Five yards away from the bear, the dark horse reared, front hooves kicking. Amber light ignited over the rider’s hand, and he cast it at the raging fae.
A lasso-like cord of light flew at the bear and looped around its muzzle. The magic cinched tight, and the horse reversed, hooves digging into the earth. The bear snarled as it was yanked off the tree, and the trunk snapped straight, the violent movement almost slingshotting me off it. I grabbed for purchase, the thin branches giving way under my hands.
Fifteen feet below, the horse and its black-clad rider surged away from the bear as it swiped at them with its long claws. The amber magic in the rider’s hand lashed out, more like a whip than a lasso, and sliced across the bear’s face. The huge equine danced around the attacking beast, as agile as a cutting horse.
Over the racket of their confrontation, I heard the branches I held cracking. My feet searched for another bough, but all the ones in reach had broken.
Jumping was always better than falling. I retracted my knife, quickly glanced down, then shoved hard off the tree, throwing myself away from it for a clean drop—
—right as the evading equine sidestepped into my intended landing spot.
A sharp cry escaped me as I hurtled into the rider’s side. We collided, the impact of my body throwing him sideways off his mount. He slammed down on his back and I landed on top of him, my face bouncing off his chest.
I shoved up with one hand—and froze.
Beneath me was not a specter of death but a man. His hood had fallen off, revealing a handsome human face with vibrant, iridescent emerald eyes that weren’t entirely human. Those eyes stared at me with surprise almost equal to my own, then flicked past my shoulder.
He grabbed my upper arms and rolled.
A hoof slammed down beside us, barely missing him. The horse reared, kicking with its front hooves as it warded off the snarling bear. Strong hands gripping my arms, the rider spun sideways again, and we rolled together until we were clear of the stomping hooves.
The moment he stopped, I broke free and launched up. He was on his feet just as fast, and amber light spun over his hand as he called on his strange magic. He surged past me without a word, arm whipping out to lash the bear’s hindquarters with his spell, distracting it from his mount.
I flicked the blade out on my switchblade, then retracted it. Ríkr?
Here, dove.
I looked up. The white hawk was perched on a much sturdier tree than the one I’d chosen, his blue eyes fixed on the battle.
A most interesting matchup, he added, his tone almost gleeful.
I shook my head—and the clearing rocked and tilted. Pain throbbed through my skull. I stepped backward and my heel bumped something.
The palomino.
The fae bear’s furious roar rolled through the night air, but the sound was distant and forgettable as I sank down beside the horse’s head and touched its thin, bony neck.
I should have slit Harvey Whitby’s throat. How dare he allow an animal under his care to suffer this much and for this long? How dare he kill an innocent creature to save himself? How dare he slaughter this horse to…
I frowned, my hand resting on the palomino’s forehead. Where was the bullet wound? I’d heard the gunshot, but I couldn’t see any blood.
Eyes up, dove.
Ríkr’s warning snapped me out of my daze, and I realized the forest had gone quiet. My skull throbbed horrifically, and I wanted to puke. Instead, I raised my head.
The bear fae was gone, the underbrush flattened where it had plowed through the dense foliage to escape. The powerful stallion remained, standing near the splintered tree I’d leaped from. In the dim light, I could see he wasn’t black as I’d thought but a magnificent blue roan with a steel-colored coat that darkened to black on his legs. His mane and tail were dark as ebony, as was his face—which made his acid-green eyes even more startling. Pawing the earth with a heavy hoof, the fae equine tossed his head.
I shifted my gaze to his rider.
Fifteen feet away, the man watched me, or so I assumed. He’d pulled his hood up again, deep shadows hiding his face—but I’d already seen his human features, and I wouldn’t mistake him for a ghostly wraith again. Instead of a nightmarish black cloak, he wore a long jacket paired with black pants, sturdy boots, and leather gloves.
When my attention landed on him, he strode toward me, his long legs eating up the ground and coat billowing out behind him. Stopping almost on top of me, he reached down as though to take my elbow—and seized the front of my jacket.
I grabbed his wrist as he roughly hauled me onto my tiptoes, bringing my face close to his. Despite the moonlight and forgotten flashlights illuminating the clearing, the interior of his hood was filled with unnatural darkness.
Ríkr watched us from his lofty perch, pale blue eyes gleaming.
“That was quite the scene I came in on,” the man rumbled in a low, dangerous tone. “What do you know about that bear fae?”
I stared into his hood.
A rough sound grated from his throat. “You don’t seem to be grasping the situation. Tell me what you know before I lose patience.”
I smiled, showing my teeth. “Was that a threat?”
“What do you think?”
My smile widened, and I lifted my empty hand toward his face. “It’ll take more than a hood and a threat to scare me, especially when”—I pushed his hood back—“I’ve already seen your face.”
The shadows fell away, revealing his countenance again. Inhumanly vibrant green eyes, framed by dark lashes, fixed on mine, his eyebrows lowered with menace. A beautiful face, if I were honest. Striking cheekbones, a strong jaw, full mouth—currently pressed into a thin, angry line. By my best guess, he was in his mid-twenties, maybe a bit older.
My palm brushed against his clean-shaven cheek as I let his hood fall—and with the same motion, I flicked my hand, pulling my switchblade from my jacket sleeve. The blade sprang free, and in an instant, I had the point resting against the corner of his left eye.
But not fast enough.
A cold, thin edge pressed against my left cheek. I didn’t break eye contact to see what sort of weapon he had in my face, but the blade felt sharp—sharper than my little knife.
Neither of us moved, his fist tight around the front of my jacket. If either of our hands wobbled, we’d both bleed.
His right eyebrow arched slightly. “How do you want to play this?”
“Let go of me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I stab you, you stab me,” I suggested frostily. “My cheek is more likely to heal than your eye.”
“Pass.”
He wouldn’t let me go and he wouldn’t play knife-chicken. What was left? “Then I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
His full mouth thinned again, green eyes raking across me. “Fine.”
His agreement surprised me until I realized he expected to win this game too. He thought I’d reveal more with my answers than he would with his.
Not likely.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
“Answer my question first.”
“You first. Who are you?”
He growled under his breath. “The Crystal Druid.”
Surprise flushed through me, and I couldn’t stop my eyelids from flickering with a single, startled blink. He was a druid?
“Now,” he rumbled, “tell me what you know about that bear and the other aggressive fae in this area.”
“I don’t know anything.”
His blade pressed painfully into my cheek. “This little game doesn’t work if you lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then you’re an idiot. Every fae across the lower mainland is talking about the attacks and disappearances around here.”
“Fascinating, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Aren’t you a witch?”
“Yes, but a terrible one.”
His striking green eyes narrowed. “Terrible in what way?”
Ignoring his question, I shifted my blade ever so slightly, ensuring he couldn’t miss the sharp point in his peripheral vision. “My turn again. Why are you here?”
“The fae—”
“Yes, yes, the attacks. But why do you care about some aggressive fae?” I arched my eyebrows, though my bangs probably hid them. “What are you hoping to gain, Crystal Druid?”
“Does it matter?”
“That’s a question, not an answer. You really don’t want this blade in your eye. It’s already been in a foot and a mouth tonight.”
His features twitched with disgust. “What are you doing here, if you don’t know anything about fae attacks?”
“I’m here because Farmer Whitby was here.”
“Why was he here?”
“To kill his starved, neglected horse before it hurt his reputation.”
I rather liked the way his eyes blazed at my words.
“And what were you doing here, then?” he asked.
I considered how to answer, then told the truth. “I was about to saw Whitby’s teeth out of his jaw with this knife.”
He stared at me. “How hard were you hit in the head?”
“How do you know I was hit in the head?”
“There’s blood all over your face.”
Oh.
He shoved me backward, the movement so sudden I didn’t have a chance to stab his eye out or brace myself. I landed hard on my ass.
Pushing his coat to one side, he slid his knife into a sheath on his thigh. I watched the ten-inch blade disappear, then watched his hand move up to his belt, where half a dozen test-tube-shaped vials were held in place by leather loops.
Alchemic potions. Was he an alchemist too?
I hated alchemists.
He ran his gloved fingers across the potions, pulled one out, and tossed it to me. Catching it automatically, I glanced at the cloudy brown liquid inside.
“For your concussion,” he said shortly. “Drink it immediately. Or don’t. I don’t care.”
Turning, he strode to his fae steed. The stallion arched his neck as his rider seized a handful of dark mane and pulled himself up. He settled into place like he’d spent his life on horseback.
“Stay out of the forest,” he called as he guided the horse in a tight turn. “A terrible witch like you is an easy meal for pissed-off fae.”
The stallion launched forward. Shadowy mist spiraled around his powerful legs, and as he surged into a gallop across the clearing, he and his rider faded out of reality. The sound of thudding hooves disappeared.
With one hand clenched around my switchblade and the other holding the potion vial, I stared at the spot where he’d vanished.
The Crystal Druid.
Interesting.With a scurry of small claws, Ríkr hopped onto my knee. He’d traded his hawk form for a small vole, sneaking close so he could defend me in case my verbal sparring game with the druid had turned violent. More violent.
The fae sat back on his tiny haunches, gazing into the trees. Most interesting, don’t you think?
I looked down at the potion vial. “Interesting” wasn’t the word I would have chosen.