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“A stroll, Miss Foxglove,” he said when she shot him a look. “What a wicked turn of thought you have.”

Briar had never punched a man in the nose in her entire life.

Or cursed him with a rash, or turned his mighty, dreaded warship pink.

But she was currently considering all three with a great deal of enthusiasm. She was twisted up with irritation, uncertainty, and an unhealthy lick of desire.

Damn the man.

He had stolen the amulet right out of her stays. She was mildly impressed. She supposed it was easy work for a Crow. It was what they did, after all. Stealing things like a murder of crows. She wondered if she should feel more betrayed. But mostly she just felt the need for revenge. Something that would make him want her as much as she wanted him, that would twist him up so she would not be alone with these uncomfortable feelings.

Because although he had stolen from her, he had not bothered lying about it. He could have taken off with the amulet, continued his own investigation. Held her sister hostage. A frisson of fear went through her, but she dismissed it. Her instinct said she could trust him with this. Her swan agreed. The tea leaves. Even Bramble. And Bramble did not even entirely trust Briar.

And he’d already had many chances to trip her up but had not done so. Instead he’d carried her up the stairs to bed when she could not manage the stairs. He’d flooded Charles’s shop and then set it on fire. He’d broken a man’s ribs in her orchard.

And he had given the amulet back.

She was under no illusion that she could have physically forced him to do so. With her magic, perhaps, given enough time. And a proper batch of stinging nettle or deadly nightshade vines. And she realized he could just steal it back at any point in time.

But he’d been truly proud of her when she admitted she had found both pieces. She had seen it in his face.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she turned away from the cottage.

“For a walk.”

“Alone?” he demanded.

She pointed above her head, without having to look up. “He’s coming with me.”

Ethan’s dragon circled over her. She would not even need a lantern. His glow, added to the moonlight, silvered the ground under her feet. Ethan nodded once. He faded into the shadows, all except for the glint of his eyes and his weapons. He looked fierce, severe. Ruthless, even just standing there.

Alone.

She sighed. “Well? Are you coming?”

He fell into step beside her without a word. Her body tingled at his nearness when he opened the wooden gate for her. It creaked on its hinges. “On the night before the solstice, we count fireflies,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“For good luck until the winter solstice,” she explained. “And I clearly need all of the luck I can get,” she muttered. Of course, the last time she had followed a Haven tradition for luck, she had walked into a herd of kelpies.

They crossed the fields, the long grass dotted with stonecrop and yellow gorse. It smelled like earth and flowers and the salt of the sea. Like home. The pond she took him to was a shallow mirror, tucked into a small valley. No one bothered to come out here much, which suited Briar just fine. A toad plopped into the water, disgruntled at the interruption. Ethan frowned, keeping his body angled between Briar and the water. “Any Shellycoats in these hills?” he asked.

Shellycoats were cousins to kelpies who preferred rivers to the sea, but had the same penchant for murdering unwary swimmers who crossed into their territories. They wore coats covered with shells that clacked when they pounced. Some were said to be friendly, but you could never be certain until it was too late.

“They mostly stick to the edges of the moors and down by Hallow,” she replied. “The most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen here is a duck.”

And Ethan, of course. He was dangerous in so many ways.

“Any unicorns? They do like to do some damage with those horns.”

“They prefer Holdfast,” Briar said. “This is a sleepy little pond no one bothers with very much. It’s too quiet. Boring.”

His dragon circled once more before settling onto a hillock, head raised and alert. Snapdragon streaked behind him, finally settling on the dragon’s back as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Briar’s cheeks warmed and she refused to look at Ethan. Familiars weren’t supposed to flirt with each other, for the moon’s sake. Were they? But her swan had never looked more comfortable. And the dragon did not try to swallow it whole in retribution, so she supposed it was fine.

Embarrassing, but fine.

She turned back to the pond, waiting for the fireflies to come out of hiding. The arrival of a dragon, corporeal or not, sent most living creatures scurrying for cover. It was not long before a yellow-green flash of light drifted from the grasses, from the marsh marigolds. One, then two, then a hundred.