He didn’t need to see the figure to know it was a Huntsman. And yet not a Huntsman, no more than this forest was truly a forest or the hound truly a hound. The hound and the forest were tainted, warped, by no fault of their own. The taint came from the voice that oozed through the trees like an oil slick, black and unnatural, corrupting everything it touched.

“Show yourself,” Ricky called, and the voice laughed.

“Arawn, I presume? Yet another pretender to the throne. And such a child, too. A swaggering, grinning child, clutching his switchblade and telling himself he’s a man. Telling himself he’s Lord of the Cŵn Annwn.”

“Pretty damned sure I never claimed any such thing. But I did come on behalf of the Cŵn Annwn. To take back something you stole.”

“Your girl?”

Ricky snorted. “Hardly.”

“Oh ho, so the girl doesn’t matter? Perhaps you are the true Arawn after all—finally man enough to stop playing silly romantic games, chasing a girl he’ll never have.”

“You have something of ours. A hound.”

“Yours? No, the hound is mine. A broken and useless beast that I found and saved. But let’s test exactly how little you care for your Matilda. You may choose which I return: her or the hound.”

“You misunderstood. When I laughed, it wasn’t because I don’t care for Liv. It’s because you didn’t steal her. If you’d managed that, you wouldn’t have time to come mock me—she’s a bit of a handful. Something has separated us, but you have nothing to do with it, and as much as I’d love to tromp through this forest, shouting, I won’t find her until it’s time. I trust she can look after herself until I do.”

“Are you certain?” The voice slid around him now. “Very certain?”

“Yep. Sorry. And the weird-ass spooky-voice thing really isn’t going to work. Why don’t you just come out where I can see you and talk?”

“I have nothing to say to you, little Arawn.”

“Then you won’t mind if go collect my hound.”

A shadow cut in front of him as he turned, formless, the very trees seeming to shift and slide as it moved.

“It is not your hound, boy.”

“Wanna bet? Bring it here and we’ll see who it chooses.”

A laugh resounded through the trees. “You are an arrogant child, aren’t you?”

“Confident, not arrogant. There’s a difference.”

“Ricky!” It was Liv, deep in the forest. He turned to track the sound.

“Your borrowed lover calls,” the voice said.

“Liv!” he shouted.

“You say you are not concerned, but that bellow gives you away. Does she wander from you often, boy? I bet she does. Wanders from your side to his, comes back when she wants something from you.”

“Yep, she comes back when she wants to be with me. Which is all that matters. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

He turned in the direction he’d heard Liv, because as brash and bold as he might act, the man was right—he was more concerned than he let on. He could hear the hound whining, but it had waited all this time, and it would understand if it had to wait a little longer.

He broke into a jog, yelling for Liv as the voice chuckled behind him.

“Ricky!” she called.

“Here! Coming!”

“Damn it,” she said, her voice carrying in the night. “We’ve really got to figure out how to stop separating like this.”

“Agreed.”

“You know what we need more of?”

“Bike sex?”

She laughed, and he knew that wasn’t some random snippet of conversation shouted across a forest—she was making sure it was really him.

“Run, little Arawn,” the voice whispered. “Run after her while you still can.”

Ricky shot his middle finger over his shoulder and picked up his pace. A shape leapt in front of him, darkness against darkness, pulsing there. He veered, as if it was no more than a stump in his path, but when the shadow dove for him, he was ready, blade slashing. He could still see nothing, but the knife met resistance and there was a sharp intake of breath.

“Guess my puny weapon can do some damage after all, huh? Even if you don’t have the guts to uncloak yourself.”

Ricky saw the blow coming. No fist. Not even a shape. Just darkness flying at him, but he’d been in enough fights to recognize the sense of movement alone, and he wheeled out of its path, shouting, “Liv? Be careful! I’ve found our rogue Huntsman.”

“Kinda figured that’s who you were talking to,” she yelled back. “You two keep exchanging semi-witty banter and I’ll have no problem finding you.”

“I think he’d rather exchange semi-useless blows.”

The next one came from his right, and Ricky wasn’t quite fast enough to duck. That was, of course, the danger of being a smartass. You can enrage an opponent into wild blows, but one of those blows is bound to hit. This one struck him in the jaw and—

Holy fuck.

He’d say it felt like a sledgehammer, but there was no pain, just … explosion, and then—

Terror. Overwhelming terror, like something had reached into his brain and released every nightmare, the shock of that doubling him over, breath stopping, heart stopping, everything stopping, that blackness swallowing him and—

God-fucking-damn it, no. Just no. Get a fucking grip.