Faelan’s image faded, but he left behind a patch of scorched and burning grass where he’d been standing. I shuddered, glad that the black-furred, Leanan Sidhe master wasn’t really here. I wasn’t even sure if he’d been able to see me or, if he had, whether he recognized me since I still wore the skin of a bear.
My left shoulder hung crooked and bleeding, Greagoir’s heart clutched in my right paw.
Unable to stop the pain from my injury, I roared again, loud and wild.
Then a hunter strode into the clearing, passing right through the spot where Faelan had stood. I knew it must have been the archer who had fired a storm of arrows at Greagoir. But when the stranger’s gaze fell upon me, he saw a bear with a dangerous taste for human flesh.
His next arrow flew through woodland mists and it struck me in my wounded shoulder. I growled and faltered, then growled again.
Another arrow nocked and ready to fire, the archer halted, several paces away from me, a stricken expression on his face.
“What kind of magical creature are you?” he asked, suspicion in his voice.
Without realizing it, my cries of pain had changed. I no longer growled like a bear. I now screamed like a woman. Without me willing it to happen, my skin shifted. I could not hold the shape of a bear, for the pain was too great. This was the problem with the Incantation of Change—it was an unpredictable and unreliable spell.
I became myself.
Vulnerable. Wounded. Unarmed.
I was now Eire, bloodstained, pale-skinned, faery ears and all.
Arrow pointed at my chest, the hunter did not flee, neither did he shoot.
Then came a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Perhaps the wind blew my hair aside, revealing my face or my ears. Perhaps it was the Royal Celtic tattoo on my right shoulder.
“Eire?” he asked incredulously. “Is it really you?” The archer fell to his knees before me, his bow on the ground. “Forgive me, I didn’t...I didn’t know you had woken up.”
His words stirred something inside me, a welcome memory, but my pain pushed that thought away.
Something about these wounds was far worse than any I’d received in any battle. My skin felt like it was on fire, like a hundred knives were stabbing my flesh, beginning at my shoulder and then moving throughout my body. I stumbled, my hands curled into fists.
“Drink this!” He pulled a vial that hung from a cord around his neck, broke the tiny flask open, and offered it to me. “My arrows carry poison. ‘Tis the only way to weaken the Leanan Sidhe when the blood hunger is upon them.”
I paused, the vial to my lips. My thoughts had grown so cloudy, I didn’t know if I should believe him. His head was down, Greagoir’s sword lay in the snow. If this was another one of Faelan’s tricks—
Then I saw the crest on his tunic.
A wreath of roses.
You will recognize your Guardians by the crest on their tunics—
My sister’s words, spoken so long ago.
This stranger was a friend, I could trust him—
“My leanaí—you must save them!” I gave one final command. “Faelan’s warriors are after them.”
Then I swallowed the bitter drink he had offered me, wincing when it burned my throat and then my stomach.
The hunter glanced around us, perhaps searching for more brown bears. “What shape are they?”
“White wolf cubs. My blessing upon you, hunter, if you save them.”
I collapsed on my hands and knees, right beside Greagoir’s sword and his still beating heart. The hunter paused only long enough to cover my nakedness with his thick cloak.
Then he sprinted off, his voice calling out.
“Find the white wolf cubs and spare them, men!” he said. “And kill every Leanan Sidhe bloodsucker that you see on the way. The forest is filled with them!”