"Feyre."
I whirled, arrow nocked and aimed at the source of the voice—
Four Spring Court sentinels stalked from the trees behind me like wraiths, armed to the teeth and wide—eyed. Two, I knew: Bron and Hart.
And between them stood Lucien.
If I wanted to escape, I could either face the stream or face them. But Lucien …
His red hair was tied back, and there wasn't a hint of finery on him: just armored leather, swords, knives … His metal eye roamed over me, his golden skin pale. "We've been hunting for you for over two months," he breathed, now scanning the woods, the stream, the sky.
Rhys. Cauldron save me. Rhys was too far back, and—
"How did you find me?" My steady, cold voice wasn't one I recognized. But—hunting for me. As if I were indeed prey.
If Tamlin was here … My blood went icier than the freezing rain now sluicing down my face, into my clothes.
"Someone tipped us off you'd been out here, but it was luck that we caught your scent on the wind, and—" Lucien took a step toward me.
I stepped back. Only three feet between me and the stream.
Lucien's eye widened slightly. "We need to get out of here. Tamlin's been—he hasn't been himself. I'll take you right to—"
"No," I breathed.
The word rasped through the rain, the stream, the pine forest.
The four sentinels glanced between each other, then to the arrow I kept aimed.
Lucien took me in again.
And I could see what he was now gleaning: the Illyrian fighting leathers. The color and fullness that had returned to my face, my body.
And the silent steel of my eyes.
"Feyre," he said, holding out a hand. "Let's go home."
I didn't move. "That stopped being my home the day you let him lock me up inside of it."
Lucien's mouth tightened. "It was a mistake. We all made mistakes. He's sorry—more sorry than you realize. So am I." He stepped toward me, and I backed up another few inches.
Not much space remained between me and the gushing waters below.
Cassian's training crashed into me, as if all the lessons he'd been drilling into me each morning were a net that caught me as I free—fell into my rising panic. Once Lucien touched me, he'd winnow us out. Not far—he wasn't that powerful—but he was fast. He'd jump miles away, then farther, and farther, until Rhys couldn't reach me. He knew Rhys was here.
"Feyre," Lucien pleaded, and dared another step, his hand outraised.
My arrow angled toward him, my bowstring groaning.
I'd never realized that while Lucien had been trained as a warrior, Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Rhys were warriors. Cassian could wipe Lucien off the face of the earth in a single blow.
"Put the arrow down," Lucien murmured, like he was soothing a wild animal.
Behind him, the four sentinels closed in. Herding me.
The High Lord's pet and possession.
"Don't," I breathed. "Touch. Me."
"You don't understand the mess we're in, Feyre. We—I need you home. Now."
I didn't want to hear it. Peering at the stream below, I calculated my odds.
The look cost me. Lucien lunged, hand out. One touch, that was all it'd take—
I was not the High Lord's pet any longer.
And maybe the world should learn that I did indeed have fangs.
Lucien's finger grazed the sleeve of my leather jacket.
And I became smoke and ash and night.
The world stilled and bent, and there was Lucien, lunging so slowly for what was now blank space as I stepped around him, as I hurtled for the trees behind the sentinels.
I stopped, and time resumed its natural flow. Lucien staggered, catching himself before he went over the cliff—and whirled, eye wide to discover me standing a few feet away from him. I silently cursed, realizing that my winnowing was off, and I didn't get far enough. He stared at me in horror as dark, membranous wings grew from my back and talons formed at my fingertips. I snarled at him.
"Feyre— what— what did you do to yourself?" He backed up a step.
"When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back."
I quickly glanced around, frantically calling Rhys to find me. His answering telepathic roar told me he was looking for me. The look cost me, I realized, as Lucien grabbed me and winnowed us away.
No! Rhys screamed, aloud and into my head.
I kicked and screamed as Lucien kept a tight hold on me and winnowed us from place to place.
It's so I can't track you, and get to you before you land in the Spring Court. Rhys's voice was hoarse inside my brain.
We landed in a field of flowers near the manor. I wriggled out of Lucien's grip and spun on my heel. I shot an arrow at him and he dived out of the way, the arrow only nicking him. He looked at me in horror.
"Feyre," he pleaded. "Please."
I responded by attacking, swinging my arms at him like Cassian taught me. I could almost hear his voice, Keep your eyes on your opponent. Breathe out on every punch. Timed impact. Keep your balance. Cover with your opposite hand. As I fought Lucien with my body, I sent out attacks of power to the other four sentinels, who were joined by two more guards. Darkness and fire and ice and water and earth and wind and light… the seven courts of Prythian. But before I could unleash myself unto the guards, Rhys spoke to me. Don't show all your power. If they think you are more weak, that gives you an edge. Fight with only night— it's what they'll have expected me to train you in— but nothing more than that. I agreed with him, and lashed out with tendrils of night. I had taken out four sentries, only Bron, Hart, and Lucien remained. I kept fighting, whipping out a dagger once my arrows ran out, and lunged for Lucien. He sidestepped me and I winnowed before I could fall flat on my face. Winnowing— of course! I reached into that power inside me, willing it to take me back to Rhys. I winnowed— but only a few feet. It appeared that I couldn't winnow long ways without training yet. I cursed and whirled back to the males. Before I could attack, something cool and metal pressed into the back of my neck. No! Rhys cried. I spun around to face my attacker and caught a glimpse of gold hair and sorrowful green eyes that I hated so much before everything went black.