Page 170 of The Dryad Storm

“Well, then, let’s get to work, shall we?” Hazel drawls, a wicked smile formingon his black-lipped mouth where he stands beside Wrenfir, my uncle’s large black bobcat kindred hugging his side. Wrenfir’s and Hazel’s arms are slung over each other’s shoulders, their magic looped around each other, a surprisingly intimate energy thrumming through it as the mounting foliage power of the Forest pulses through us all.

“We need Oaklyyn,” Sylvan calls out to Hazel from where he stands beside Iris Morgaine. Everyone grows silent as Sylvan levels a finger toward the West, at the Shadow threat bearing down, his pine eyes severe. “Oaklyyn holds a special talent for crafting Dryad runes, including the amplification, linkage, and expansion runes. We need those runes to break through Vogel’s Shadow net and throw our shielding over the entire East. We hold great power, but not enough to achieve this before the Magedom’s Shadow winter closes in. Not with foliage season shortened. If we’re going to outpace Vogel’s forces, we need Oaklyyn on our side, but she has estranged herself from us all.”

“I have sought her out as well, Dryad’kin,” Yulan tells Sylvan, a mournful edge to her tone and in her kindred heron’s eyes, “but there is no convincing her to ally with us.”

“I went to her, as well,” Alder admits, her green brow knotting tight. “But a more powerful enemy than even the Magedom has taken hold of her. She has lost all hope.”

“We can’t abandon her,” Aislinn insists with a vehemence that sends an ache through my heart—I’m certain that my Lupine sister is all too clear on what facing misery without hope or aid can do to a person.

“Aislinn’s right,” Jarod says from beside her, his arm wrapped around Aislinn.

“She needs us to be her khin,” Thierren passionately agrees.

“Raz’zor and I sought her out soon after she retreated into the wilds,” Ariel reveals, a troubled look tensing her sharp features, the raven kindred on her shoulder bristling. “She’s ready to attack anyone who comes near. Raz’zor asked me for the chance to try and break through to her alone.”

Troubled, I send a line of my fire out to Raz’zor. His returning ruddy flame is suddenly streaking through our horde bond with an impassioned red sizzle I’ve never felt in my horde mate’s fire before. Along with a cautioning flare, emphatically fierce, and I struggle to respect the demand for distance I feel in it.

Because we’re running out of time.

Chapter Thirteen

Fire Forest

Oaklyyn

Northern Dyoi Mountain Range

The Wyvern Raz’zor and the Icaral Mage Ariel Haven sought me out soon after I broke from their allies’ cursed ranks, the two of them ignoring the violently clear message I gave to my Dryad’kin.

Leave me be.

I empathically sensed the Wyvern’s and Icaral’s approach before I sighted them from where I’d retreated, deep into this doomed Forest. I could sense their cursedfire.

Their cursednon-Dryad’kinfire.

Rage lashed through me, and I reached for my staff, ready to fight them off here in the dawn-lit wilds. Ready to unleash revenge and scream until the heavens shook. As their wicked fire drew nearer, I sprang to my feet, trembling with grief-stricken fury.

Wanting themdead.

Wanting tobedead.

The memory of the sound of my bonded Northern Forest and my kindred wolverine screaming echoed through my soul, echoed through my destroyed heart again and again andagain.

“Leave mebe!” I snarled at them, spittle flying from my mouth as the Wyvern and the Icaral slunk through the trees with their terrible serpentine fluidity.

Non-Dryad nature killers!I yearned to scream at them.

Allof them nature killers.

Hate pummeled though me as the Icaral and the large white dragon slid into fuller view. Their gold- and red-fire eyes took in my murderous stance, unintimidated ferocity blazing in them.

I raised my staff and moved to attack as the Wyvern suddenly contracted inward.

I halted, dead in my tracks, as his form snapped into the shape of a serpentine young man, his startlingly abrupt change throwing me off-kilter, his form clothed in hard white scales, the crimson fire burning in his eyes undimmed. His wings fanned out just as two Noi Doves with half-grayed feathers soared down from the Forest’s canopy and perched on my shoulders, the birds flooding me with a pleading, gut-wrenching affection that was unbearable to sense, hopelessly doomed as they were.

Undaunted by the hardening of my aggressive stance, the doves flashed images into my mind of the Icaral woman before me placing healing salve on their burns. Cooing them to sleep.

But I wantednoneof the wingeds’ false hope.

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