Chapter 2
Hannah
My head pounded, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears. The world rocked beneath me, my body swaying in a way that made my stomach knot. Snow crunched under heavy steps, and leather creaked in a slow, steady rhythm.
I tried to open my eyes, but nothing happened. Panic sparked, hot and immediate. Was this what a hangover felt like? I had never had one, but my friends used to complain about dehydration and nausea the mornings after drinking, groaning and swearing off alcohol forever.
I attempted again to open my eyes, but my lids stayed shut.
That was when the rest of my predicament registered.
Pressure dug into my chest and stomach, holding me in place, while my legs hung loose and shifted with movements I couldn’t control.
Cold bit hard into my right cheek, while something thick and soft pressed against the left.
Rough fibers scraped my wrists, my hands bound behind my back.
Something was tightly wrapped around my body from my shoulders to my hips. My ankles felt bound, too.
A damp gag stretched across my mouth, sour and rotten, tasting as if something had died on my tongue.
I gagged, and bile burned its way up my throat.
I tried to swallow past the dryness coating my mouth, but the motion only spread the taste.
My pulse spiked as adrenaline cut through the fog in my head. Think. Focus. Don’t panic, Hannah.
The last thing I remembered was curling up on the couch in the library with that leatherbound book about portal magic. I’d been warm and safe, completely absorbed in the pages.
My eyes finally cracked open. Snow stretched in every direction, glowing beneath the low-hanging moon. It took a second for my mind to catch up with what I was seeing. Then the truth slammed into me.
Once again, I was draped over the back of a caribou like a sack of potatoes. My legs hung on one side, my torso over the other, and my ribs pressed painfully into the saddle.
I tilted my head upward. A broad man in a heavy fur coat sat in front of me with his hood pulled low and his posture rigid and controlled. I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. Whoever he was, he had kidnapped me, and he had no intention of letting me go.
I tested my weight, trying to shift an inch.
Nothing. I was tied to the saddle, secured so well I could barely move with the animal’s stride.
A thick blanket or cloak was wrapped around me, pinning my arms and trapping my body heat.
It kept the worst of the cold off my skin, but it also made escape impossible.
Fear squeezed my throat, but hot anger coursed through my body. I forced myself to breathe slowly, to look, to think. I twisted as much as the ropes allowed, ignoring the bite against my wrists.
We weren’t alone.
Three riders moved ahead of us in a tight line, their caribou forcing a path through snow that reached nearly to their chests.
Another three followed. Every one of them wore dark coats and deep hoods that hid their faces, turning them into shadows against the night.
So at least seven to deal with. Maybe more.
Night Court, most likely. At least, it looked like that could be their armor.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if it were Kai, given I’d left my used panties for him. Still, the Night Court had attacked the Dusk Court, and the soldiers the Night General had pulled off me before… before everything… had been clear. The Night King wanted me alive for something.
I studied my rider as best I could from my awkward angle. He looked different from the Night General. Slimmer. Not as broad through the shoulders. But it was hard to be sure while folded over a caribou and tied up like a hog.
I tested the bindings at my wrists, twisting slowly, keeping the movements small.
The thick blanket helped, hiding my hands from view.
The rope bit into my skin, rough and unforgiving.
Whoever had tied these knots knew what they were doing.
My fingers were numb from the cold and lack of blood flow, but I could still wiggle them.
Good. That was something.
I lifted my gaze toward the moon, squinting past the sting in my eyes. It was not near the mountaintops, and it was nowhere near its peak. Late night, then. Maybe only a few hours until dawn.
Plenty of time to figure out how not to die.
Where even was I?
I craned my neck, trying to take in anything useful. Landmarks. Patterns. Anything. The moonlit snow reflected just enough light for me to make out jagged rocks rising from the drifts. We were moving through a wide mountain pass, boxed in by steep, dark slopes.
Snow. Rock. More snow. Larger rock formations breaking the wind in uneven bursts.
Not helpful.
A gust of wind sliced through the blanket and into my bones, and I shivered. The rider in front of me shifted in the saddle but didn’t look back. He probably didn’t care if I was awake.
I’d show him.
I worked my fingers against the rope, slower this time, feeling for any weakness and slack.
The fibers scraped my already raw skin, nearly setting my wrists on fire, but I kept going.
The knots didn’t budge. The guards had positioned them out of my reach, each hand tied separately before being bound together. Efficient. Cruel. Thorough.
These people had done this before.
Frustration flared hot in my chest.
Dammit.
From the front of the column, a shout pierced the night, sharp and commanding. The sound bounced off the rock walls, distorting as it echoed toward us. I stilled, straining to listen as my heart hammered.
I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear. Alert. Recognition.
The wind picked up, howling through the pass. Another voice answered from somewhere ahead, thin and strained against the cold. I caught only fragments carried back to us over the hooves crunching through the snow.
“…Night General… soon…”
My rider urged our caribou forward, and the line followed suit.
The animal’s muscles bunched and released beneath me as the path turned steeper, each step jarring my bruised ribs against the back of the saddle.
Pain flared, and I bit down on the gag and forced myself to stay focused.
There had to be a way out of this. I just had to find it.
The terrain shifted as we climbed. Dark shapes rose from the snow on either side.
Trees, but not like any I had seen before.
Their trunks were twisted and knotted, bark furrowed so deeply it looked like ancient skin.
Branches clawed upward at strange, warped angles, their gray surfaces glinting eerily in the moonlight.
Clusters of dark berries clung to some limbs despite the cold, and the leaves that remained looked black-green in the dark.
Something about them made my skin prickle.
They reminded me of the leaves of the rowan tree in Aunt Maureen’s yard. The one she’d buried that cursed iron box beneath. The one that had landed me in this strange realm.
If she were with me, she’d give me an earful and then tell me to pay attention.
If I had listened to her—if I had left the box alone—maybe I wouldn’t be here now. But there was no point in crying over spilled milk. I’d deal with this and find my own way home.
The path curved around a massive boulder, easily the size of four Clydesdales pressed together.
The ledge narrowed, becoming barely wide enough for a single caribou.
Beyond it, the mountain dropped away into darkness so deep I couldn’t see the bottom.
My stomach twisted, but the animals moved with steady confidence, navigating the path like they’d done it a hundred times before.
The snow here was thinner, covering only their hooves.
A faint orange glow flickered ahead, dancing against the rock face.
Torchlight.
My stomach tightened. Wherever they were taking me, we had to be close.
The column passed through a gap between two towering stones, and the wind vanished. We entered a massive hollow carved into the mountainside and sheltered by curved rock walls that formed a natural dome overhead. Snow barely dusted the ground here, leaving dark stone exposed.
A dozen large tents dotted the space, each with a small fire burning in front. Dark canvas blended into the shadows, tops crusted with frost. Cloaked figures moved between them, breath fogging the air.
I caught glimpses of dark armor beneath their cloaks. Damn, I hated being right. Night Court soldiers.
At the edge of the hollow, a massive, gnarled tree leaned out from the cliff, its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder. The bark had twisted and folded into shapes that looked disturbingly like faces frozen mid-scream, and its roots had forced their way through cracked stone.
This tree held no leaves. No berries. Only bare branches reaching into the night like skeletal hands.
My skin crawled.
At its base sat a rough-hewn stone slab, angled slightly upward. Stains darkened its surface, and a shallow indentation marked the top, with deep grooves carved downward. Chains were fastened along the sides, heavy and waiting.
For a person… for me.
Two cloaked figures crouched near it, working over a coarse stone vessel positioned at the head of the slab.
Their hands moved in precise, deliberate motions, almost ritualistic, like they were painting something.
I caught the faint glint of metal. The air felt heavy and wrong.
Like something dark seeped into my lungs with every breath.
Dread coiled tight in my stomach. A prickling sensation spread up my spine. Whatever that slab was, I wanted nothing to do with it.
I had to get out of here.
Fast.