Amaris resisted the urge to close her eyes in fear. If she was going to die, she would die with pride. Her mouth dried, gooseflesh snaking up and down her spine as she winced in preparation for leathery skin, for jagged teeth, for a ridged spine, but instead she saw…a man. She blinked to ensure her vision was clear as she beheld a fae with dark hair dressed in hardened black leathers. She’d been expecting horrible, amphibious features, but instead she stood before a male who looked like he might as well have been a fallen angel. His darkened wings were not the membranous stretches of batlike skin from her bestiary tomes but resembled the tales of the seraphim and their unearthly beauty. The man who’d been kneeling at the water’s edge folded his wings behind him cautiously as he approached Amaris and her unnamed captor. She still wasn’t able to see who held her, but her chin remained defiantly lifted, and she arched her back away to keep from touching him.

One swift motion changed that.

The captor twisted her to look at him. Her hackles raised defensively as her back was now to the one she’d thought a demon, but she forced herself to look her captor in the eye. She was with not one fae but two. The only full-blooded fae she’d seen before this moment was Samael, and aside from the slender arch of his ears and too large eyes, this rugged fae looked nothing like him.

“I’ll thank you not to hunt my men,” he said, though once again, something about his voice sounded like he wasn’t truly speaking to her. The assailant spoke to hear the sound of his own voice, grumbling with blackened agitation.

Amaris’s lips parted slightly. She absorbed his features as she faced him in the moonlight. His black hair was darker than the night around them. His tanned skin and sharpened canines held a vague feeling of familiarity, though she couldn’t name why. The shadow of his wings blotted out the view of the trees behind him, creating an obsidian halo around his face. He was beautiful. Truly, powerfully, extraordinarily beautiful.

She had never been more terrified in her life.

Amaris took a half step away from him, but the backward movement only brought her closer to the one who’d been at the water’s edge. She pivoted sideways, a night-haired man now flanking her on either side. She raised her hands to create a barrier.

The one who’d held her still had her weapons. She was defenseless, save for her fists and borderline feral will to survive.

The demon with the waterskin spoke not to her but beyond her. His voice was gentle as he addressed the one who’d held the knife to her throat.

“I’m sure she was just afraid,” he said.