Her pointed nails pricked my face. “He belongs to me in ways you cannot conceive.”

Zak, who’d already walked away, glanced over his shoulder. Seeing us, he stopped.

“Lallakai, don’t—” he began sharply.

She stepped back from me. With a pretty little smile, she threw her hands up. Shadows swirled out from her arms and blurred into feathered wings. The rest of her body rippled and shimmered. The eagle took form. Her wing smacked into my head, almost knocking me over as she soared away.

Flying past me, she banked sharply—and shot at Zak. His eyes widened in the instant before the huge eagle swept into him. Her body sank into his, disappearing, and shadows spilled off him like pooling fog.

He staggered backward, his shocked eyes inhumanly bright with fae power. A low sound of pain caught in his throat as he regained his balance.

I rushed to his side. “Zak? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, breathing harder than normal. “Lallakai is just in a mood.”

He strode away, and I followed with my teeth gritted. Whatever the hell had just happened, “fine” didn’t seem like the appropriate word. He’d told her not to possess him, and she’d done it anyway—and not in a nice, gentle way either.

As we drew closer to the woods, I realized the destruction that had ravaged the farm ended in an unnaturally perfect line at the forest’s boundary. The snow-dusted leaf litter crunched loudly as we walked into the dappled moonlight under the canopy of branches.

A glimpse of shadow out of the corner of my eye.

From between the trees, a shaggy black varg ghosted closer, its red eyes fixed on Zak. On our other side, a second varg kept pace. Farther out, a third trotted along, its nose to the ground. With the faintest crinkle of disturbed leaves, a fourth one cut out of the undergrowth and swerved toward Zak. He rested his hand on its shoulders, fingers curling into its fur, and it paced beside him for a few steps before veering back into the brush.

I knew the moment Zak had reached his intended destination. I didn’t need to ask. There was no mistaking that this was his goal.

The fir tree wouldn’t have been particularly remarkable among the hundreds of others if not for the charred black fissure that split the broad trunk from roots to crown. It was large—so broad that Zak and I together couldn’t have stretched our arms all the way around the trunk—but it would grow no larger. Deep inside the long crevasse gouged into the trunk, the scorched heartwood glowed faintly; it was still burning deep inside.

“That bitch,” he hissed.

He laid both palms against the bark, then leaned forward until his forehead touched it. Eyes closed, he murmured too softly for me to hear. The waxy needles of the surrounding coniferous trees rustled in the breeze, the sound rising and falling.

Under Zak’s hands, the bark blurred. Slowly, he sank his hands into the tree, then his forearms. Still murmuring unknown words, he opened his eyes and pulled. The bark rippled, deformed. He drew it toward himself.

As familiar shapes formed inside the distortion, part of the tree separated from the trunk. Cradling it against his chest, he sank to his knees.

I crept closer, staring.

A child lay in his lap. Supporting her with one arm, he gently combed dull green hair the texture of straw away from her face. Her huge eyes, almost the same color as Twiggy’s but flat and empty, were half lidded and unfocused. Thin legs, the color of bark, sprawled limply on the forest floor.

Her petite hand fluttered up and he caught it, placing it over his heart.

“You … returned,” she whispered in the high voice of a young girl.

“I did,” he murmured. “But I came too late.”

“I could not … protect it …”

“You did everything you could.”

“She is powerful.” A trembling breath. “Be wary, druid.”

“I will make her pay, Marara, I promise.”

She smiled weakly, eyelids flickering. “Druid … she took your first treasure, but she … did not think to search … for a second. I hid it … deep enough.”

He combed her hair back again. “You’re amazing, Marara.”

“Take it now, druid. I waited … for your return, but I am … so tired.”

He looked up. “Tori.”

Throat so tight I couldn’t even swallow, I crossed to his side and knelt. He lifted the frail woodland fae from his lap into mine. I held her small, inhuman body, her skin the texture of wind-worn bark.

“Stay with her,” he murmured. “I’ll be quick.”

I nodded, too numb to ask where he was going as he rose and faced the tree. Again, he pressed his hands to the bark. His arms sunk into the shimmering surface, then he stepped into the tree and disappeared.

My jaw fell open so hard it popped.

“You … are human …”

I dragged my stare down to the fae. She gazed at me with a glimmer of curiosity.

“A human … but you have known fae. You … have been marked.”

My forehead scrunched. “Marked?”

“As a … friend of fae.”

“Do you mean my familiar mark?”

“I see that, too. But the mark of friendship … is different. It means … you are safe … to approach.” She smiled faintly. “Humans are silly. We write messages to each other upon them, and they … suspect nothing.”

I blinked dumbly.

“Are you … a friend of the druid?”

“Yes,” I said softly.

“That … is good. He needs … a … friend.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I am so tired … He must … hurry.”

“Zak, she said to hurry!”

He didn’t reappear. A soft, trembling breath slid from her. Her slight frame seemed to deflate.

“Zak!” I yelled.

The bark twenty-five feet up the tree blurred. Zak’s head and torso appeared, and he pushed out of the trunk. The instant he came free, he dropped. Shadowy wings lifted off his arms and spread wide, slowing his fall. He landed with a thud, and as the wings sank back over his arms, he hurried to us.

“Marara,” he said, kneeling beside her.

“Did you … recover it?”

“Yes, I have it.”

“I will sleep now.”

“Yes.” He cupped her cheek. “I’ll feed your roots one last time.”

“That … would be … a sweet gift.”

He scooped her off my lap and laid her against her tree’s roots. She rested her head against the burnt fissure, tangled hair catching on the bark.

Reaching around his back, he slid a knife from his belt and nudged his sleeve up. He ran the knife across his wrist, just below the lowermost circle tattoo. Blood spilled off his arm, splattering on the tree roots beside the fae.

She sighed. “Thank you, druid.”

“Sleep well, Marara.”

He held his bleeding wrist above the roots. Another deep exhalation slid from her … and she didn’t inhale again. Her diminutive body sank against the roots, limbs stiffening and the rough texture of her skin growing more pronounced.

As her body hardened like the bark it so resembled, he whispered, “And thank you.”

Tucking the knife away, he pressed his thumb into the bleeding cut and straightened. Together, he and I watched her body slowly merge with her tree. After a few minutes, I could just make out her shape among the roots, her slumbering face a round hump with the faintest indents for eyes.

“Tori,” he said heavily. “Could you grab that?”

I looked around. A square of purple fabric lay on the thin dusting of snow where he’d landed after leaping from the tree. I picked it up, its weight surprising me. Not that it was heavy, just heftier than I’d expected for a folded cloth small enough to sit on my palm.

“What is this?” I asked.

He gazed tiredly at the woodland fae and her tree, then straightened his shoulders. “The Carapace of Valdurna.”

Chapter Twelve

Returning to Vancouver via dragonflight was fast but just as uncomfortable as the first time, the icy wind burning my face and numbing my limbs. It was a relief to be back among city lights, but I wasn’t a fan of the exhaust fumes or the prevailing stench of garbage.

I looked to the left. Looked to the right. Scowled and planted my hands on my hips. “Zak.”

“What, Tori?”

“Where the hell are we?”

“The Eastside.”

I made a face at the druid’s back as we walked. His hood was up again, and he’d added black leather gloves to complete his villain outfit.

“Let me rephrase: Why are we in the Eastside and not, say, at my house? Or Aaron’s house?” I kicked a beer bottle off the sidewalk. “Or, you know, somewhere not unpleasant.”

When it came to unpleasant neighborhoods, the Eastside was an award winner. A mix of commercial, industrial, and scarily rundown apartment buildings bordered the streets, their walls tagged with ugly graffiti. It was so late—or so early—that there was no traffic. Only the annoyingly frigid winter wind rustling garbage broke the silence.

“If you want to go home,” Zak replied, “call a cab.”

“Oh, let me just grab my phone and do that right now.” I slapped my hips, my pockets empty—or almost empty. But no phone. That was at Aaron’s house, along with my artifacts. “Why don’t you lend me your phone? Oh wait, you don’t have one either.”

“Temper, temper.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’ve only had a few hours of sleep in the last two days. I’m tired.”

“And cranky.”

“Damn right,” I snarled. Extending my stride, I fell into step beside him so I could glare more effectively. “Why didn’t you have Echo drop us off at Aaron’s house?”

Shadows filled his hood, masking his face. “Because I have things to do here.”

“Like what?”