I desperately grasp one of my daggers. The metal makes a slick sound as I pull it out of my thigh holster.
He smiles at the sight. “Come now, Callypso. Have I not just warned you that killing me is pointless?”
“Stay away from me,” I warn him, lifting the weapon.
“Alas, I cannot. You, my sweet, have presented me with a unique problem,” he rubs his lower jaw as he talks. “A prophecy demands you must die in order for me to get what I want, but if you do, you are beyond my reach.”
Above us, the sky quakes as my mate battles on with his father.
“What is it that you want?”
He grins again, the sight unsettling me. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Riddle me this:” he says, “why would a thief such as me steal as many soldiers as I have?”
That’s one of the many things I could never figure out about this mystery.
“Think on it, enchantress.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Would you prefer slave?” he asks. “Personally, I think you seem ill-suited to the title, but if that’s what you desire …”
I begin to back up. “I don’t understand—what does Galleghar have to do with any of this?” I ask. Even now the sky thunders with the sounds of father and son.
The Thief of Souls now smiles. “There’s an old prophetess who can answer that question—for a price. One way or another you’ll figure it out.”
I fight the next question that leaves my lips. I know it’s no use asking; no answer will be good enough. I ask anyway.
“Why are you doing this?”
His eyes seem to dance. “Perhaps it is time for you to learn more about me, as I have you.” He reaches out to me again, cupping my cheek.
All my confusion, all of my fear and rage, pulls the siren from her depths.
As my skin illuminates, I swipe out at the Green Man with my dagger, relishing the moment the blade meets flesh.
A normal fairy would’ve flinched from the pain, but he doesn’t react. Doesn’t even bother moving his hand. He just continues to talk. “I do have one problem, enchantress. As exquisite as I find you, you are beyond my control. There is, however, a remedy for that.”
Moving so fast I can barely follow, he grabs my dagger-wielding arm and twists.
I let out a cry, half in pain, half in rage. Bringing my heel up, I slam my foot into his chest, knocking him away.
He chuckles, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. He holds up my dagger. “Missing something?”
Shit.
Hastily, I reach for my remaining dagger. My gown is already bloody and shredded. I look like a wraith, like a ghost come to haunt these cursed woods.
My hand closes on the weapon’s labradorite handle, and I draw it out.
Des and his father continue to duel overhead, the air thick with their magic.
I shift my weight, tossing my dagger from hand to hand. Somewhere along the way, I became comfortable with the weapon.
The Thief smiles, and then he charges.
Unlike Des’s father, the Thief of Souls cannot appear and disappear at will. He can, however, harness the Green Man’s power.
The oaks begin to hiss and shake, their large bodies bending to swipe at me.
I duck and dodge the attacks as I square off with my opponent, my body thrumming with energy.
I can do this all day.
When I get within arm’s reach, I swipe out at the Thief, the dagger slashing him across the chest. I follow with my claws, slashing his cheek.
His blood looks striking against his pale green skin.
More. I want more.
I thirst to see him bleed. To see him die.
The sight of all that dark liquid sends me into a frenzy. I move with fluid grace, parrying the Thief’s blows with my blade, slashing and kicking with the rest of my body.
It takes minutes to cover the fairy in his own gore.
This is power.
Foolish of him to fight me.
“You’re going to have to fight a little harder if you really want to hurt me,” I goad the Thief.
He smiles. “That can be arranged.”
Moments later, Mara walks into our clearing, looking a little worse for the wear. The flowers in her hair are wilted, she has dirt smeared across her cheek, and her clothes are nearly as stained and ripped as mine.
It takes her all of two seconds to take in the scene. The Green Man—her mate—covered in blood, dueling the human woman who cut down her beloved trees.
“You,” she practically hisses at me.
Vines come at me from all sides, and it’s all I can do to shred through them with my claws and dagger. And still more come at me.
No longer am I fighting the Thief of Souls so much as I’m defending myself from Mara’s attacks. Right in the middle of the melee, he strides towards me.
The Thief runs his blade down my cheek, then my arm. “So bloodthirsty. I had no idea.”
I swipe out at him, which he easily dodges.
“Mate,” Mara calls out to the Thief, “what are you doing?”
“Exacting our revenge,” he says over his shoulder.
That seems to appease her. The plants around me continue to pin me in place, squeezing me slowly.
The Thief of Souls drags my blade down my other cheek, slicing open the flesh. I feel a brief sting, and then the warm sensation of blood slipping down my jaw. “The only problem is, the moment I truly hurt you, your mate will be on me.” He taps the blunt part of his blade against my nose. “But I think I’ve figured out a solution.”
I might as well be a fly caught in his web. The vines have completely overpowered me. My arms are pinned to my sides. I still hold my remaining blade, but I cannot move enough to saw my way out of my bindings.
He leans in close. “Why don’t I explain exactly what I plan for you?
“Right now, my magic is incompatible with yours, and that ruins all my fun. But it doesn’t have to be that way—not if you drink a certain something.
“Have you heard that lilac wine, the rarest of fairy elixirs, can not only bestow longevity to mortals, it can heal the wounded?”
I thin my gaze.
“It’s a cure all of sorts, and if you drink it, well then, you would be able to fall victim to my power, and your soul … your soul could be mine for the taking.”
This sicko.
“I could just give the wine to you here and now, but”—he seems far too giddy—“I have an even better idea.”
He lifts my blade to his eyes, inspecting it. His gaze flicks to mine.
“This might hurt.”
With one swift movement, he buries the knife in my gut.