Losa did not recall what had led her to fall asleep next to the gigantic obsidian dragon, her body curled around his as if to share warmth and safety . . . but when she awoke completely her first reaction was that of fear. Rapid slicing terror that plunged into her heart like a dagger until anxiety bled from every pore. Immediate constriction of breath and explosion of heart rate, galvanizing the girl to RUN RUN ESCAPE FLEE RUN as soon as she scrambled to her paws. She had opened her mismatched windows to find her muzzle mere inches from the massive beast’s face, as if they had both drifted off mid-conversation . . . for a moment it had been almost pleasant, lying so close to another wolf’s heated fur and steady heartbeat. Sleepy affection had glimmered in her still blurry vision. But then her mind snapped awake and her mind was fractured and it grasped frantically at the pieces it had dropped during its dreams and the only ones it could touch were the memories that warned Losa that wherever she was—whomever she was with—meant only danger. Danger and death. And so the trembling sylph had backed away as quickly and as quietly as she could, celestial lanterns trained with wary horror on the slumbering monster, until she felt a safe enough distance away to sprint off.

Had the lost princess been in peak condition, her gallop would have devoured land in astonishing strides. Unfortunately, Losa was anything but the picture of health. The skinny lass too soon felt the sharp ache stinging her paws—the tender pads splitting again—and one side of her body seemed shredded with pain. When Losa paused to catch her breath, panting raggedly and shaking with exertion, she suddenly saw the terrible gash raked across her ribcage. Scarlet streamed freely down her heaving ribs and ignited her dread anew. What had happened to her? Was this the black knight’s doing? If he’d injured her so grievously, why had she woken up snuggled into his canvas as if they were friends? Once more her brain spiraled into panic. Her blue-violet stare swept blindly to and fro, not seeing her surroundings, bright with swelling tears as she tried to force her thoughts into order. The name “Hurricane” kept flitting into view. Traces of comfort. Sadness. Confusion. But for the life of her Losa could not construct a story that told her what had happened just last night. It was as if she’d never had a moment of clarity at all.

“My name is Losa. I know Hurricane, and . . . and . . .” frustration crashed into her hopeless terror. A snarl tightened her delicate features as she attempted to hold back a sob in vain. Soon great diamonds of saline were dripping down her starkly cut cheekbones and into the soil between her paws.

She probably would have gone on quietly crying to herself until she forgot why she was weeping in the first place, if not for a shriek shattering the otherwise calm morning air. Instantly Losa’s dusky hackles were spiked. She straightened like a doe scenting danger, large ears flicked forward to catch any more sounds that belied peril. When the scream’s echoes faded into an unsettling silence, the forest fae wondered if it had all been in her imagination . . .

But then she smelled it.

Blood.

Pools of amethyst and cyan speared toward the deepest part of the woods, her skeleton frozen in place. “Wh-who’s there?”