I feel like I’m about to be swallowed alive.
“Let me go,” I whisper, icy terror coursing through me.
As you wish. You carry my power now. You are free to do with it as you desire.
Eulisyn lowers her branches and gently sets me on my feet. The fluid tendril-branches release my legs and arms.
I watch in horrified fascination as her twigs and branches turn from fluid to rigid; as the trees retreat back into their solid, upright forms.
Then there’s silence, and I’m left with nothing but this pleasant heat in my body and the memory of a cacophony of voices.
The heat is felt most strongly in my chest. It starts to grow, turning into an insistent kind of pressure.
It’s pressing outwards; this thing, stretching into my arms, my fingers, demanding release. I drop to my knees and press my palms against the cold, hard earth. It’s the only thing I can think of.
Like lightning to a conduit, the pressure shoots through my fingers and into the barren soil. It feels like my entire body’s growing, stretching, but really it’s only my hands, reaching down into the earth, extending for what must be hundreds of yards—at least, that’s what it feels like.
And then, all of a sudden, I’m stuck, and whatever’s grown from my fingers has anchored me firmly into the ground.
“Eulisyn,” I say weakly. “Help me. What has happened now?”
But the damn tree is silent. Why is everything to do with magic so infuriatingly cryptic.
I stare up at the tree that gave me her heart-seed, and I can see that she’s ancient; she’s one of those trees that would take at least ten men, arms linked, to encircle her.
Now she’s gone to sleep again.
I grit my teeth in frustration and try to pull my hands out of the ground, but it’s no use.
This is bordering on ridiculous. A sentient tree has just killed four men with its branches, and fed me a strange tasting seed. The forest has spoken inside my head and now I seem to be growing roots.
And I’m stuck.
“Corvan!” I scream, violently flexing my arms in frustration. “If you mean all those pretty little things you said about me, then you will come to me now.”
It’s more of a wishful plea; a prayer to the gods and a cry of futility.
But… I must be dreaming, because all of a sudden, arms wrap around me. Warm, familiar arms. I can’t mistake that embrace for anything else.
He’s already imprinted on me.
“Finley,” he murmurs.
His deep, resonant voice wraps around me, a salve for my fractured soul.
A tear slips down my cheek and falls onto the cold ground, turning into frost. He reaches up to my face and wipes its track with his thumb.
He’s behind me, engulfing me, impossibly gentle and warm. His scent—I would know it anywhere—surrounds me; male, musky, laced with woodiness and leather. It cuts through the cold and the lingering stench of decay.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper, still in shock. Too many unbelievable things have happened, and my hands are inexplicably anchored to the ground.
I can feel beyond my hands. My roots stretch right down into the soil; into the warm, ancient depths of the earth itself.
Corvan places his big, rough hand on my cheek and tilts my head ever so slightly.
He plants a kiss on my lips; slow, insistent, wanting. “I’m sorry, Finley. I took far too long to get to you. The undead stench obscured your scent, and I swear the forest conspired to hide the sound of your voice from me. But still, it’s inexcusable.”
“But you’re here now.” I turn my head and meet his gaze. In the bright moonlight, he looks even more inhuman; as pale as the winter snow and as hard and flawless as marble.
His eyes are glowing again. That tends to happen when he’s hungry.
I’m starting to recognize the signs.
Relief surges through me. I might be in a predicament right now, but Corvan’s here now.
He didn’t abandon me.
Everything’s going to work out.
“Look at us,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re thirsty and I’m stuck in the dirt. What a pair we make.”
He furrows his brow, his expression turning terribly serious. “It’s no laughing matter that you were stolen from me. I should never have allowed that to happen.”
“Your castle was attacked by a terrifying horde of undead,” I point out. “And the ones that took me were relying on you being preoccupied. I dare say that was an almighty diversion.”
“I’m going to destroy them,” he says mildly, his tone deceptively light as he wraps his hands around my wrists and gives them a gentle tug. Predictably, they won’t budge. “What are we going to do with you, hmm?”
“Ask the trees,” I growl, my voice sharpened by annoyance. “They’re the ones that got me into this mess, and now they’ve conveniently gone to sleep.”
“The trees spoke to you?”
“As unbelievable as it seems, yes. That one just above us… she’s called Eulisyn. She’s ancient, and she’s being very unhelpful right now. At least she killed Kinnivar and his lackeys.”
“Oh?” Corvan’s voice turns deathly cold. “I’m thankful she protected you.” He looks up, taking in the mangled bodies of Kinnivar and the guards. “They got what they deserved, even if I would have preferred to tear him apart with my bare hands.”
His voice trembles. There’s a tremor in his hands. I can feel his anger; white-hot and powerful.
I’d hate to make an enemy of him.
And I swear I can feel his thirst, too. It’s dark and pulsating, like a wild river barely dammed, held back only by the iron force of his will.
“Corvan,” I say gently, sensing that I need to take the edge off his anger. He’s been fighting for most of the night. He must be tired.
Vampires… surely they get tired too?
“What is it, Finley?” But when he speaks to me, his tone is oh-so tender.
“Before we go about trying to figure out how to extricate me from this bloody thing, why don’t you drink from me?”
“What?” He blinks several times, dark lashes falling around radiant crimson. For a moment, he’s achingly innocent. “I can’t… not while you’re like this.”
“Corvan,” I murmur, and even though I’m restrained by magic I don’t understand—my own magic—suddenly, I feel powerful. “You’re on the verge of unravelling. If the world is falling apart, isn’t it better that you face it with a clear mind?”
“Gods, Finley,” he whispers. He lifts me up a little, taking the pressure off my arms. Then, with impossible speed and strength, he manoeuvres so that he’s lying on the ground, and I’m on top of him, still with my damn palms glued to the ground. He wraps both his arms around me and holds me tightly. “How do you know me so well when we’ve only just met?”
There’s something strangely thrilling about being trapped and helpless with him underneath me, his eyes glowing with hunger, his embrace infusing me with warmth.
“You’ve shown me enough,” I whisper, tilting my head forward, inviting his kiss.
He yields, pressing his lips against mine, letting his fangs graze my lower lip.