Out of the abrupt silence of the forest, a single flock of birds leapt off their perches and into the safety of the sky, their frantic wing-beats echoing the fluttering pace of Losa’s heart. She watched their erratic ascent with foreboding—because something terrifying must have been traveling the woods to make those flighty creatures want to escape. With each trembling second a new horrific vision flickered through the damsel’s thoughts: cruel curved fangs, eyes hot with insanity, jaws slamming shut on her body over and over like the chop of a guillotine. The only concept more terrifying than a flesh-and-blood monster rapidly closing in was that Losa had no idea if those savage pictures were hazy imagination . . . or nightmare snapshots from her own memories. Was she worried over nothing? Or were her instincts screaming at her to save herself?

The tension in her willowy frame prevented Losa from immediately slithering out of the water and toward safety. She was trapped, pinned in place like a butterfly under a needle. When the thundercloud beast made his entrance all Losa could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a rifle.

If Losa were a falcon, sleek and swift, then this brute was an eagle—massive, regal, constructed of powerful and aggressive edges. Predatory. Angry. No wonder the whispering trees had gone silent as he stalked through their hallways. His rich onyx pelt seemed to swallow the sunlight that dared touch his silhouette, while his eyes . . . and here Losa really froze. Twin windows brilliant with ferocious lightning blazed from the dragon’s rugged face, so electric with rage that they sent a jolt through the woodland spirit’s heart and made it skip. Once more, a tiny sane fragment of her brain insisted that Losa should have no reason to fear. She had done nothing wrong to attract the wrath of such a monster. Her hackles spiked in apprehension anyway.

“It’s you.” The words dropped from his mouth by accident, falling clumsily to the pebbled bank. Evidently the shadowy warrior was nearly as stunned to see Losa as she was to see him.

Which might have worked to the sylph’s favor, because not a beat after the poltergeist spoke Losa’s own maw opened like a fool. “. . . Is it me?” The moronic question piped from her muzzle with honest confusion. What did this stranger mean, to speak as if he’d glimpsed her before? As if he knew her from somewhere? His voice, though on the same register as a rumble of thunder, had broken her spell of shuddering fear. In fact . . .

“Did I . . . have we met before?” The gentle swish of limbs stirring water followed Losa as she crept carefully out of her stance in the lake’s embrace. Mere body-lengths in front of her stood the obsidian gargoyle. Memories clinked like broken glass within the girl’s skull. Oh Moon, if she was actually supposed to know this dragga she would die of embarrassment. Fierce eyes, black fur, deep voice. Had they met yesterday? Months ago? What if he had just mistaken her for someone else, and now Losa was standing before him with her head cocked like an idiot sparrow? “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall your name. Are you . . . lost too?”