Only one way to find out. Grinning like a madwoman, she uttered a prayer and released the arrow.
The familiar twang of the bowstring struck a chord of pleasure inside her chest. The arrow shot straight at the distortion, iron tip glittering—and froze midair.
Fluttering emanated from the arrow, its shaft shrinking into a dark ball. Black feathers sprouted from the mass. But it wasn’t until the arrow tip morphed into a curved beak and claws appeared that Haven understood what she was seeing.
Her arrow had transformed into a . . . raven.
The arrow-raven cawed twice, soared into the air, and then landed on what she guessed was the thing’s shoulder.
Not thing. Shadowling. Which meant she could kill it.
Yet she was starting to doubt. Never had a Shadowling performed magick before.
And the ravens? Ravens were harbingers of powerful magick and evil.
Gritting her teeth, she reached for her last poisoned arrow. Just before her fingers pinched the weapon’s shaft, there was a hiss. The smooth cherry wood bow inside her fingers became warm and squirmy as a light-green snake appeared, its white underbelly slick like carved ivory. A pink, forked tongue tasted the air.
Impossible.
She threw the serpent down, more from shock than fear, and watched it slither toward the distortion . . . now a very visible, very real, man.
Even casually crouched on one knee, he was towering, his tousled hair the color of bleached bone, his skin pale and luminescent as the moon. Thickset black horns crowned his head, so dark they swallowed the light. They rose just above his temples and spiraled gently to follow the curve of his skull.
But her attention snagged on his pale-silver eyes set wide and deep below two onyx slashes of eyebrows. A ring of yellow glowed bright around his crystalline irises, and she found herself drawn to the light the way a lost hunter would be drawn to the warm glare of a campfire.
Somewhere deep down she understood two contrasting truths. First, he was the most beautiful and the most terrifying man Haven had ever seen. And second, he wasn’t a man at all.
He was something else.
In fact, she would have been less horrified if he bore fur and claws and rows of pointy teeth. Then his physical appearance would match the terror swarming through the hollow of her bones like fire ants, urging her to run.
To hide.
Still, beneath her fear, Haven felt curious, a trait that would someday be the death of her—just hopefully not today. “What are you?”
“Not a Shadowling, Little Beastie.” His voice was a haunting lullaby, the sound of raven wings and snake tongues and the wind howling through dead winter leaves. “Now,” he continued softly, his gaze sliding to her hair. “What might you be?”
Shivering, she ran a hand over her head, expecting the hat that covered her hair. But it must have fallen off when the beasts below were rattling the tree, and her fingers snagged in the tangled nest of rose-gold hair wrangled into a bun at the base of her neck. In most lighting her locks appeared an odd, dusky pink.
Straightening to project a courage she didn’t feel, she met his strange eyes and said, “I’m Haven Ashwood, Royal Companion Guard to Prince Bellamy Boteler.”
“Indeed.” His head ticked languidly to the side as he studied her, an animalistic movement. His nose was straight, refined, his lips the only soft part of his face. “And are you not afraid of me, Haven Ashwood, Royal Companion Guard to Prince Bellamy Boteler?”
Her chest tightened, his voice calling to some dark, ancient part of her. “Should I be?”
His lips lifted in an opulent grin. She flinched, expecting fangs, but instead a row-full of straight, ivory teeth greeted her.
“I came here looking for the mortal who’s been killing my creatures,” he said. “Do you know anything about that, Little Beastie?”
My creatures. That meant . . . her mouth went dry at the implication. A Shade Lord.
“Yes,” he breathed, his voice unnaturally smooth, hypnotic. “And not just any royal Shade Lord. The Lord of the Netherworld. Of all the beasts in the land.”
His lulling voice shivered with pride, and she almost said, Good for you.
But then he was inches away—when had he moved?—his bright, yellow-ringed eyes emanating like the runestones above. Up this close, she could make out the elongated pupils slashed through his irises, more oval than round.
“Now you know what I am,” he purred, “but I still don’t know what you are.”
Bark scraped her shoulder blades as she pressed into the tree, trying to create space between them. She was feeling more and more like a hare caught in one of the king’s traps. “I’m just a mortal. Why do you care?”
“A passing amusement. Besides, it’s only civil to learn about the thing you plan to feast on.”
Her stomach clenched. Rumors that the Noctis race drank the blood of mortals had swirled through the castle for as long as Haven could remember, but she had never believed them . . . until now.
A gasp escaped her lips as his face pressed close to hers, his cool breath sliding over her cheeks and conjuring deep, wracking shivers through her torso.
His mouth paused over her neck, and she stopped breathing.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No,” she lied, lifting her chin even as her knees threatened to give out.
“Your scent says otherwise.”
Slowly, he inhaled, running his nose along her collarbone and up her neck—
“I killed your creatures,” she said, her voice wavering as she tried to pull his attention away from the artery throbbing just below her jaw. “I hunted them, snared them, and killed them for sport.”
His head snapped up to level with hers and angled to the side, a quick, predatory movement that turned her veins to ice.
He blinked once, twice. Slow, lazy, curious blinks. She had the misfortune of noticing his eyelashes were thick and charcoal-colored, rimming his strange eyes like the liner the courtiers used.
Then he laughed. “What a strange Beastie you are. No fun at all. But as much as I admire your courage, I’m afraid you’re boring me. Now, please scream.”
It was a command laced with magick.
A tingle pulsed behind her eyes. She tried to fight the order, but a scream formed inside her chest, adrenaline searing her veins as her heart bucked wildly.
For the briefest of seconds, she was terrified.
But another emotion rose to the surface. Anger. He was in her head, uninvited.
Using her rage, she drove the planted emotion from her mind until darkness gave way to light, and she was back in control of her mind.
She glared at him, fiercely proud, as she swallowed down the scream he desired.
“I’ll never scream for you,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt.
The corners of the Shade Lord’s lips puckered as his curious smile returned. Dark talons slid from his fingers.
He traced one sharp claw across her jawline. “Hmm. That was . . . unexpected.”
In the instant it took for him to blink, she had her favorite elk horn dagger in her hand. The next second it was dragging across his chest.
Why wasn’t he reacting? He held perfectly still, his head bent as he watched the blade carve across his chest. His lips were parted slightly, a curious look lifting one corner of his lips.
Before he could react, she lunged for a branch five feet to her left. The moment her feet hit the limb, she leapt again, dropping from branch to branch until her boots hit soft, leaf-carpeted ground.