I let out a shaky sigh. I’d been feeling the same thing. “I keep thinking about Aeval’s story about the Bog Eater. Here we have peat and we have dark hunger . . . and I can smell rats.” I pointed up to a nearby tree. On the boughs perched vultures. “Scavengers of the dead.”

Falling silent, I prayed they hadn’t been feasting on Chase’s remains. We had to find him, and the faster the better. There was no real path, but the grass seemed trampled in one direction.

I pointed. “There, we follow that trail.”

Delilah turned to me. “If I change into my panther self, I might be able to catch his scent and lead us.”

“Please, if it will help.” I hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense. And she knew Chase’s scent.

As I watched, my sister began to shimmer and shift. It looked terribly painful, but she always insisted it wasn’t, as long as she didn’t rush through the shifting. And then, as hands and feet and arms and legs lengthened into paws and furred legs, as her body stretched and transformed, and her beautiful face became heavy with dark fur, I could only marvel again at how different the three of us were. Well, four—if you counted Arial, Delilah’s twin who had died at birth.

Within a couple of minutes, a large black panther stood there, a jeweled collar around her neck. Those were her clothes, I knew, plus being the marker that claimed her as belonging to the Autumn Lord.

“Can you catch his scent?” I asked, petting her head. I loved cats, and whether she was tabby or panther, I always cuddled my sister when she was in cat form.

She let out a low rumbling purr as I scratched behind her ears, and, impulsively, I leaned over and kissed her head. She looked up, her glowing emerald eyes gazing into my face, and with a loud slurp she licked my cheek and gave a happy growl. I laughed, then let out a long sigh.

“Find Chase, Delilah.” It wasn’t always easy to keep her on track when she was in cat form, but I loved her anyway.

Delilah glanced from side to side, then raised her head to the air and inhaled deeply. She sniffed, her nose twitching, and then, with a low huff, she swung her head at me and set off at a light run. I ran along behind, and we headed into the mists that rumbled through the glen. Up ahead, I could make out two large rock faces, one on either side, that opened into a narrow channel. A ravine between two cliffs.

We loped along, she watching her speed so I could keep up, and I pacing myself. I had far more stamina than any FBH, but I couldn’t match her speed when she was in panther form, that was for certain.

As we entered the ravine, I glanced around nervously. Trees lined the top of the ravine on either side and I couldn’t pierce the veil of vegetation. And with the mist rolling along the ground, spiraling up in columns, I couldn’t even see the ground. Luckily the ravine was short, soon opening up ahead. It looked like it led into deep woods, and I slowed, calling to Delilah to return to my side. I paused, examining the energy.

Holy hell.

We were entering the realm of a dark god. Not evil, but wild—some ancient forest entity. The masculine energy was overwhelming, and it rode me like a horse, rode me like a beckoning partner. Herne . . . the wild one. Herne, the lord of the forest. Herne, with his antlers rising to the sky. We were entering his realm, and here we would have to be cautious. The gods were not always pleasant, and we were two women in male territory.

“Is Chase in here? Did he come this way?”

Delilah huffed again, nodding. She sniffed the air, then motioned toward a side path. I followed her into the wood, onto the path, wondering what we were getting ourselves into.

The woodland here was dark and ancient. Older than Darkynwyrd, back in Otherworld. Older than Thistlewyd Deep. This was the ancient forest that had sprung up from the loins of the gods. This was primal forest, primal energy.

The silence was deafening, with only the steady sound of water dripping from bough to ground to mark our passing. The sky vanished—the overhanging trees thick with needles and cones, branches entwining across the path to blot out the sky. Everywhere I turned, I smelled moss and mushrooms, tree pitch, and the sweet tang of freshly turned earth.

And peat. Again, I smelled the bog.

The Bog Eater. It had to be him; he had to be near.

Delilah paused, then moved away from my side. A shimmer surrounded her as she began to change, and I realized she was turning back into her two-footed shape. Something must have caught her attention that she needed to tell me about. Or perhaps she just felt more secure.

As she shifted back, I gave her a moment to catch her breath, then asked, “What is it? Did you sense something?”

She nodded, and in a low voice whispered, “We’re being followed. There’s something behind us.”

I slowly turned, cautious, my hand reaching for the unicorn horn. Behind us, I could only see the undergrowth through which we’d come, thick and unmoving. But when I let out a slow stream of breath and lowered myself into trance, I could sense someone out there. Someone old. Someone powerful. Someone not a god, but more powerful than we were.

I glanced at Delilah, trying to figure out what to do. Confront them? If they meant no harm, why weren’t they out in the open? Unless they were nervous about what we wanted. If they were going to attack us, would we be able to throw them off their guard by calling them out?

Delilah waited, ready to follow my lead. I readied a spell, calling on the energy of the Moon Mother to channel through my body. Her presence was heavy here, too, and I realized that anywhere the wild reigned, I would find her.

After the lightning filtered down into my body, I sucked in another deep breath and stepped forward. “Show yourself. We know you’re there.”

Delilah readied her iron knife, wrinkling her nose.

A moment later, the bushes parted and out stepped a thin boy. He was full Fae, that was obvious, and glorious in his beauty, but he was like no Fae I’d seen before. He might stand on two feet, with two arms and one head, but he was far from human looking. Antlers rose from his forehead—a small rack with three tines on each side. His eyes were slanted, with the faintest of lids, and wide set to the point of making his face look top heavy. His hair flowed to his butt, rich brown, and he wore what looked like torn jeans, cut off at the knees, and no shirt. His abs were defined and he was buff, but not heavily muscled.

“Who are you?” I gazed into his face and realized he was far, far older than we were, but he still seemed like a boy.

He let out a garbled cry, then leaped toward us, landing in a crouch at my feet. He reached out to touch my feet, and I cautiously let him, trying to avoid being poked by the tips of his antlers. Delilah poised to put a stop to him if he attacked.

“Aeval—Aeval . . .” His voice was guttural, and I could barely understand what he was saying, but I knew he’d called me by the Dark Queen’s name.

“No. I am not Aeval,” I started to say, but stopped as Delilah fervently shook her head. I paused, realizing he hadn’t understood me. Or if he had, he showed no sign of it.

“Aeval . . . Q’n da dir.” And then he snorted, like an animal, and stood to face me, his eyes luminous and glimmering and crafty. He reached out and placed his hand on my wrist, and slowly began to slide his fingers up my arm.

Nervous now, not sure what he was getting at, I glanced over at Delilah. He might seem young, but that was illusion. And he looked far stronger than me. As I waited, poised to go on the defense, he leaned close and sniffed long and hard at my neck. As he neared my skin, I reared back; I could feel the gnashing of his teeth right behind those closed, full lips.

His eyes turned bloodred, and he let out a loud screech and began to dance around me. I jumped over to Delilah’s side.

“What the fuck?” She held up her knife and he stopped, sniffing in the blade’s general direction. With a snarl, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I told you, the things in here are not human. The Elder Fae are as far from our people as we are from . . . well . . . the people of Aladril. Who knows what thousands of years has done to them?”

Antler-Boy was gnashing his teeth now, dancing from foot to foot, glaring at the knife. He knew what iron was, that much was obvious, and it didn’t make him happy.

“I have no clue what he wants,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

Delilah lunged forward, waving the blade at him. He dodged to the side, quick as a cat. She countered, and he took another couple steps back. “I sense Chase is in the general area, but I don’t know quite where. We can’t just leave.”

“This one would follow us anyway. It’s obvious he’s latched onto us for some reason. And I don’t trust him. He may have the antlers of a deer or elk, but he’s got something behind that mouth—I keep sensing nasty teeth waiting to rip me to shreds.”

I gazed into his eyes and once again fell into his beauty. Beauty? No, it was more of a glamour. “He’s trying to charm me.” I turned on my own, lowering my masks so my Fae heritage shone forth.

He blinked, rearing back. “Aeval? Heh . . .” And then the shifting movements began again, as if he were dancing to a hidden beat, or—like a shark—couldn’t stay still.

“He seems to be fixated on you as Aeval,” Delilah said, cocking her head to one side. “As if he thinks only Aeval could have glamour?”

“Maybe Aeval is the only woman he’s seen?” I motioned to her. “Let down your glamour. See what he does.”

And so Delilah unmasked herself, too. And Antler-Boy gazed from her face to mine, back to hers, looking disconcerted. He backed away another step, looking less certain.

Growing weary of this, I decided we should teach him a lesson. I had no reason to kill him, but maybe a light thrashing would take care of matters. I shook off some of the Moon Mother’s energy, shifting what was left into a pale ball between my fingers. Antler-Boy watched, suspiciously, as I gazed up into his eyes, slowly smiled, then sent the spell spinning at him.

I didn’t aim it to kill, but merely to glance off one shoulder.

He watched it approach, without trying to duck. When it lashed into his arm, striking with a force strong enough to knock him down but—I hoped—not leave lasting damage, he let out a scream and scrambled to his feet.

I motioned away, like I was shooing a cat. “Go—get out of here. Leave us alone!”

But at that moment, a loud rumble echoed through the woods. I jumped back, ignoring the odd Fae.

Through the forest, from deep in the dark wilds, the sound of thunder echoed with each footstep. Something huge was coming our way. Something ancient, older than time, was striding through the woods like we might walk through a garden. The scent of musk washed through the air—of primal male energy, strong and erect and dark.

We began to back away, but there was nowhere to run.

I glanced at Antler-Boy. A smug look crossed his face and he stuck his tongue out at me. I did not return the taunt but instead focused on keeping my wits about me. Whatever was coming our way was nothing to mess with.

And then, in a crash of lightning and the scent of heavy forest rain, out stepped a being who towered over the trees. Tall he was, with skin the color of moss. Spiraling horns rose into the sky, black as night, and his chest was matted with thick hair. His legs were shaggy and goatlike. A satyr, with hooves sparking fire every step they took. His arms were muscled and his face lined, and his cock and balls hung so heavy that they might be boulders in their own right.

“Herne.” I whispered his name as I fell to my knees, unable to wrest my gaze away.

Herne . . . Lord of the Woodland. Herne. Lord of the Rut. Lord of the Vine. King Stag of the World. Lord of the Wild.

His eyes burned red, piercing my soul. Here was the consort of the Huntress—to the Moon Mother. Here was the god that roamed the night, reminding people why they could never conquer nature.

Catching my breath, I pressed my hands to my eyes. “Lord of the Night . . . ,” I whispered, bending over to touch my forehead to the ground.

Delilah let out a strangled cry and joined me. “He is . . . he is . . .”

“I am Herne, Lord of this land. And this is one of my sons, Tra. What have you been doing to him, Aeval? I thought I told you never to torment my children again, you devil.”

I slowly glanced up at the god, a terror so deep in my heart I could scarcely form words. “Your Eminence . . . I am not . . . if it please . . . I’m not . . .”

But he stopped me, with a sudden laugh. “You are not Aeval! Who are you? And why are you so familiar?” And then, another pause, and he leaned down, looking at me like I might bend down to look at a bug. “You carry the mark and horn of the Black Beast. Who are you? And what are you doing in my realm? And why should I let you live?”

And I realized right then just how much trouble we were in.

Chapter 7

Crap. And I didn’t usually use that term.

“We’re in trouble,” I whispered to Delilah. “We are in so much trouble . . .”

“Again, I ask you, girl: Why should I let you live?”

I forced myself to my feet even though I just wanted to cower at his.

“I am Camille, from Otherworld. I’m a priestess of the Moon Mother. I am the Chosen of the Black Beast. I am a slayer of demons.” The gods tended to respect people who weren’t shy about their exploits, so I decided to proceed on that premise and hope I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.

“Chosen of the . . .” Herne paused, and I felt him rifling around in my mind. The gods were good at that—getting inside your brain and worming around till they found what they wanted to find.

I hated the feeling—it reminded me of when Vanzir had been sucking at my energy, sliding into my thoughts just as he slid into my body. My mind, my magic, and my thoughts were my own. My body might be the temple, but my inner self, my core was the sacred flame.