Chapter 1
Druid.
The rough voice slithered into my head, and my feet stopped moving. I gazed down at the dirt between my hiking boots, then slowly looked up to find a sunlit path bordered by towering trees.
Confusion bubbled in the pit of my stomach.
The unfamiliar voice pushed into my mind a second time. You are a druid, yes?
My stare rose. Perched on a branch twenty feet above the trail, a large black raven tilted its head side to side in question.
“I’m not a druid.” As I spoke, disorienting memories clawed through my detached daze, challenging my flat statement.
I would treat with you, druid, the raven said.
“I’m not a druid.”
Not a druid? The bird ruffled its feathers. You insult me.
“I—”
I sense your power.
“I’m not—”
The raven let out a furious caw that shattered the quiet with unnatural volume, and the ear-splitting sound obliterated my numb detachment. My senses snapped back, my awareness sharpening and adrenaline dumping into my veins.
I retreated a step, my left arm jostling in its sling, and took in the towering spruce and fir trees bordering the dirt trail. Where was I?
Clacking its beak, the raven spread its wings threateningly. I came to treat, and you insult me. A disrespectful druid does not deserve the courtesy of a bargain.
“Wait—”
I will take my boon instead.
It leaped off the branch, and my right hand shot into the pocket of my jeans for the handle of my switchblade. But my pocket was empty.
The bird flew at me, and as it came, its body changed—swelling to four times its original size as a second pair of enormous black wings split from the first. Two more heads sprouted from its massive shoulders.
I leaped sideways and landed in an awkward roll. Pain flared through my cracked collarbone. As the raven’s huge, curved talons tore through the earth where I’d been standing, my back slammed into a tree, my limbs positioned wrong to leap up.
The bird pivoted to face me, its four gargantuan wings stretched out, caging me against the tree. Its three avian heads with red crests lowered menacingly, beaks open and forked tongues darting out.
Delicious druid, three voices croaked in my head.
It reared back to strike—and coldness rushed over me.
In a flash of white feathers, an albino hawk plummeted out of the sky, talons extended. He crashed full tilt into the raven’s broad back, and thick shards of ice burst from beneath his feet. The raven screamed in either fury or agony as the ice rushed over its entire body, encasing everything except its four broad wings. Its hoarse cry cut off, leaving my ears ringing.
Pale azure light rippled over the hawk’s feathers. The temperature plunged. Frost bloomed across every surface, the air sparkled with tiny ice crystals, and the raven’s icy prison creaked and groaned.
Then it exploded.
I recoiled as ice peppered me—ice and frozen black feathers. The frosted shards tumbled to the ground, and with them, pieces of the raven. Its body had shattered along with the ice.
The white hawk fluttered to the path, landing at my feet, and fixed a steady, blue-eyed stare on mine.
Saber.
Ríkr’s low, clear voice was so familiar, yet now that I’d heard it with my ears instead of only inside my head, it sounded like a stranger’s.
You have … returned, he added, a slight hesitation on the last word.
I knew why he’d faltered over his word choice. He wasn’t referring to my physical whereabouts; he was talking about my mental state. I’d “returned” to normal.
This wasn’t the first time I’d dissociated and lost track of the world around me, but I didn’t usually end up in the middle of a forest with no clear recollection of how I’d gotten there. Pushing forward onto my knees, I glanced around for a landmark.
We must speak, dove, Ríkr said after a moment. It cannot wait any longer.
“Speak?” I repeated roughly, my attention swinging back to him. “We aren’t going to speak. I never want to hear your lying voice again.”
As you’ve told me several times, but I disregarded those commands, as I will for every foolish order you may deign to throw at me.
Rage ignited in my chest, and a familiar grind of impending violence scraped across my ribs. “You’ve been deceiving me for seven years, and now you’re calling me foolish?” I shoved to my feet, my teeth bared at the fae. “You arrogant, lying son of a—”
There are no bitches in my lineage, he interrupted. But I will admit my unfortunate predilection for both arrogance and deception.
I sucked in air through my nose. Straightening my sling, I strode away from him, hoping it was the opposite direction to wherever I’d been heading before returning to my senses. I had no idea where I was.
Straining my mind, I sorted through vague memories from the past day or two—feeding the rescue’s animals, eating dinner with Dominique and Greta, and meandering around the pastures. It was like watching old video footage through a dirty window with no sound. I recognized the places and activities, but I felt no connection to the memories.
The last clear memory I had was of the orchard covered in ice. I vividly remembered the cold against my skin, the sharp sting of Lallakai’s claws at my throat, and Ríkr’s voice in my ears as he’d warned her to keep her hands off his druid.
His druid.
Meaning me.
Saber.
Footfalls padded after me in a four-legged rhythm, and I glanced angrily over my shoulder to find a white-furred, blue-eyed coyote. At the sight of his canine form, a fresh wave of disbelieving horror crashed over me, just like in the orchard when I’d realized the depth of his deceptions.
Saber, he repeated firmly, projecting his telepathic voice into my mind. We need to speak, if for no other reason than more fae will seek you out, and we must—
“We aren’t doing anything. Leave me alone, Ríkr.”
I will not. The coyote trotted up to my side, one azure eye canted up toward me. I will not casually abandon my role as your guardian now, just as I have not these past four days.
I missed a step. “Four days?”
He was silent for a moment. Too much accosted you in too short a time. Your mind retreated.
My chest expanded with a deep breath, and I blew the air out slowly. I didn’t normally dissociate for that long, and fear for my mental state unfurled in my gut—but I quashed the feeling. In a matter of days, my entire life had been uprooted, my home and freedom had been threatened, and my past had become my present. I’d regained my repressed memories all at once, reliving the worst betrayal of my life as though it’d happened that very day instead of ten years ago. Shortly afterward, I’d battled the heart-stealing Dullahan for my life.
The final straw had come two days later: the revelation that Ríkr, the only being I’d trusted without question, had been lying to me since the day we met. I didn’t remember much beyond that, so I must’ve dissociated afterward.
“I won’t forgive you,” I barked at my familiar.
I deceived you, he replied, but I also protected you—for seven years. Is that worth nothing?
I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear more of your lies.”
He darted in front of me, forcing me to a halt on the path. Whether you want to hear what I must say is irrelevant. The raven fae is a harbinger of what will come, dove. You cannot hide from this.
“Hide from what?”
Yourself. His ears swiveled toward the surrounding forest. You cannot hide from the power within you that is calling my kin from miles yonder.
“What power?”
Your druidic energy.
“I’m not a druid.” I stepped around him to continue down the path. I still didn’t know where I was. Dappled sunlight warmed the top of my head, and I guessed it was mid-afternoon. Depending on when I’d begun this trek, I could be anywhere.
The soft thump of paws followed me. You are a druid, dove. I found you seven years ago by following the call of your power.
“I’m a witch,” I said flatly. “I’ve been a witch my whole life. My parents were witches. They would’ve known if I was a druid.”
I have no explanation for what your parents taught you, but to my senses, your true nature is utterly unmistakable.
“Then your senses are wrong. I’m a witch. A weak, incompetent witch who can barely perform a balancing ritual.”
Of course you struggle with the banal rituals of witches. Druids neither need nor use them. A pause. And you were weak due to my interference.
“What the hell does that mean?”
You had no power because I was consuming it.
I stopped dead on the trail. “You were what?”
Consuming your druidic energy, as my kind does. The white coyote padded up beside me, and his clear, vibrant blue eyes met mine. By sunrise following our first meeting, I had devoured all your power but the faintest spark. Every day hence, I drained it as swiftly as it welled within you.
My heart thudded in my throat, choking me. “You … were stealing … my power?” My good hand curled into a tight fist. “You fucking leech.”
He’d been feeding off me like a goddamn vampire? If he was right that I was a druid, that explained why I hadn’t suspected I was anything more than a witch. He’d been draining me of power since we met, and before that, I’d spent three years in prison with my magic suppressed like all the other convicts. And before that …
Before that, I’d always worn the river-stone pendant my parents had given me, which had hidden my spiritual energy from fae.
You do not recall, do you?
My focus snapped back to Ríkr. “Recall what?”
The wish you shared with me the day we met. You said you wished nothing more than to be a normal person and live a normal life.
A flicker of memory danced through my mind: sitting on a fallen log, looking out at the mountains bathed in the first sunset I’d seen in three years. I’d been thinking about the impossible task of assimilating into a coven of witches who all knew I was a murderer.
I had told Ríkr I wished to live a normal life, but I’d been referring to being a convict, not a druid.
The breeze ruffled his white fur. You told me your desire, and I granted it. I rendered you as human as possible, so never would you possess enough power to interfere in your pursuit of a “normal” life.
Shock and fury battled inside me. “And you did that purely out of the goodness of your fae heart, did you?”
Oh, it was highly beneficial to me, he replied without the slightest hint of contrition. We both benefited, dove. I gave you the simple life you desired, free of the dangers that come with your power, and devoted myself to protecting you since I was depriving you of the means to protect yourself.
I forced my feet back into motion, leaving him to follow. His explanation was very … Ríkr. He hadn’t apologized because he felt no guilt. The benefits to us both, as he measured them, far outweighed the harm he’d done to me.
His telepathic voice brushed my mind, quiet and determined. Though I did not share the nature of our bargain with you, I have held to it all these years. I protected the life you were building.
I couldn’t respond. It was too much to process when I’d barely begun to grasp the magnitude of his actions, of how he’d shaped my life over the past seven years—and what my life would have looked like if he hadn’t.
“What changed?” I asked abruptly. “Why did that raven fae attack me?”
He trotted up beside me again, his furred tail held low and still like a wolf’s. I haven’t consumed your spiritual energy since Lallakai’s assault. Your power builds, and it calls my kin to you.
“You stole my power for seven years. Why stop now?”
His ears flicked with surprise. Consuming your power was only a boon to you when you believed yourself a witch. To continue now would benefit me alone.
“So you want my permission?”
Permission?
“To consume my power.”
I am not seeking your permission. You need to establish your territory and arm yourself with offensive magic to—
“No.” My limbs tingled with low-level adrenaline. “I don’t want a territory or fae drooling over me like I’m a dinner buffet. I don’t want to be a druid.”
But you are, and you cannot unknow that.
“You know what it took for me to build this life—appeasing the coven, making it through college, getting a job, fitting in at the clinic. I finally have a life I enjoy and a home where I want to be. I won’t lose that. A druid can’t live with humans or volunteer at a rescue or fly under the radar. I don’t want any part of that life.”
But you do want power. You always have.
I slashed a glare at him. “Do you still want my druid energy?”
I do not want to deprive you of your only defense against my kin.
“You would be my defense. That’s what you’ve been doing all along, isn’t it?”
Does this query mean you wish us to remain companions?
I hesitated. Was that what I wanted? To put myself back in his power, knowingly and willingly? To put my entire life in the hands of a fae I’d known for seven years—but barely knew at all?
Halting on the path, I pressed my lips together. “How can I ever trust you? How do I know you aren’t hiding more secrets from me?”
I am most assuredly hiding more secrets. He gazed up at me, his canine face revealing nothing. I have centuries of secrets to keep and no intention of revealing them all to anyone, especially a human.
My eyes widened. Centuries of secrets? How old was he?
Not even to my favorite fierce and bloodthirsty druid, he added regretfully.
I stood for a moment longer, then continued forward. As the trail curved, I spotted a tangle of fallen trees I recognized as part of Lodge Trail in Minnekhada Regional Park, not far from the rescue. Reassured, I picked up my pace; the trailhead was only a few hundred meters away.
“Who are you, really?” I asked the coyote, who was easily keeping pace with my long strides.
Would you like the condensed version, he asked with a cant of his head, or the painfully detailed one?
“The whole thing.”
I warn you, the tale is dry, sordid, and paints a poor image of my long-ago grandeur.
I snorted. “Have you always been such a pompous ass?”
For time immemorial, dove. You are not the first to describe me so.
“I probably won’t be the last either.”
I hope not.
My calves burned with exertion as I strode into a small gravel parking lot. A familiar quad waited for me, and when I dug into my pocket, I found the keys.
“I need to think about all this,” I told him, stopping beside the quad. “If you still want to be my familiar, then consider this your trial period. Prove to me why I should trust you—and if you lie to me again, we’re done forever.”
He flicked his ears thoughtfully. Two caveats. First, I reserve my right to privacy. I will be forthcoming only with knowledge and intentions directly relevant to you and your future.
I considered that, then nodded. “Fine.”
Second, this will not be a “trial period” for my role as your familiar. That designation has expired. His blue eyes sharpened. It shall be a trial for your role as my consort.
His words took a moment to sink in. “My role?” I repeated incredulously. “As your consort?”
I offer now to take you as my druid consort, he declared formally. And before you attempt to pummel the life from me, I would add it is not a relationship of undue intimacy. It is a commitment of mutual protection and empowerment.
“Empowerment?”
A blue shimmer rippled over him, and he shrank into the form of an albino hawk.
So, dove, dedicate this time to your assessment of me and what I offer. His white wings spread, and he launched off the ground. I will await your answer with eager patience.
I squinted up at him as he spiraled into the sky, the sun burning my eyes and my head reeling.
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