She slammed to a halt, feeling the vibrations of the surrounding woods. A flutter of movement caught her eye from a tangle of roots on the ground—black wings, a squawking bird. In the shadows, a crow ripped out a sparrow’s entrails, and the tiny bird screeched in agony. The crow was eating it alive. Lost somewhere in the aura, Rosalind felt sick. She wanted to wring the sparrow’s neck to end its misery.

But the thing inside her relished the electrifying cycle of life and death. In the dark parts of the forest, the strong feed on the weak.

The spirit wanted to feed.

It forced her to her knees, and made her plunge her fingers into the ground. Vernal power coursed through her veins, and a green aura swirled through her body. This mage wanted her to bury herself in dark moss.

I’m in here, her mind screamed. My name is Rosalind.

The mage forced back her head, scanning the woods. Sage-colored algae grew on felled tree trunks. In the distance, an elk tore along a path. The trees’ spirits breathed around her, trunks swelling like bellows, the air thick and sweet with their whispered breath.

Power charged her body, and the mage compelled her to rub the dirt over her arms and chest. The rejuvenating power of fertile soil.

Her mind shrieked with the invader’s thoughts.

The hawthorns. The sharp claws of lust. The fire. You led me to the fire. You will burn.

Somewhere inside this chaotic mind, Rosalind tried to make herself stand. Rosalind… The name grew fainter.

Something was wrong. Rage tightened around her heart like a cinquefoil vine. The moonlight burned too strong, dazzling through the leaves, blinding her. The smell of burning flesh filled the woods. Within moments, agony ripped her apart, her skin burning, blackening, and cracking. Pain splintered her mind until the world tilted.

The mage was burning her body.

Something else needed to die to stop this. Her blood boiled, and around her, oak leaves blazed like candles, lit with the witch’s fury.

Oh gods. The agony warped her mind. Someone was here. An agent of the night god. Break his ribs. Rip his heart from his chest. Drink the blood to cool your flames.

She leapt up from the ground, her pain blinding, and slammed into the mage, her fist ramming into his skull. After knocking him to the ground, she jumped on his chest, hands slipping around his throat.

But the flames faded, her skin cooled, and a long sigh slid from her. Now the pain was just memory. She could see him now—so beautiful, his eyes a pale gray. The mage wanted him, and now Rosalind wanted him, too. She ran her fingers over his chest. The spirit forced her to lower her mouth to his and lick his lower lip, pressing her body against him, burning with need as she kissed him—

He slammed the ring back on her finger, and the thing withered in her mind, its presence only a faint echo.