Feyre was being watched. That much, she knew. By whom, or why, she had no idea. She paced the clearing, wondering if she should contact Rhys, when a large, meaty hand clapped over her mouth, another held an ash knife to her throat, and a familiar voice said, "Don't move." Her eyes widened as she smelled an unnaturally sweet scent. Faebane. She hissed between her teeth as she tried to summon her gifts, to no avail. "Oh, you didn't really think I was going to let my prize escape that easily, did you? After all, Feyre, you are mine now."