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“Leave? Why would I leave you alone?” Lyle protested as soon as Gemma finished explaining her plan to him.
Gemma bit her lip. “I know I gave you the protection spell, but I don’t know what I’ll be walking into. I don’t want you hurt.” Or traumatized.
“But you literally just gave me a protection spell.”
“Spells can only do so much. You’ll be safe from an arrow, but if the hunter has his own magic, I don’t know what good my spell would be against it. This is the best I could give you, and I need you to use it wisely.”
“And by that you mean go call the cavalry.”
“Yes.”
“Why can’t I just call them on the phone?”
“Do you even have service? Because I don’t.”
Lyle snatched his phone from his pocket, his face illuminated as he flipped on the screen. Then, his shoulders slouched. “No.”
“There you go.”
It wasn’t a surprise, really. Wilhelmina seemed to have a landline, something so few people around here still had—except the ones with poor cell service.
“What about that phone?” Lyle said, crossing the room as his eyes found the landline... the one Gemma had forgotten to check. He picked up the phone, but then set it back down gently. “Never mind. It’s dead.”
Of course it was. But at least it supported her attempt to get him to safety. She pressed her lips together, hoping he’d finally agree.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he said.
“Positive.” She pointed to the letter, holding up the Fae GPS. “The address is right here, and I put it into the map. See?” He leaned in closer, getting a look at the map. Good. He’d be able to lead the others to the cabin. “This is what I need you to do. Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Great! Let me go first, just in case the hunter is still hanging around.” She grabbed the edge of the red cloak. “This will keep me safe, just like my spell will keep you safe. Okay?”
He nodded, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.
“Okay.”
Gemma grabbed the basket off the kitchen island and made her way to the back door. She carefully slid each of the locks open, trying to be as quiet as possible and avoid grinding any of the metal parts. One of the locks screeched, and she winced, her heart rate skyrocketing. But if the hunter was out there, he would be out there whether he heard the lock or not. Gemma and Lyle hadn’t been subtle about being in the house.
She took one more breath before quietly turning the doorknob, then pushed the door open only a fraction, peering into the dim forest beyond. The woods were now bathed in a cool, gray-brown light, filtering through the autumn leaves. The sun was almost gone. The scent of woodsmoke and wet earth hung heavy in the air, making Gemma wish she was sitting at a campfire with Reese. There was the faintest path back here, behind the cottage, leading deeper into the woods. According to the indicator on the GPS, this was the way to go, and that path was likely a route directly to Wilhelmina’s sister.
She hoped.
The back yard seemed quiet, not even a squirrel hopping around the grass and flowers. This was her chance.
Gemma slid out the door and paused on the back step, holding her cloak up to protect her while she listened one more time. Then, she loped across the open yard, hoping to reach the cover of the trees before the hunter saw her.
Hopefully she’d be enough of a distraction that he didn’t follow Lyle instead.
Gemma paused once she was safely within the tree line and ducked behind a wide, scarred oak tree. She peered around its gnarled trunk, scanning the yard behind her for any sign of the hunter.
An arrow whizzed past her face, and she ducked back behind the trunk, but not before she caught a glimpse of Lyle bolting from the front door. As the arrow thunked into a trunk behind her, she risked another look. Sure enough, the hunter—somehow standing on the roof of the cottage—was solely focused on her. Did he assume she was another wolf? What did he have against the wolves anyway?
There was no more time to wonder. The hunter was already sliding down the slope of the thatched roof toward a lattice, swinging down to the ground. Gemma turned and plunged deeper into the forest, basket swinging from her arm precariously. The pounding of footsteps behind her proved the hunter was in pursuit.
Dare she use her voice now? Or could she possibly lose him?
Her voice was her most powerful defense... and weapon. But if it failed, she’d be left as exhausted as she’d been in the cottage, completely vulnerable. Then, the hunter would have no problem finishing her off and going after Lyle, maybe even the rest of the pack.
The forest in front of Gemma suddenly grew brighter, and she broke through barren blackberry bushes into a short, narrow patch of grass. She slid to a stop as a ravine opened up beneath her, like jaws waiting to gobble her up. About twenty feet down, a small stream cut through a jagged, rocky shoreline. Any fall would be at best painful.
She glanced over her shoulder. The hunter was still crashing through the woods behind her, but she couldn’t see much yet. She’d gained a decent amount of ground ahead of him, giving her a few extra seconds to figure out the ravine.
She looked across, toward where the path continued into a patch of pines and spruces. The gap was maybe ten feet, too far to jump, at least for her unathletic self. At one time, it looked like there had been a bridge here, but the bridge seemed to have washed out in a flash flood, based on the snapped rope and broken boards, all still waterlogged. To the right, the forest stretched toward the edge of the ravine, dropping off as if the cliff had recently crumbled and taken pieces of the woods with it. To the left, it was the same. Except for a single tree, once a towering giant, that had fallen directly across the chasm. It had to have been recent, judging from the bright red maple leaves that still adorned the branches.
Would the ground be stable enough? How recent was this washout?
An arrow whizzed past her ear. The hunter wasn’t far now, and she was obviously within his sights. There was no other choice. She had to cross the tree and hope the land would support her.
Gemma carefully but quickly picked her way along the edge of the ravine toward the downed tree, muttering under her breath the whole time. This was not her idea of a pleasant fall evening, that was for sure. Visions of sitting home with a warm fire and new novel filled her thoughts again, distracting her just long enough to catch an unstable rock underfoot. The rock rolled, and she fell to her hands and knees, wet earth staining the knees of her jeans and pebbles scraping her hands.
Ugh. Just what she needed.
The hunter crashed through the tree line behind her, and she shot back to her feet, pulling her scarlet hood over her hair. The cloak had saved her once. Hopefully it would protect her until she gained ground again.
The root system of the tree was massive, at least as high into the air as she was tall. Dirt, moss, and smaller grass roots spilled down toward the ground like party streamers. Yup, this was definitely a recent fall.
Gemma hiked the basket up on her arm more, then picked her way around the huge wall of tree roots and onto the base of the trunk. The wood groaned under her weight, but the tree stayed still. She let out a quick breath, silently grateful that one thing was going right.
Then she turned her eyes to the path forward.
The branches of the maple jutted out at every angle, starting only a few feet in front of her. They’d provide excellent cover against the hunter’s arrows, but just like with the roots, she would have to carefully pick her way around each of them.
She took a steadying breath, heart pounding as she stepped forward. There was nothing to grab here, not until she reached the first branches, but she extended her arms, trying to balance herself on the trunk. Only a few more steps. She reached one arm forward, fingers straining toward the branch closest to her.
And then an arrow thunked into her shoulder. It bounced harmlessly off the cloak, but it was enough to push her off balance. Her foot slipped, raining bark down into the ravine below. Tears sprang to her eyes, heart in her throat. She was no better than a sitting duck here. She needed cover.
The tree shook below her, creaking again as she carefully pushed herself back to her feet and stutter-stepped the last foot to the branch. She ducked behind it quickly, hoping the cover of the leaves would be enough.
“What do you want?” she tried calling back to the hunter. “Why are you chasing us?”
But he didn’t answer, only nocked another arrow and raised the bow.
Gemma eyed the other side of the chasm. It seemed so far away, but at least she was headed into the upper branches of the downed tree now, affording her more cover than the first third of her trek across the makeshift bridge. She hurried as much as the slick footing would allow, trying to keep herself as much out of sight as possible, even as arrows flew through the branches around her. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she could feel it in her throat, feel her head pulsing with the beat of her heart.
This was insane.
Finally, she stepped off the trunk on the other side of the chasm and ducked into the undergrowth lining the next stage of the trail. If only she were strong enough to get rid of that bridge... but then, how would Lyle make it back here with help?
She had to move. Now. Maybe if she put enough distance between herself and the hunter, there would be time for her to get away and lose him. Hopefully it would take him too long to get across the tree trunk or, even better, maybe he would lose interest and stop chasing her altogether. That one seemed a little unlikely, though.
Gemma plunged ahead as quickly as she dared, breaking through the shrubs and finding the path again. She checked the GPS on her phone as she jogged away from the ravine, ensuring she was headed the right direction, then took off as fast as she could on the uneven forest floor.
Just like on the other side, the forest here was dark, the canopy high overhead and the trees old and huge. She couldn’t see any daylight ahead of her, though that wasn’t saying much this late in the evening. Pretty soon, there would be nothing left but starlight, and she’d be running the risk of becoming lost in these woods. Then what would happen? She’d heard stories of humans who lost themselves in the untamed wilderness of the Americas, either never to be heard from again or returning as a shadow of themselves or even only being found long after anyone could help them.
She didn’t want to be one of those stories.
Suddenly the trees began to thin, the trunks growing smaller as she reached the edge of this old-growth forest and stumbled onto the shore of a lake.
Finally, water! This was something she could control.
It was brighter here, the sky fading into a dusty purple as the sunlight diminished, and the lake stretched before her, deep and dark. She could sense its depths, feel the living currents of every creature that called it home. It called to her almost as strongly as a siren song, but she forced herself to look away. Another cabin stood at the far end of the lake, across the dark, cold water. The path continued around the side of the lake, but it would take ages to make her way over there. It would definitely be dark by then.
A branch cracked behind her. Was it the hunter? Could he have found her already? Caught up to her?
She looked over her shoulder, but the woods were still too dark, especially compared to the relative brightness of the shoreline. If it was him, she couldn’t make him out.
But if it was him, she also didn’t have much time. Could she risk the time it would take her to pick her way around the lake?
No.
She was a siren. The lake was a second home to her. Freshwater instead of salt, but it was still water. Still similar to her own lakebed lair closer to town. It was her element, and the chances the hunter could follow her there were slim.
Gemma took a deep breath, preparing herself for the sudden shock of cold water and transformation. Then, she called again on the melody of magic, creating a shield for her basket to protect the precious items within.
She took a step, her boot touching the water. Then another. She plunged in up to her knees, then dove headfirst, pushing off the slimy sediment into the dark before her.
The lakebed dropped away below her quickly, but there was no need for her to dive along with it. She could follow the surface, use the bit of glimmer along the surface of the water to guide her. Her body shifted and morphed as she moved, transforming her legs to a tailfin, bioluminescent patterns appearing along her skin and lighting the way. Her boots fell away to the lakebed, and she paused only a second to mourn their loss. They were good boots. Her clothes disappeared with the magic, and she knew they would come back once she was on land again, but she’d never quite been able to get the shoes right.
And then she pounded her tail against the water, shooting her body forward into the lake. The water was cool on her skin, but in her siren form, she barely felt it more than she did the whisper of fabric against her body. The lake caressed her, embraced her, and she closed her eyes as she pushed herself forward, reveling in the feeling of belonging. This was one thing her bakery couldn’t give her, but having the lakes nearby meant she didn’t have to give up this freedom, not entirely. It was all balance, just like the rest of her life.
She lost her rhythm, eyes flying open as a thought flitted through her mind. Everything was balance. Including her relationships with Reese and the Prince.
Gemma was suddenly tired. So tired. Why had she done that? She’d never cared before, not when her father warned her of the dangers of a land life, not when Merina sabotaged her with her own agenda.
But she cared about this, about the Autumn Court, about Cider Hollow, about the people and the Fae here and the life she was making for herself. Maybe more than she’d ever cared about anything.
And... she didn’t mind. In spite of the danger behind her and the unknown situation ahead of her, she couldn’t help but smile. She was finally part of something bigger. She didn’t need to prove herself... it was already done. She’d already been accepted. Accepted for exactly who and what she was: A siren. A baker. A friend.
Her determination and confidence renewed, she shot forward through the water again, headed for the cabin as straight and as sure as any of the hunter’s arrows.
After what felt like no time at all, the lakebed began to creep upward toward her, and then the lake was so shallow that her stomach scraped the bottom. She allowed herself to morph back into her two-legged form, stepping out of the shallows and onto a pebbled shore. She sacrificed a few tiny notes of her siren magic to dry herself off, just enough so that the air didn’t feel as cold. She dug her toes into the ice-cold pebbles, feeling every lump and sharp edge against her soft feet and already wishing she’d grabbed her boots before they’d fallen. She would have to grab them on her way back, try to salvage the faux leather.
The hunter could be anywhere. Gemma still had no idea what kind of creature pursued her, what kind of being would be so intent on attacking her and Lyle.
The world was blanketed in sooty blue shade now, the sun completely gone other than a faint glow on the clouds overhead. It was still brighter here on the lake shore than it had been under the trees, but if it wasn’t for Gemma’s deep-sea eyes, she wouldn’t be able to see the path to the dark cabin ahead.
Gemma struck out for the structure. There was little sound around the lake, other than a few late-season frogs and the occasional owl in the woods. Nothing that sounded like she was still being followed.
And no sound from the cabin ahead.
Leaves crunched under her bare feet, their vibrant colors dimmed in the dusky light. Occasionally, she stepped on a pointed rock and hopped ahead, hissing between her teeth. Leaving her boots behind had definitely been a stupid mistake. The trees grew slightly thicker as she approached, providing a small line between the lake and the cabin, but as soon as she stepped past them, she found herself in an overgrown yard. Dry autumn grasses and late season wildflowers speckled the yard, covering anything that could be hiding within. The small path continued toward the house, flanked on both sides by the grass and flowers. She carefully made her way forward, peering into the gloom to make sure she wasn’t about to step on anything that could hurt her, especially as unprotected as she now was to anything on the ground.
Something resolved itself against the dark background ahead of her, something long and low, lying across the path. She slowed her steps, staring at whatever it was, waiting for it to move, to somehow tell her what exactly she was looking at. But as she approached, it became all too clear: a human—or werewolf—leg blocked her path to the cabin.
