I don't bother going to bed again, but I draw myself another bath and take a good, long soak. Try as I might to forget the feel of Bela's lips on my neck, I have an enormous bruise where she'd bitten me. After bathing, I dress and sit at the vanity to braid my hair.

I open the drawers, searching for a scarf or something to cover the bruise peeking over the collar of my blue tunic, but then pause and glare at myself in the mirror. She'd acted like a brute and a savage, and if she's come to her senses by this morning, then seeing what she'd done would be minimal punishment.

Sniffing, I open the collar of my plum-colored tunic farther and tuck stray strands of my cornsilk hair behind my ears so there will be no concealing it. I am beyond cowering.

I honestly don't expect her to even show up today – if she experiences aftereffects like we 'humans' do, then I might not even see her at all today.

I take apart the snare I'd set up by my door before grabbing my bow and empty sheath of arrows. As per Dimitrescu's policy, I have to drop off my weapons into Duke's room at the end of every hunt. Of course they don't trust me with weapons outside of my duties, and I don't hold my breath at the thought if they ever will. But I sling both the bow and quiver along my back, draping the rope across my chest.

Humming to myself and swinging my hands, I stride downstairs and follow my nose to the dining room, and into the kitchen. To my dismay, Kathryn is working the cauldron while Gretta and Nadine are chopping up a small pile of vegetables at the center table. Bianca is already working on some pastries – assuming from the fruit-sweetened smell – as she slides in a large wooden paddle into the oven.

Upon hearing my footsteps, all the women stiffen as they look in my direction. Gretta, Nadine, and Bianca smile with relief and genuine contentment, while Kathryn snarls and resumes her work. The fact that she hasn't already kicked me out is, progress, I suppose. Or perhaps she's just given up.

"Morning Erika." Gretta chirps.

"Morning. Mind if I grab something?" I glance over towards Kathryn. Still no wisecracks.

Gretta wipes her hands in her apron. "What can I make you?" She advances towards me for what I assume is a hug, but stops short as her eyes flick to my neck. They widen, but I continue to pull up a stool and sit at the table; Bianca and Nadine across from me. "What happened?" asks Gretta, and I suppress my own grin as I hear her own lips turn upwards.

I pluck a piece of celery before Bianca can slap my hand. "Bela was drunk last night."

"Off of what?" she says with a pout, clocking my thievery and scoops the rest into a bowl.

"I don't really want to know." I look to them and find Bianca smiling, but Nadine's eyes are widened – her stare is hardened, her hands having paused their work. At first, I think she's looking past me, but no, she's starting directly at my neck. I notice her knuckles turning white as she grips the knife.

Gretta has moved to prepare me a small glass of orange juice and some slices of apple. She pulls a couple of eggs from the cooling box and a pan from the overhang before heading over to the stove. She stirs a couple of coals before cracking the eggs into a bowl and begins rhythmically whisking.

"At least that's the only thing she did, but why would she do it?" Bianca asks, moving on to a few leaves of cilantro.

"I was at the party, yesterday" – to this, the women turn their heads to me – "and at the time of the after party, Bela had sent me to my rooms. She showed up at my doors and bit me."

Of course I'm not going to share every detail with them, especially because I don't want them uniting against me for not doing anything. On the other hand, they should understand the hopelessness that comes with this castle.

"I'd heard about your little, costume." Gretta grins, dumping the eggs in a pan with some minced onion and mushrooms. "Heard you looked amazing."

I take a few gulps from the orange juice, nibbling on a couple pieces of apple. "Who said that?"

"Gabby did." says Bianca, "We caught her in the halls, and she was so excited about it. Called you . . . oh what was it?"

"Death's Consort." Nadine says quietly. Neither of the girls seems to notice, but I straighten a little as she keeps eyeing me in between her chopping.

I pour myself some water and drink deeply from the goblet before Gretta comes over with a steaming omelet. I smile at her and take a bite of food, and feel Nadine's eyes travel inexorably to my neck.

I do my best to occupy myself with eating while Bianca and Gretta talk about the meals they'll be preparing, and a little bit of gossip about the other servants. All the while, I feel Nadine eyeing my neck, like she herself wants to bits at it and rip Bela's mark from my skin. I had an odd feeling when she was staring at me while I was running in the gardens, but I figured it was because I had been caught. But there's something else that lingers in her eyes; like a fog floating along a water's surface. She tries to appear indifferent, chiming into the others' conversation to appear as if she were listening.

By the time I've finished the omelet, I silently give her credit for not slicing off one of her fingers during the entire ordeal. Her staring is little more than disturbing, almost territorial.

Regardless, I pocket it in my mind for later before bidding the girls farewell. I don't bother saying goodbye to Kathryn. I know I should attempt to make a step towards mending whatever thin string of a relationship we had, but she's sunk too low for redemption. Best I can do now is tolerate her existence, and hover the threat of Bela's wrath over her should she piss me off.

I make my way over towards Duke's room, already spotting a warm candlelight wafting from the room like an ocean wave to shore. I step inside and see Bela preparing some gear. Duke's emporium is open, and he smiles as he gives a small wave. In his large hands is a pocket-sized ledger.

"Good afternoon," I say cheerfully, with an especially saccharine smile for the eldest daughter. She blinks at me, and murmurs her greetings as I continue to look over the compound bow he first introduced me to.

"You look . . . refreshed," Duke observes with a glance at Bela. I shrug. "Sleep well?"

"Like a babe."

"What is that bruise, my dear?" Duke asks.

I savor the tense silence as I continue to peruse his wares.

I jerk my chin towards Bela. "Ask her. She did it."

Duke looks from Bela to me and then back again. "Why does Erika have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asks with no small amount of amusement.

"I bit her," Bela says, not pausing as she wraps a scarf around her neck. "We ran into each other in the hall after the party."

I straighten. Looking to Duke, he holds out his hand and I give him my empty quiver. His eyebrows raise, the corner of his mouth tuning upwards in a belittling expression. "What?" I sneer.

In one smooth motion, he fills my quiver to the brim with arrows. "I presume you were given special orders that you chose to disobey?"

I yank it back from him as I mutter, "Traitor."

A couple of flies buzz around my head and I wave them off with an annoyed grunt. I don't bother looking over towards Bela and her shit-eating grin I know stretches across her face. "It doesn't excuse your behavior."

"I'm pretty sure it does. Even Duke knows not to disobey orders during a party."

I bite my tongue to stop my response. Duke is my friend, and I won't belittle him for the sake of winning an argument against her. "Whatever," I snipe. "Let's just get started."

There's no point in talking to her about last night. She doesn't really seem to regret it – though it doesn't look like it had much of an effect on her as it did me. She was drunk off of blood and wine, she might not even remember. Or she might want to forget that the whole thing even happened. Either way, I don't see a real reason to bring it up.

We make our way towards the front doors of the castle, ready to head out to the stables, and I yank open the door with a heavy grunt. The autumn wind sears against my cheeks, speckling my face with freckles of rainwater. The sky is overcast; the clouds a pale grey as though they are absorbing the sunlight, forbidding it from shining upon the castle and village.

I adjust my gear and turn to look at Bela, pausing as I find her stopped a couple of feet behind me. She looks troubled. "What's wrong?" I ask.

Bela takes careful steps towards the door, folding her arms. She looks out at the grey world and hisses. "It's cold."

"It is." I say so plainly. I take a step over the threshold. "Nice observation."

"I'm not going." Bela suddenly snipes.

I whirl around to her. "What? Why?"

"It's cold." She repeats with a little more bite.

"So just bundle up like before. What's the difference?" I'm already aggravated from last night's events, and Duke's slight betrayal, and she's picking now to start acting like a spoiled brat?

True, the temperatures have dropped over the last couple of weeks as autumn fully settles over the village and all inhabitants, but we've been bundling ourselves up with hats and gloves and scarves. It was never too . . . blistering. And the chilling rain doesn't help much, either.

But what's a few more layers of clothing? Especially with someone who can afford the warmest of furs. I've had plenty of seasons where I had to hunt in the cold. I didn't have a choice. But what was I expecting from a Dimitrescu daughter?

"Fine. I'll go hunting, and you can stay here."

"Does it bother you?"

Yes. Because I actually enjoy our hunts together, I think. Because I actually enjoy your company and the quiet and tranquility that comes with it in a world of noise and shadow.

But, not like I can tell her that.

"Even so, does it matter?" I bite before grabbing the door and hauling it shut with all my strength. "Go cuddle by a fire." I murmur, just before the door clangs against its threshold.

By now I can navigate the trail that Bela and I have taken over the course of these three months blind folded. My feet take me to our usual spot, the rain patting quietly against the fabric of the hood pulled over my head. Duke had given me a new jacket for the impending weather, at a discount no less. I decided against a horse today. I'd feel guilty just leaving it to stand in the rain for hours while I hunt. This way, I have only my misery to deal with.

The forest is quieter than normal. I imagine some of the inhabitants have decided to sleep in for the morning, hoping the rain will pass or wait until it has lightened to go and fetch their fill. There are some twitters and scampering about, but it's as if the denizens of this forest have been weighed down in drowsiness from the quiet rain.

Lucky little ones. Too bad my occupation doesn't allow me to sleep in.

Thankfully the moistened leaves silence my steps, allowing me a greater advantage of stealth. I tested this theory by sneaking up on a rabbit feasting upon a patch of clovers. I managed to get within ten feet of the little furball. I could've gotten closer, but I needed some amusement to lighten my mood. So I plucked the string of my bow, and it sent the rabbit bounding deeper into the woods.

Over the course of a couple of hours, I finish picking the rest of the strawberries from the patch Bela and I found. The winter won't leave much, so I might as well stock up on the easier-to-catch resources of the forest. I've set up a few snares as usual, even pulling a couple of fish from the river. If I'm lucky, one might have eggs and Lady Dimitrescu can enjoy some gamey caviar. No doubt they've already migrated up the river. It's one of many things I hate about winter – it's lack of resources of all kinds.

I don't even know if Lady Dimitrescu wants me to hunt through the winter. Or if she'd be fine with demoting me to her personal meat shopper, or something. Might as well prepare – and expect – for the worst. Their enjoyment for misery nearly rivals that of their bloodlust.

I come to the meadow that Bela and I have posted at so many times before now, the familiar space laced with a thick fog. By now, I can feel the rain beginning to soak through my jacket. A cold settling upon my shoulders like a frigid cloak. I need to get out of this weather. It's bad enough I can't see much with the fog, the rain also limits my hearing of any approaching game. And it won't be any better if my hands keep shaking from the cold. So, instead of climbing up the trees like I'm used to, I decide to scour the perimeter of the meadow for some kind of shelter.

Through luck, I find an abandoned bear den burrowed into the side of a hill. I double check to make sure its vacant before nestling down at the mouth. I wipe back the strands of hair that plastered to my forehead, the end of my braid dripping. I find bruising apple at the bottom of my pack and use my hunting knife to cut them into pieces. One by one, I toss them out into the open like coins to a wishing well. Once they're pretty scattered, I lie in wait.

For a moment, I quiet my mind and enjoy the moment of peace.

I'm actually out here, alone. There's nothing but me and the rain and the forest. I am actually alone.

I wonder what Lady Dimitrescu will say to Bela about that. The whole reason she went with me was to make sure I didn't just flee. Perhaps her not coming was a test. And while the temptation is there with this realization, I don't feel the urge to go anywhere. Not even the image of Lacy has my heart beating with drive.

I keep an arrow nocked in the string of the bow as I lay it at my side; the mouth of the cave is wide enough for two of me to lay here, shoulder to shoulder.

I wait at the mouth for another half hour, waiting for the scent of the apple to carry to some of the deer. It's too early in the season for them to start to wander too far into the woods, and an apple is surely better than tree bark.

But my half hour turns into a whole hour with nothing but heavier rain starting to come in. A downpour bound to be upon me in a matter of another hour.

I dig around the den and find some dry leaves, using them to see the direction of the wind in case my scent is getting carried, but I'm perfectly fine. The wind is going in the opposite direction of me. There's still some small chatter amongst the birds, most of the insects having retreated by now. The sound of the rain is relaxing; enough so that my eyes start to droop. I check my pocket watch – I'm not due at the castle for another couple of hours, and I'm sure my snares are bound to catch something.

I should start heading back to the castle for the sake of my health, but I've hunted in worse conditions. I decide to wait.

I slither a little bit deeper into the den, lowering my head to rest on my elbow, my other hand cast over the grip of the bow. Another heavy wave of rain pats along the roof of the den, its volume keeping me from completely slipping into sleep.

But then, as I focus on the ebbing patter, I realize . . . it's the only sound I hear.

My eyes fly open, and I flinch to my knees, grabbing the bow and holding it close to my side.

The rain is still pounding beyond the cave mouth. But the forest has gone quiet.

I uncoil to my feet, my hands gripping the bow with white knuckles, and creep to the narrow den entrance. With the rain and the fog, I can't make out anything. But every hair on my body is standing, and a growing reek is slithering in from the forest beyond. Like leather and carrion. Different from any other kind of game I've encountered. Older and earthier and . . . hungrier.

The silence deepens.

I slip into the drenched forest, stubbing my toes on rocks and roots as my eyes adjust to the darkening grey of the sky and churning fog. But I keep moving ahead — curving down and away from the familiar path.

I make it far enough that my cave is little more than am inkblot on the hill above, nothing too spectacular about it except for the bright red of the apple pieces I'd chucked onto the ground. I adjust the grip of my fingers as I angle my bow into a better position, about to continue on when I hear rustling.

It's a distinguished sound after hearing nothing but rain against leaves – and it's coming from my right. I kneel low and look.

A buck is making his way towards the den, towards the apples I'd left. Suspicion keeps me from immediately firing. How does he not know of the potential danger – and it's not just me.

The entire forest seems to be holding its breath, and he doesn't look so emaciated. Why would he risk coming here?

It stops before the darkened mouth of my cave, ears turning left and right. His nostrils flare. He senses something – he has to, but something is making him risk his life.

He leans his head down, beginning to munch on the pieces of apple.

Then the scream.

It sends chills down my spine, my blood running cold. Sounding like the combination of an owl's screech, and the bellow of a demon, it leaves my ears ringing.

My eyes have clenched shut, and I quickly look back at the buck who seems as frantic as I do, but before the buck can run, a hulking blur of grey pounces from the behind the roof of the cave onto his back.

The sounds the deer makes – the whining and screaming – is unlike anything I've ever heard. It chills me, makes my skin crawl and my stomach drop to my knees.

So much so that I drop my bow to clap my hands over my ears to block it out.

Barely helpful. It's muffled, but I can still hear it. Hear the buck crying for help that will never some, hear its fur and skin and muscle and tissue tear with a grating R-I-I-I-I-P. It's screams so agonizing, so horrid as it's torn apart limb from limb.

There's snarling, and the sound of flesh and blood sloshing everywhere.

There's more than one.

The buck's cries are sickening, worse when I hear it amplify before completely ceasing to be with a vile tear. And I know its head had been ripped off.

The hungry devouring continues with the rain, and I carefully peer around the trunk of the oak I'd been hiding behind. Thunder rolls overhead.

Three tall, hulking silhouettes lurk in front of the cave.

Though they stand like humans, I know, deep in my bones from some collective primal memory, that they are not. They devour the deer like a pack of starved dogs. The buck's head tossed aside; its tongue having rolled from its mouth. Its antlers are bent, and my assumption was right. Entrails and guts spill from its jagged skin, the three beasts congregating at its corpse and opened belly. One slips into the cave where I left my fish and batch of strawberries.

Run, my instincts scream. Run, run, run!

With expert quiet, I take another step, then another. They are still poking around the cave entrance, taller than men, but look distinctly male. Their clothes look like they tried to rip their way out of them.

And that's when I notice one of them is holding something. An axe, a makeshift axe.

I need to get out of here. That cave has my scent. They will find me. and if they're intelligent enough to know how to make weapons –

Thunder grumbles, and I use the cover of the sound to take a few bounding steps. I stop behind another tree, breathing as quietly as I can, and peer around it to survey the hillside behind me. Lightning flashed again.

The three figures are gone.

But the leathery, rancid smell swarms all around me now.

I gaze at the tree I've ducked behind. The trunk is too slick with moss and rain to scale, the branches too high. The other trees aren't any better. And what good was being stuck up a tree in a lightning storm?

The gods seem to be watching me – or enjoying my torment – because the rain lightens, and I can hear them now, each step they take as the three of them systematically make their way down the hill. They spoke in low, strange grunts — all male, all ravenous.

I sling my bow and arrow onto my back, into my quiver before palming my hunting knife. I dart to the next tree, carefully avoiding any sticks or leaves, cursing silently at the slowness of my pace, and— Damn it all to hell.

I burst into a run, the mossy earth treacherous underfoot. I can make out the trees, some larger rocks, but the slope is steep.

Another roar breaks through the fog – as resonant as a tolling bell as if vibrates the very bones of my being.

Maybe I should've brought a horse. I could lead them to it, and it might've bought me enough time to make it to the castle.

I keep my feet under me, even as undergrowth cracks behind, faster and faster.

I don't dare take my focus off the trees and rocks as I hurtle down them, desperate for any flat ground. Perhaps their hunting territory ended somewhere—perhaps I can outrun them until I reach the castle.

I veer eastward, still going downhill, and grab on to a trunk to swing myself around, almost losing my balance as I slam into something hard and unyielding.

I slashed with my knife only to be grabbed by two massive hands.

My wrists sing in agony as the fingers squeeze hard enough that I can't stab into my captor. I twist, bringing up a foot to smash into my assailant, and catch a flash of fangs before — Not fangs. Teeth. Jagged and yellow and bloodstained.

I drive my foot up, biting down the pain as I feel it connect with the creature's gut. It doesn't release me, but the stun allows me to adjust my grip and I drive my forehead into its nose.

The creature howls, and I reveal in its pain, ignoring my own pounding head and the tears forming in my eyes. I blink them away as I am released and leap back, still gripping my knife.

I try to focus my breathing as I take in my attacker. It looks like a chiseled slate, jagged and rough, with a smeared crimson smile that borders between a feral grin and a snarl. Its skin is sprinkled with scars and liver spots, its hands and feet looking frostbitten with long, curving nails. The palms forever stained red from messily feasting upon so many prey. I was right about his clothes being torn; only this close it looks like they merely couldn't encompass the bulk of his shape. The scraggly hair looks as stiff as a broom's, trailing along its arms and legs as if there were a wolf attempting to puncture through its human skin.

And its eyes – as cold and as frigid as a winter's storm, the pale blue nearly matching the surrounding white. So piercing and hungry.

I've heard tales of such creatures, but only from the pages of fairytales – of humanoid beasts feasting upon the weary travelers or misbehaved children.

This . . . this is a nightmare given flesh.

The creature roars again and I barely roll out of the way as it lunges for me. I manage to sling my bow off, but I have to resort to chucking a rock to keep it away. Its nose leaks a thin stream of blood, and it snarls at me for having the audacity to strike it.

I heave another rock at it before I burst into a sprint, making as much of a beeline towards the castle as I can. Another roar from behind, and I nearly soil myself when I hear an answering call to my right.

They're flanking me, trying to surround me.

A knot quickly forms in my side, my body punishing me for not stretching or warming up before bursting into an all-out sprint. I weave through the trees, dodging and leaping as fast as a stag on the plains.

I don't look behind me. I don't need the discouragement. I just have to make it to the castle – if anyone has a chance at destroying these things, it's Alcina.

That is, if she or Bela even bother to help me.

Bela . . . did she know these things would be out here?

I stumble over a rock at the thought, but I right myself and keep running. Bela was adamant about not joining me today. She said it's because it was cold. Is it some sort of seasonal hunt for these things? Did Bela willingly send me out here to my death?

A part of me hopes that she wouldn't – the stupid, foolish part that has been awakened since she defended me against Cassandra. I've kept it dormant for good reason. Hope gets you killed. Gets you to trust people you shouldn't, only to have them rip your heart out and stomp it into the dirt.

My legs start to feel leaden, and I miss a step, causing my breathing to hitch. One wrong move and I might die.

The creatures aren't bothering to be quiet now. I've ruined their hunt, and now they want to enjoy the chase before they slice my throat open. Their roaring and hissing is constant now, as droning as a swarm of bees.

Panic is a roiling oil well in my stomach that makes its way up into my throat, making me gag and cough. I can't stop running. I don't have a choice. I can't even turn back to try and hide in the thicker sections of the forest.

My feet pound against the ground, leaves and roots and trees and branches all searing past me in blurs of orange and brown and green.

Closer and closer the footfalls come. Their sounds combining into a cacophony of deep grunts and hisses. I swear I can feel the ground vibrating with every of their steps.

The rain has become a constant hiss in my ear – I can't even tell what's rain and what's the creatures anymore. Their sounds have been warped and merged like ink in water, they smell of carrion and death, and I feel like I'm trapped.

Not even the caged light of the sun helps me. It feels more like a mockery. Rain sears against my face, forcing me to squint my eyes.

I don't even realize I'm crying until I feel my tears gather at my chin. My heartbeat a frantic war drum in my ears.

There are these things behind me that tore apart a full-grown buck like tissue. They have my scent, and they are hunting me.

In the back, and all around me I hear their roars, their hisses and howls for blood. They're moving all around me. In my peripherals, one comes up on my right, close enough that I can count the holes in his sleeve.

I don't know how, but I sense the blow before it happens, and I duck my head down in time to feel and hear the whoosh of air as his handaxe attempts to slice my head. I veer towards the left, whipping my arm out and sending my hunting knife soaring.

It gleams in streak of silver, like a shooting star. It finds its mark in the creature's eye, and it yowls in pain before falling to its knees. It's not dead, but it's one less that I have to worry about for gods know how long.

The silhouette of the castle comes into view, breaking beyond the height of the trees like an ancient sentinel. I will strength into my legs, running as the denizens of hell are on my heels. I don't think I have the time – or energy – to stop at this point. Even with my father's training, I fear I won't be fast enough to draw an arrow before one of these things pounces on me the moment I stop.

As I get closer to the castle, the hissing and roaring is getting louder, and louder, and louder. And I can hear twigs and branches snapping and breaking behind me, as though they are aware of my approaching sanctuary . . . and they're gaining on me. Second by second.

I feel a tick in the back of my mind, like a twitch in my muscles.

I know what I have to do, but it's a long shot. A miracle asked by the gods.

But as those sounds, those things, get closer and closer, their haggard breaths sounding inches from my spine, I know I have no other choice.

I scream. Sharp and loud and with every bit of air I can squeeze out of my lungs.

With the creatures focused entirely on me, the one closest surges for me, the strong column of its neck stretching out.

I grip my bow with my remaining strength and arc it through the air as if it were a blade. I move fast; fast like my father had taught me, brutal like he'd made me learn to be.

I slam the bow into the creature's head so hard that bone cracks and wood splinters.

The creature topples with a howl of pain, swinging blindly in a fury of rage.

Bela had to have been listening . . . someone of the Dimitrescu family had to be listening. She has to be on her way, she has to be.

And even if she's not . . .

I look to my sides, fighting the nausea as I see two more figures closing in on me. They're readying to cut me off. I careen through a thicket, and thorns rip at my cheeks. I barely feel the stinging kiss, or the warm blood sliding down my face.

The creature to my right rushes at me, so fast I can only leap aside to avoid the chomping teeth.

I stumble but stays upright just as the creature to my left pounces. I hurl the jagged stump, that was my bow, up at a wide arc. It connects with the creature's face, and a moistened screech trickles from its mouth as I've stabbed it up through the jaw. It falls and I waste no time hurdling over the enormous fallen body, not pausing to look for the others.

A red-tipped, clawed hand swings in form my blindspot and catches the back of my quiver. I choke out a scream as I'm hurtled to the ground. I taste blood and soil and grass as I hit the earth. Stars and black dots dance in my vision.

Disoriented, I try to push myself to my hands and knees, my limbs trembling with the effort. The creature breathes over my neck, the smell of carrion shoving down my throat. It pins me with its foot, growling with a wet mouth. I grit my teeth as I feels drool drip onto the back of my neck.

No, not like this. Fight. Fight. Fight.

The creature growls, more than done watching me kill his companions. It turns me over on my back, and even with the hairy skin and piercing eyes, even with the stone-grey, weathered skin, I can still see it smile.

A male smile – arrogant and full of domination.

White-hot rage has me screaming again, though my voice is cut short with my lack of air and ragged throat. I feel the creature straddle my hips, and a panic that I haven't felt in a long while settles into me – more so than when I was just prey.

I scream louder, wilder even if the creature makes no move for my clothes.

I cannot be pinned again by a male.

I refuse to beneath any male again. My feet kick wildly, helplessly. An arrow – an arrow from my quiver had to have spilt somewhere near me –

The creature lifts its stained, clawed hand – perfect for deep, brutal cutting. It opens its mouth again, and a bone-shattering roar sounds through the clearing.

Only it doesn't come from him.

The noise hasn't finished echoing before the creature goes flying off me, crashing into a tree so hard the wood breaks and the tree falls with a slow grace, cracking and snatching leaves with it. I roll onto my side.

I make out the ebony sheen of her hair, the elegant swoop of her dress, and long, deadly nails before Alcina Dimitrescu tears into the creature.

The remaining creatures shriek and leap for her. With her right hand she stops one's attack by gripping it by its neck, her iron nails sinking into its neck. With her left hand, she jabs them into the creature's eyes and through its mouth.

Flesh and blood rip away. Its skin sags as she caves in its skull and twists its head from its neck. Bone cracks like a nut, a few strings of tendons holding.

The creature that crashed into the tree leaps to its feet, shaking its head. It shrieks as Alcina's nails shred through its companion.

I keep low to the ground, trembling, waiting.

Alcina lets out another roar that makes the marrow of my bones go cold.

The last creature darts for the woods.

It only gets a few steps before Alcina takes a stride and pins him to the earth. And disembowels the creature in one deep, long swipe.

But that isn't enough.

She tears open the creature's chest cavity, cracking it open wide, exposing its heart and entrails.

She doesn't hesitate to crush the creature's heart in her hands. Blood sprays across her face.

In one final act, I see her lift her black-heeled shoe and stomp the creature face flat against the earth. I gag at the sound of bone grinding against dirt.

I remains where I lay, my face half buried in leaves and twigs and mud. I don't try to rise. My is shaking so badly I thinks I will fall apart at the seams.

Alcina wrenches her claws out of the creature's abdomen. Blood and gore drip from her gloved hands, staining the brown and green forest floor.

This isn't a mere noblewoman. This is something different. Something more dangerous.

Feral rage still smolders in her gaze, and I flinch when her head jerks towards me. The wrath fades from her eyes, and the iron slip back under her nails, but the roar still sounds in his ears. There had been nothing in that sound but primal fury.

Rushing footsteps head for me, and despite their noticeably lighter gait, I flinch and curl away from whoever kneels beside me. I cover my head with my arms, muffling my hearing.

"Erika," Bela whimpers, a mixture of knee-quivering relief and soul-wrenching pain.

She reaches out for me, but I jerk back, away from her pristine manicured hands. Bela retracts, her eyes shifting to look like a wounded doe.

It unnerves me as I raise myself into a sitting position before the shaking resumes. I know I won't be able get to my feet.

"Erika," she repeats. This time, when she reaches for my shoulder, I allow it. "Look at me, please."

Slowly, so slowly, I turn towards her.

Her golden eyes are fraught with worry, her chest rising and falling with short breaths.

"How?" It is all I can manage to say, but she understands.

Bela swallows, as if stopping herself from telling the truth. But then, "I heard you scream."

And she came – she came to help me.

She had come straight for me – straight to me – without a second thought. Her concern and focus were solely on me.

The thought has me scouring over her, and I can see she's fighting some sort of pain – she is only wearing her dress, none of the warmer gear from before. Alcina must've chased after her in fear for her daughter's safety.

I want to tell her how much that means to me – that the eldest daughter of the Dimitrescu Family thought that I was worth saving – but I can't find the words. And not here, when I can have a moment alone with her.

Bela reaches a hand towards me, and she shudders as she runs cool, wet fingers down my stinging, aching cheek. Blood – that's blood on them. And from the stickiness on my face, there is already enough of it splattered on me that it doesn't make a difference. Her eyes darken a bit at the bruise I know has started blooming on my cheekbone.

I hear before I see Lady Dimitrescu taking steps towards us. I flinch again, and I can see Bela looking over to her mother. I don't see her expression, though.

"Here," says Lady Dimitrescu. And before I can blink, I feel her hands scoop me up. effortlessly lifting me. Of course, to her I'm probably as light as a feather.

I can't exactly wrap my arms around her; and I try not to lean too far away as I'm brought close to her chest. I'm surprised at how warm she is. Or maybe I've just grown cold.

Lady Dimitrescu cradles me as she would an infant. I do my best to ignore the still-drying blood of her hands. The specs across her face looking like red freckles. She looks down at Bela, who has gathered the arrows and empty quiver. The bow is a lost cause. Having been splintered and impaled in two of the dead creatures.

"Let's go home." She murmurs.

I peer down at Bela, who looks a little bothered that she isn't the one carrying me, but I don't have the energy or care to protest against her mother. Especially when she just saved my life; even if it was more for the concern of her daughter.

I close my eyes and let Alcina carry me back to the castle.