But on the absurd chance she is Awakened—a human Awakened—then she is far too dangerous to be allowed to live.
Amara rocks back onto her knees, gently patting the soil around a leafy green plant. She wipes her hands on her simple green dress and exhales a satisfied sigh. Lifting her face, she shields her eyes from the sun cutting through the canopy. The light catches her warm brown skin, illuminating her like some divine artifact. At that moment, I have never envied sunlight more.
I could kill her now if I wished. Step out of the shadows of this tree, appear behind her in an instant, and drive my blade between her ribs before she even senses me. It would be quick. She intrigues me enough that I wouldn’t let her suffer.
Smoke curls between my fingers, dark and restless, as I weigh my next move. Why am I still sitting here, lingering? Perhaps because killing her without cause would be…unprincely. I am the human’s sovereign, after all. I am no tyrant, no matter how much they whisper otherwise.
Still, she cannot be Awakened. There are no signs, no mystical aura surrounding her. Nothing ethereal to suggest she wields magic older than the stars themselves. She’s just a human playing in the dirt.
She is nothing.
The silver edge of a blade shimmers as it forms in my hand, the runes inked into my skin pulsing faintly. I tighten my grip on the hilt. Perhaps I should get closer just to be sure.
Suddenly, the branches around me groan and creak, wood twisting like waking limbs. I narrow my eyes as the branch beneath me sprouts new growth, tendrils wrapping around my legs, locking me in place.
I jerk against the restraints, snarling, as another branch coils around my chest, squeezing tight.
“Do you know who I am, elemental?” My voice is sharp, my canines elongating in warning.
The forest spirit does not respond. It only tightens its grip, wood groaning as it constricts me further.
Ah, this girl. The Jewel of the Tenders, Eryndor called her. So, she is guarded by these lesser fae.
How precious.
“This will not end well for you,” I growl, my voice strained. “The Maledannan may allow you your freedom, but I will not. You know the darkness that runs through me. You dare seek it out?”
My curse wells up inside me, the void that is both my prison and my power. It rises like a tide, swallowing everything within me. The memories, the scraps of joy, the faintest hints of hope, until there is nothing left but hollow hunger.
My eyes roll back, and when they open again, I know they are black pits. Smoke spills from my skin, curling in tendrils as the branches gripping me recoil, their instinct for survival stronger than their loyalty to the girl.
The wood creaks and groans, turning brittle in an instant, bark splitting and cracking as rot races along the vines like poison through veins. With a sharp snap, they splinter and crumble, and I fall free.
I drop from the tree in a crouch, landing hard enough to snap twigs and send the forest into chaos. Birds explode from the branches above, shrieking as they flee. My ears catch the sound of footsteps behind me, and the darkness inside me coils tighter, demanding blood, demanding flesh to sate its endless hunger.
The dagger in my hand feels heavier, pulsing in time with the void that threatens to consume me. My grip tightens until my knuckles ache, and I feel it happening. The moment I lose myself.
The momenthetakes over.
The ancient force within me, older than this forest, older than the first dawn, tears through my control like a blade through silk. I am shoved aside, a passenger in my own body, watching as the beast claims me.
“Who are you?”
Her voice cuts through the shadows. Steady, curious, lacking the fear I am so used to hearing, and it carries a warmth that stops the tide just before it drowns me.
The dagger vanishes as my form shifts. Fangs retract and pointed ears soften as I glamor myself, and my features bend into something more familiar to her. Something human.
I step out of the shadows, and her gaze narrows, assessing me as the sunlight filters through the canopy, catching her dark eyes, the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips.
“Who are you?” she demands again, her voice steady. “You are not of the Grove.”
“No,” I reply, stepping closer, so near now that I could snap her neck with a flick of my wrist if I wished.
Her expression hardens, the softness of her face giving way to steel. “You’re a poacher, then. Here to murder the creatures of this forest. You are not welcome here.”
My lip twitches in amusement, her defiance sparking something unexpectedly warm in my chest. “And what will you do about it? You’re alone, with no one around for miles.”
I take another step forward, testing her resolve, but she doesn’t flinch.
