive, and I stole another glance at Sylvia’s unconscious form. Gem magic or not, it never ceased to amaze me that someone so delicate could be capable of such destruction.

The ice was thickest at his hands and feet, but rivets of water were already dribbling down his neck. It was thin enough, and without Sylvia conscious to reinforce the magic, it was only a matter of time before he broke loose.

“Unfortunately, I think he’ll live,” I called over my shoulder.

A faint sound caught my ear. The rustle of leaves. I turned, my chest tight at the notion of another predator targeting us. Scanning the trees, I spotted movement through the underbrush.

Not a monster. Humans . More hunters had found another way across the water, trekking through the mossy woods—directly toward the sound of gunfire.

“Damn it,” I muttered, ducking to grab the bag of silver bullets so graciously provided by Rhett.

The car’s short distance felt like miles as we bolted, the forest towering over us. I spared a quick glance behind me as it came into view, and I circled for the driver’s side.

Cliff had Gwen cradled in his arms, her small frame barely weighing him down despite her injury. I’d never seen her look so fragile —her lips pale and her head lolling against Cliff’s chest without even so much as a scowl in his direction. Her face was tight with pain, like she was refusing to give in to the urge to weep.

Though I couldn’t see the hunters pursuing our trail, I could still hear every distant twig snap under their tread. I vaulted behind the wheel of the car, pausing only to lay Sylvia carefully on the passenger’s seat. Cliff helped Gwen into the back seat, barking for me to drive.

I heard him murmuring something assuring to Gwen as I peeled off along the dirt road. The click of the first aid kit.

“Hold on,” Cliff urged her. “I’ve got you.”

I didn’t have to look back to know—he was cutting through her black jeans skillfully. He pulled off his button-up, twisting the sleeve into a rope. He offered it to her, saying, “Bite down on this.”

Gwen did so. A bottle was uncapped and the sharp smell of alcohol filled the vehicle as Cliff sloshed it generously over the wound. Gwen screamed, muffled through the cloth.

“Stay with me,” Cliff said, cupping her face and fixing her with a cementing look while he pulled away layers of alcohol and blood-soaked gauze.

He withdrew a pair of tweezers from the kit. “Hard part’s next.”