Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The silver-eyed man—he looks like a Darius, my brain supplied unhelpfully—studied me with an intensity that made me feel like I was being dissected from the inside out.
"I come in peace?" I tried, holding up my hands. "Also, I have glow sticks. If that helps. For ambiance. They match your chalk lines."
I pulled the cheap plastic tubes from my hoodie pocket—leftovers from a friend's birthday party that I'd never gottenaround to throwing away—and cracked one. Green light flared, casting an anemic glow across my face.
The broad-shouldered one with the knife made a sound that wasn't quite human. It was a growl, low and dangerous, the kind of sound that bypassed your brain and went straight to your lizard hindbrain screamingRUN.
He moved.
I didn't see him cross the clearing. One moment he was standing beside the altar, the next he wasright there, his blade pressed against my throat and his body crowding me back against a tree trunk. The bark bit into my spine. The steel bit into my skin—not breaking it, but close enough that I could feel my pulse hammering against the edge.
"Who sent you?" His voice was a snarl, rough and low, and his eyes—God, his eyes wereamber, glowing faintly in the darkness like embers. "Who do you work for?"
"No one!" I squeaked. The glow stick was still clutched in my hand, casting weird shadows across his face. Up close, he was devastating. Sharp jaw. Full lips twisted in a snarl. Dark stubble that would probably leave a rash if he kissed someone. Not that I was thinking about him kissing anyone. Or me. Definitely not me. "I work for a marketing firm in the city. We do social media campaigns for artisanal cheese companies. I'm not a spy, I swear, I'm just an idiot who chased a raccoon into the woods!"
He didn't move. His body was a wall of heat against mine, and I could smell him—leather and steel and something wilder underneath, like the forest after rain. His free hand came up to brace against the tree beside my head, and I noticed his fingernails were slightly too sharp, slightly too dark, like claws barely contained beneath human skin.
"You're lying." He pressed the blade a fraction closer. "You smell like fear. And something else."
"That's probably the cheap body spray I use," I babbled. "It's called 'Midnight Passion' but it really just smells like vanilla and poor decisions."
His nostrils flared. His eyes—those impossible amber eyes—flickered down to my throat, where my pulse was visibly jumping against the knife's edge. Something shifted in his expression. The murderous intent didn't disappear, but it... complicated. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle he hadn't expected to find.
"You'reenjoyingthis," he said, and it sounded like an accusation.
"No!" I said, too quickly. "Absolutely not. I'm terrified. Look at my hands." I held up my free hand, which was, in fact, shaking. "See? Trembling. Classic fear response."
His gaze dropped to my hand, then back to my face. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to make my stomach do something stupid.
"You're shaking," he agreed slowly, "but you're alsowet."
I choked on my own spit. "Excuse me?!"
"I can smell it." He said it matter-of-factly, like he was commenting on the weather. "The fear is there, but underneath... arousal. You like the knife. You like the danger."
My face was on fire. My entire body was on fire. I was going to die of embarrassment before he even got the chance to kill me. "That's—that's a medical condition. I have a condition. It's called 'none of your business' and it's very serious."
Behind him, someone laughed. It was a woman's laugh, low and musical, and it cut through the tension like a blade of a different kind. "Oh, let her go, Lucien. She's clearly not a threat. Unless you count her fashion sense."
The man—Lucien—didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on mine, and I watched something warring behind them. The predator wanted to bite. The man wanted... something else.
"Lucien." The silver-eyed one—Darius, definitely Darius—spoke now, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Stand down."
Lucien's jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Then, with a sound that was more animal than human, he pulled back. The knife disappeared into a sheath at his hip, but he didn't step away. He stayed close, his body still caging mine against the tree, his breath warm against my forehead.
"She interrupted the ritual," he growled, not looking away from me. "She's seen too much."
"Then we'll deal with it." Darius's voice was calm, controlled, utterly unshaken. "But not like this."
I risked a glance past Lucien's shoulder. The other figures had lowered their hoods now, revealing faces that ranged from ethereally beautiful to unsettlingly otherworldly. The woman who had laughed—tall, willowy, with black hair that seemed to drink the moonlight and green eyes that practically glowed—was watching me with open amusement. Beside her stood a man with hair so white it looked like spun silver, his skin pale and luminous, his golden eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made Lucien's stare seem casual.
"We can't just let her go," Lucien argued, finally stepping back. The loss of his heat was almost physical. "She's seen the wards. She knows about the ritual."
"She knows we were chanting in a forest," the white-haired man said, his voice smooth as velvet. "Hardly damning evidence."
"She booped me."
I blinked. "I what?"
