Anger still bubbles under my chest from earlier. He withheld something so important from me, although I also had been withholding. Even through my rage, he is right that we can’t deny the force between us and with whatever lies through the Wicked Wood, I’m glad he’s by my side. As his fingers wrap around mine, the tightness I’ve been carrying in my chest lessens.

Collectively, we all take a last shuddering breath before stepping forward, inching closer to the opening of crooked trees. Swaying branches tickle along my skin. A breathy, “Welcome,” hisses in my ear, sending the hair on my arms up, despite the thickness of my cloak.

Arriving at the Wicked Woods is like entering a feverish dream. The kind where you’re unsure if you should wake yourself up or endure the nightmare until daylight pulls you out. Though, there is no daylight to save us here. Only foolish hope and blind trust.

Loosening his grip on my hand, Sorin leads us into the tunnel of darkness. A faint howl echoes from the wolves as they trail us and it’s the last thing I hear before the all-consuming black drowns out the rest of my senses.

There is no going back.

Shuffling feet and the occasional exasperated breath are all I can hear once we’re inside the twisted trees. My eyes struggle to adjust as we inch our way forward. Little by little. Step by step. Hand in hand, with Sorin in the lead. A sudden flash of white illuminates the inside of the tunnel of trees, I throw my hands up to shield my eyes. A wicked echo of laughter bounces off the invisible walls of the wood.

There at the end of the tunnel stands who I can only assume to be Grawgeth. Her slim, naked figure appears slowly in smokey waves then all at once. Her height towers over us, making even Jarek look small. Sharp nails come to a point at the tip of each finger as she taps them against her long legs. Her sallow, gray skin blends into the eerie mist that coats the tunnel of trees and thick patches of bark scatter across her body. Like she herself is made from the forest.

My eyes catch on her obsidian hair that hangs low below her breasts, emphasizing the sharpened features of her face. Black eyes watch with hunger as we come to a halt. Her thin lips open in a cruel smile revealing too many pointed black teeth. Terror rips through me but Sorin’s grip on my hand anchors me. Without it, I’m sure to be lost.

“Well, isn’t this lovely.” Her voice echoes through the hollow of trees, though it’s not one voice, but many all at once. Deep and low, yet high and piercing. She strides forward, her elongated limbs taking graceful steps over the leaf littered ground. “Sorin Rudhek, no longer the boy I remember. It is not time to repay your debt,” the nymph with many voices growls. “Tell me, what brings you back to my woods so soon?” She inclines her head to Sorin, flicking her eyes to Sam with another wicked grin.

My mind snags on one word, and one alone.

Debt.

“We’re only looking for passage through.” The uncertainty in Sorin’s voice does nothing to settle my nerves. He squares his shoulders despite the fear I sense in his voice.

Tsking, the nymph shakes her long, pointed finger. “You, of all, should know it isn’t that simple, Sorin of Loxley.” Hearing his name on her lips ignites a flame inside me. She must read my emotions because her black eyes snap back to mine. Narrowing them, she scans me from top to bottom. “Interesting,” she says. Thrumming her elongated fingers along her naked thigh. “Another Enchantress.” She glances back to Samaria, flashing another glimpse of her too sharp teeth. Instinctively, I step to the left, blocking her view of my friend. “But you,” she says, returning her gaze to mine, “you yield a very unique power. A Dyrsjel. Dare I say, the last Dyrsjel? Tempting, very tempting,” the nymph muses.

The last Dyrsjel.

“She’s off the table,” Sorin grits out. “As they all are.” The nymph says nothing as we wait in uncertainty. Voices seep through the trees, different whispers itch against my skin. I’m used to voices other than my own plaguing my mind, but this is different. It’s as if the voices are trapped in the trees, begging to be let out. Distracted, I lift my hand and run it down one of the mutilated trunks. The bark scrapes along my fingertips as I press them into the tree. Flattening my palm against the bark I suck in a sharp breath as the voices boom through my ears like thunder.

Get out!

Get out!

Get out!

Pulling my hand back, I fist my palm, daring a glance to Sam, Galen, and Jarek before turning back to the nymph. We shouldn’t have come here.

“You already know what I require.” Grawgeth’s voice rises as she slides forward along the forest floor. “I was robbed of my life when my love was stolen from me. My soul broke in the same way a heart does. So, the thing I require now is the same as I required of you last time, dear boy.” Dipping her head to meet Sorin’s ear I shudder at her words. “A bargain.” I glance back to the trees, their muted pleas forever ingrained in my mind. Sorin’s face is unamused as he takes a slight step back from the nymph.

“The trees,” I say. Voice shaking and heart pounding. My fingertips trace the lines of the bark. “They’re souls?”

“Merely payment for the passage through,” Grawgeth explains, her dark eyes like slits as she watches me.

“Our souls are off the table, so name another price,” I demand. Sorin’s grip on my elbow tenses.

“Oh, so she doesn’t know?” Grawgeth’s menacing laugh wraps its way around my spine, scraping like talons on each vertebrae. “I wonder,” she says between laughter, “why take my woods at all? If Kirsgard is what you seek, the way round is a matter of weeks. Time must be of the essence? Or is it discretion you seek?” She clicks her tongue, corners of her mouth twitching upward in a cruel smile. “Interesting, indeed, but you know my price,” she says again, speaking to Sorin but her eyes remain on me.

“A year sooner.” Sorin’s voice cuts through the unsteady silence, breaking Grawgeth’s concentrated attention, she snaps her gaze to him.

A year sooner? Panic floods my bloodstream. I can’t breathe. Or think. The voices from the trees grow louder, creating a thicker haze in my mind. Surely everyone else can hear them? Looking over my shoulder, I take a breath as Sam clutches her chest, but Jarek and Galen remain calm. Steady. The wolves are farther back, pacing frantically but not daring another step toward the nymph.

“Leave the others' souls out of this,” Sorin says again. “Take a year sooner and let that be enough.”

Grawgeth says nothing, considering his offer. I grip Sorin’s arm, tugging him closer to me.

“You are bold to assume that would be enough,” the wraith says in her many voices, her pointed teeth peeking through a sinister smile. “One year sooner, and you are mine Sorin Rudhek,” she repeats Sorin’s offer, a wicked smile dancing on her lips. Sorin squeezes my arm, slowly dragging his fingers against my cloak as he slides his hand away from me. As if he doesn’t wish to let me go. Pushing the sleeve of his shirt up he reveals the ink that is marked upon his forearm.

“Deal,” he says, his voice unwavering, though his hunched shoulders give way that he is not as confident as he sounds. The black swirls on his arm glow and shift under the bright white light. As Grawgeth steps forward, she traces lines with her long, pointed nails around his arm, just above where the current ink resides. Beads of red bubble up from Sorin’s flesh and after a few moments, she steps back, revealing another intricate set of black swirls.