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He turned me to face him, and his eyes pierced through.
"Admit it, Elise. Aren't you curious?" His hand tangled in my hair. "What it's like—to kiss a monster? To be desired by someone who could kill you with one movement?"
"You're insane."
"Maybe," he smiled. "But you're still standing here. Not running. Not screaming."
He was right. I wasn't running away. Because… because…
Because this is a dream. Here I can't escape.
Only for that reason.
His lips covered mine—softly, surprisingly tender for someone who'd threatened me with death.
The kiss was icy, but not burning. Slow. Exploratory. His tongue touched mine, and a wave of sensations ran through my body—cold and heat, fear and something else I didn't want to name.
I tasted winter on his lips. Snow, pine, something wild and ancient.
And I hated myself because part of me… responded to the kiss.
It's magic. Only magic. Not me.
Caelan pulled back, looking into my eyes. Triumph swirled in his gaze.
"See?" he whispered. "You're beginning to feel."
"It's your damned sorcery!"
"Perhaps," he traced his thumb across my lower lip, wet from the kiss. "Or perhaps you're just more honest with yourself in dreams than when awake."
He stepped back, giving me space.
"But we'll end here for today." He turned to the window. "Dawn is near. You'll wake soon."
"How do I… how do I wake up?" Desperation broke through in my voice.
"You don't," he tossed over his shoulder. "You'll wake when I allow it. Or when your body pulls you from the dream itself."
He turned, and the expression on his face became serious.
"But remember, Elise. Every night I'll come." His voice became colder. "And every night I'll go further. Touch more boldly. Learn more."
He took a step toward me, and the world began darkening at the edges.
"By the seventh night you'll be begging me not to stop."
"Never!" I screamed with all my might, and the scream tore free not only in the dream but in reality.
His laughter echoed as reality began to crumble.
"They all say that, darling. All of them."
***
I woke abruptly, crying out from residual terror.
Sitting in the fissure, pressed against the stone wall. My throat ached from screaming, my chest burned. My whole body was drenched in sweat, but I shivered from cold.
My legs ached—muscles tight after the night's flight. Palms stung—scratches from falls when landing in this world. My mouth was parched. My head spun from lack of sleep and stress.
A dream. It was a dream.
But my lips still burned from his kiss. My waist hurt where he'd wrapped his arms. And on my neck, where he'd kissed, the skin was covered with a delicate pattern of frost.
I touched it with trembling fingers—cold. Real.
The marks remain.
Horror gripped my throat. The traces of his touches… remain. Every night he'll leave more marks. By the seventh night…
No. Don't think about it.
Outside, dawn was breaking. Gray morning light filtered between the stones. The three moons had disappeared, yielding to a pale, cold sun.
The night was over.
The first night behind me.
But now I knew—the nights would be more terrifying than the days.
Because during the day I run from monsters outside.
And at night—from the monster who knows all my secrets.
And leaves his marks on my body, one after another.
Chapter 6
I needed to get out. Keep moving while it was light.
I reached for my backpack—and froze.
A sound came from outside.
Footsteps.
Light, almost soundless, but audible against the morning silence.
Someone was walking around the boulders. Slowly. Methodically.
My hand instinctively reached for the knife, fingers closing around the handle.
Who's there?
I held my breath, listening.
The footsteps were approaching. Circling the fissure, as if sniffing.
The Wild Pack? No, they couldn't have crossed the river.
The Fox? Come back for his debt?
Or something else?
The footsteps stopped right at the entrance.
Silence. Long, oppressive silence.
I gripped the knife tighter, feeling my palm sweat.
And then came a sound—a deep, noisy inhale. As if someone was drawing air through their nose, sniffing out a scent.
Another breath. Another.
"I know you're in there," a voice sounded.
Female. Melodious, like the ringing of bells.
But there was something… hungry in it.
My heart dropped.
"I smell human blood," the voice continued softly, almost tenderly. "Warm. Alive. Delicious."
Fae. This was fae.
"Come out, child," the voice drew closer. "Don't make me drag you out by force."
I remained silent, pressed against the wall, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.
Maybe she won't see. Maybe she'll leave.
But I knew—she wouldn't leave.
"Stubborn?" Satisfaction rang in the voice. "I like stubborn ones. Their fear tastes better when they finally break."
A silhouette appeared at the entrance.
Tall. Graceful. Backlit by the morning light.
The figure began bending, trying to peer into the fissure.
And then the light fell on her face.
I forgot how to breathe.
A woman.
No—not a woman. A creature that had taken female form.
She was beautiful in a way no human could be. Sharp cheekbones, perfectly outlined lips, pale skin, almost transparent, through which blue veins showed, forming intricate patterns.
Hair white as freshly fallen snow cascaded to the ground—long, thick, alive. It moved on its own, though there was no wind, as if each strand lived a separate life.
But her eyes…
My God, her eyes.
They glowed with golden fire. No pupils. No whites. Just two golden discs burning with inhuman, predatory light.
She smiled—and the smile revealed teeth.
Sharp. Like a shark's. In rows. Three rows of needle-sharp teeth that gleamed in the morning light.
"There you are, little mouse," she whispered, and her voice was sweet as honey laced with poison.
Her hand reached into the fissure.
White. Graceful. With long fingers.
And claws. Black, curved claws instead of nails, as long as my pinky finger.
Instinct took over from fear.
I snatched the vial of holy water from my backpack pocket, uncapped it with trembling fingers and splashed it directly on the hand reaching for me.
The reaction was instantaneous and terrifying.
The fae howled.
The sound was inhuman—a mixture of female shriek and animal growl.
She recoiled, clutching her hand, and fell to her knees.
Where the holy water touched her skin, burns appeared. Red. Blisters. The skin hissed and smoked, as if I'd splashed acid.
The smell of burnt flesh hit my nose—sickeningly sweet, nauseating.
"YOU!" Her voice turned to a snarl. "You dared?!"
She rose to her feet, and I saw her at full height.
Tall. Incredibly tall—two and a half meters, if not more. Graceful body, but beneath the white dress woven from something like spiderweb and mist, the muscles of a predator could be glimpsed.
Her face twisted with fury, golden eyes blazing brighter.
"Filthy mortal!" she hissed, trying to master the pain. "You dared to wound me! ME! THE WHITE LADY!"
She paced before the entrance to the fissure like an enraged beast. Snarling, howling, cursing me in her language—the words were melodious, but the meaning was clear in the intonation.
Promises of pain.
Slow, agonizing death.
I clutched the nearly empty vial, pressing it to my chest.
A third. Maybe less. That's all that remained.
The fae stopped pacing. Her golden eyes found me in the half-darkness of the fissure.
"Holy water," she hissed, and something like… respect? rang in her voice. "Clever little mouse."
She slowly crouched at the entrance, tilting her head.
"But you don't have much of it, do you?" The smile returned to her face, twisted with malice. "Maybe enough for one more time. Maybe even two."
She settled in more comfortably, crossing her long legs like a cat ready for a long wait.
"But not for the whole day," she continued softly. "And the day is still long. Very long. And I'm in no hurry."
Cold crept down my spine.
She would wait. Would sit here until I fell asleep or the water ran out.
"I'll sit here," she licked her lips with a long, too-long tongue. "I'll wait. Sooner or later you'll come out. Or fall asleep. Or try to escape."
Her clawed fingers tapped on the stone—slowly, methodically.
"And then I'll catch you." Her voice became almost tender. "First I'll tear out your tongue so you can't scream. Then gouge out your eyes so you can't see what I'm doing."
She leaned closer to the entrance, golden eyes glowing in the half-light.
"And then I'll eat. Slowly. I'll start with the toes. They're so crunchy…" She closed her eyes, savoring the imaginary taste. "Then I'll move up. To the knees. To the thighs."
Nausea rose in my throat.
"Leave," I snarled, trying to make my voice sound more confident than I felt. "Or you'll get more."
She laughed—a silvery, beautiful laugh that didn't match her threats at all.
"Threatening me? Oh, brave mouse!" She clapped her hands like a delighted child. "This makes the game even more interesting!"
Then she tilted her head, studying me.
"But we both know the truth, child. You won't come out. I won't leave." A pause. "Stalemate."
She was right.
If I go out—she'll grab me. Her arms are long, claws sharp. I won't even have time to swing the knife.
If I stay—sooner or later the water will run out or I'll fall asleep.
Think. Elise, think!
My gaze darted over the contents of the backpack.
Water—almost no holy water, just regular.
Salt—a packet.
Iron nails—a handful.
Knife.
Flashlight.
Salt.
A memory from the book flashed in my head:
"Salt repels fae and destroys their enchantments. Causes them pain, like fire to a human."
But she's sitting right at the entrance. How do I scatter it?
Don't scatter. Throw. In her face.
This is madness. She's too fast. Might dodge.
But there's no other chance.
I slowly, trying not to make noise, took the packet of salt from the backpack. Tore open the package with one hand, continuing to grip the knife in the other.
"What are you doing in there, mouse?" The fae tried to peer deeper into the fissure, but was afraid to approach after the holy water.
"Praying," I snapped.
"Prayers won't help, child." She shook her head. "Your gods don't hear in this world."
I scooped a full handful of salt.
One attempt. Need to hit her face. Her eyes.
My heart pounded so loudly it seemed she could hear it.
"You know what I'll do first?" the fae continued dreamily. "Drink your blood. While it's still warm, while your heart still beats."
She licked her lips.
"Human blood is so sweet. Especially young. Especially full of fear."
Now.
I lunged forward, right to the entrance, and hurled the salt straight at her face with all my strength.
Direct hit.
Salt got in her eyes, in her nose, in her open mouth.
The effect exceeded all expectations.
The fae shrieked—the sound was so loud and piercing that I covered my ears.
She fell on her back, clawing at her face, rolling on the ground. Where the salt touched her skin, it hissed, bubbled, smoked.
The golden eyes went dark, flooded with tears—silvery, glowing tears.
"MY EYES!" she howled. "YOU BURNED MY EYES!"
I didn't hesitate.
I burst from the fissure, jumped over the writhing figure and ran.
Ran without looking back, without thinking, just ran with all my strength.
Behind me came a new howl—full of pain, fury and promise of revenge.
"I'LL FIND YOU!" she screamed. "FIND YOU BY SCENT! AND THEN DEATH WILL SEEM LIKE MERCY!"
But the voice was growing more distant.
I raced between trees, jumped over roots, dodged branches. The backpack beat against my back, my lungs burned, muscles screamed with pain.
But I didn't stop.
I ran until my head spun from lack of oxygen.
Until my legs buckled and I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air.
I looked around.
The forest around me looked the same as everywhere. Tall trees, moss on the ground, morning light filtering through the canopy.
But the White Lady's howling could no longer be heard.
I got away. For now.
I leaned my back against a tree trunk, breathing heavily, trying to orient myself.
Where had I run? In what direction?
I looked back—all the trees looked the same. No landmarks.
I was lost.
Panic began rising, but I pushed it down.
Calm. Need to calm down and think.
My hands were bleeding from scratches—I'd scraped the skin on rocks getting out of the fissure. Blood dripped down my fingers, falling to the ground.
Scent.
Her words echoed in my head: "I'll find you by scent!"
I needed to stop the bleeding. Wash away the scent.
Water. I need water.
I listened—in the distance, barely audible, I heard a sound. Gurgling.
A stream? A river?
I stood on trembling legs and moved toward the sound of water.
Walked slowly, cautiously, listening to every rustle. But the forest was quiet. Too quiet.
The sound of water grew louder.
I came out to a small stream—narrow but fast. Water ran between stones, clear, transparent.
Running water.
I dropped to my knees by the bank, plunged my hands into the icy flow. The water burned the scratches, but I endured, washing away blood, dirt, sweat.
Washed my face. Dampened my neck where I could still feel traces of frost from his touches in the dream.
The cold water sobered me.
What next?
The Fox said to go south. To the red moon. To the Borderlands.
But could I trust him?
"We always lie. Even when we tell the truth."
His own words.
I looked at the sky, trying to orient myself. The sun was… somewhere there. But it didn't move like in the normal world. Directions were distorted.
I don't know where to go.
Despair began creeping in, but then I saw light.
Ahead, between the trees—a warm golden glow. Not the cold light of the moon or pale sun. Warm, living radiance.
Fire.
A campfire?
This could be a trap. Another fae luring prey.
But there was no other option.
I cautiously moved toward the light, gripping the knife in one hand.
Between the trees a small clearing appeared. In the center burned a fire—real, with crackling and the smell of smoke.
And next to the fire sat a person.
An old man.
Wrinkled face, long gray beard, simple traveling clothes.
He raised his head, hearing my steps, and smiled.
"Hello, child." His voice was hoarse but kind. "Something's chasing you through the forest this early in the morning?"
I froze at the edge of the clearing, not daring to approach.
"Who are you?"
"A wanderer," he shrugged. "Like you, it seems."
He nodded to a spot by the fire:
"Sit. Warm yourself. You look like you haven't slept all night."
A trap?
I studied him carefully.
Ears—ordinary, round, human.
Eyes—brown, with normal pupils, tired.
Hands—wrinkled, covered with age spots. Human hands.
"You're… human?" I whispered.
He smiled sadly:
"Was once. A very long time ago."
He gestured to the fire:
"Fire protects from many creatures here. Sit. I promise not to bite."
I slowly, not releasing the knife from my hands, approached and lowered myself to the ground opposite him, so the fire was between us.
The warmth of the fire was a blessing. I stretched my hands to the flames, feeling frozen fingers begin to thaw.
The old man was silent, just sat watching the fire.
Finally I couldn't stand it:
"What are you doing here?"
"Living," he answered simply. "For a very long time."
"You're stuck here?"
He looked at me, and in his eyes I saw ancient sorrow.
"You could say that."
We sat in silence for several minutes. Only the crackle of the fire broke the peace.
I took the water bottle from my backpack, took several sips. Then jerky—bit off a piece, forced myself to chew, though I had no appetite at all.
The old man watched me.
"Smart girl," he muttered. "Eat your food. Not theirs."
I flinched:
"How do you know?"
"Because I once ran too," he poked the coals with a stick. "Hid too. Also refused their food, their gifts, their promises."
He raised his head, looking me in the eyes:
"You're playing the game, right? Morphrost is hunting you?"
A lump stuck in my throat. I nodded.
"How many nights have passed?"
"One," I whispered. "Only one."
He whistled:
"And you're still alive. Impressive. Most don't survive to the dawn of the first day."
"You… you played too?"
"Long ago," his gaze became distant, as if he was looking through time. "More than two hundred years ago, by your count. Though time flows strangely here. Maybe three hundred. I don't remember anymore."
Two hundred years.
"But you won."
"No," he shook his head. "I lost."
Cold gripped my heart.
He smiled bitterly. "On the sixth day. Almost made it to the end, but on the sixth day the Lady of Thorns found me."
"Lady of Thorns?"
"Spring Court," he explained. "I wasn't playing with Morphrost. With another. She loves games no less than the Winter King, only her trials… are different. More insidious."
He fell silent, lost in memories.
"What happened on the sixth day?"
"She caught me." His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. "I was one step from victory. One step. But she… she knew my weaknesses too well."
He looked at me, and pain flashed in his eyes—ancient, burned by time, but still alive.
"Used the face of my dead wife. Voice. Scent of her perfume. Everything." His voice trembled. "And I… for a moment believed. Hesitated."
"And then what?" I whispered.
He looked away, staring into the fire.
"She grabbed me." Briefly. Harshly. "The game ended. I lost."
Silence. Heavy, oppressive.
I didn't dare ask further—something in his face said this wound was best left untouched.
The old man sighed, rubbed his face with his hands.
"And here I am. Two hundred years. Maybe more." He gestured around. "Stuck in this world forever."
Forever.
The word hung in the air, heavy as stone.
He raised his head, shook himself, as if throwing off memories.
"But enough about me." His voice became firmer. "Tell me, do you know where to run?"
I nodded, remembering the Fox's words.
"The Fox said… to the Borderlands. Where the red moon is."
The old man's face darkened. He spat into the fire.
"The Fox." The name sounded like a curse. "That red-headed bastard."
I flinched.
"He… did he lie?"
The old man was silent, looking at me carefully. Then slowly shook his head.
"Yes and no." He poked the coals with his stick, scattering sparks. "The Fox is a trickster. He always tells half truth and half lies. You just need to figure out which is which."
He stood, walked around the fire and crouched next to me. Closer. So I could see every wrinkle on his face, every spark in his eyes.
"Listen carefully, girl. What I'm about to tell you may save your life." His hand rested on my shoulder—warm, human, reassuring. "The Fox told the truth about one thing—you really do need to get to the Borderlands. It's the only place where you have a chance to survive."
Hope flared in my chest.
"Then he didn't deceive?"
"He deceived about the direction." The old man squeezed my shoulder. "The red moon hangs over the Heart of Winter. Over Morphrost's palace. The most dangerous place in his domain. The center of his power."
My blood ran cold.
"He… he sent me to him?"
"Yes." Simply. Harshly. "Right into the beast's maw."
Fury exploded in my chest, mixing with humiliation.
Bastard.
The old man saw the expression on my face and nodded.
"I understand your anger. But now is not the time." He released my shoulder, stood and pointed east. "The Borderlands are there. See where the sun is?"
I looked. Between the trees the sky was slightly lighter—the pale, cold sun was breaking through the gray haze.
"Three days' journey. Maybe two, if you're lucky and don't encounter too many dangers."
He returned to the fire, sat opposite me again. The fire lit his face from below, making the wrinkles deeper, the shadows darker.
"What are the Borderlands?"
The old man interlaced his fingers, staring into the flames.
"Land between the domains of all the Courts. Neutral territory." His voice became quieter, almost reverent. "Once, before the Courts, before the fae, before all this magic, another power ruled there. Old. Wild. Primordial."
He raised his gaze to me.
"It's still there. In the earth. In the stones. In the air. And it limits the power of the Courts. Doesn't let them capture these lands completely."
"So there Morphrost is weaker?"
"Yes." A nod. "He won't be able to summon the Wild Pack. Won't be able to use strong enchantments. Will rely only on his strength, on his skill." A pause. "You'll get a more honest fight."
More honest. Not fair. Not safe. Just slightly less hopeless.
"But," the old man continued, and his voice became harder, "don't think it's safe there. The Borderlands are the wildest, most dangerous place in this world."
He leaned closer, and I saw fear in his eyes.
"Those who were exiled from the Courts live there. Fae criminals feared even by their own. Monsters that have no place in any world. Spirits that feed on flesh and fear." His hand trembled. "There are no laws there. No rules. Only strength."
Cold ran down my spine.
"Then why should I go there?" My voice broke. "If it's so dangerous?"
The old man exhaled, leaned back.
"Because there's an exit there," he said simply.
I blinked.
"Exit?"
"Yes." He nodded. "In the center of the Borderlands stands a circle of stones. The Neutral Grove. An ancient place where magic is older than the fae." His eyes gleamed. "And there, in the very center of the circle, stand gates. A portal between worlds."
My heart beat faster.
"Gates… home?"
"Yes." He looked into my eyes. "If you survive to the seventh day and reach the circle—you can pass through the gates and return to your world."
Hope flared, but then was replaced by confusion.
"But…" I frowned. "But isn't Morphrost supposed to send me home? If I win? He said that if I survive seven days, I'll be free. Won't he return me with the same mist he took me with?"
The old man laughed.
But the laugh was bitter, almost angry.
"Oh, girl." He shook his head. "No. No, no, and no."
The smile disappeared from his face.
"As soon as the seventh day ends, the hunt will cease. The contract will be fulfilled. You'll become free." He paused. "From him. From the hunt. From obligations."
His finger jabbed the air.
"But 'free' doesn't mean 'home.' Understand?"
Cold crept down my spine.
"I… don't understand."
"The fae don't lie," the old man said slowly. "But they don't tell the whole truth. That's their way of playing."
He leaned closer, and I saw ancient pain in his eyes.
"Morphrost promised you freedom if you survive. And he'll keep his word. On the seventh day the hunt will end. You'll be free." A pause. "But he's not obligated to send you home. That wasn't part of the deal."
The world tilted.
"So…"
"So he'll say: 'Congratulations, you survived. You're free. Go where you want.'" The old man spread his hands. "And he'll leave. And you'll remain in the fae world. Forever."
Tears burned my eyes.
"But that's… that's deception!"
"That's their truth." Bitterly. "They give exactly what they promised. Freedom—yes. The way home? No. Because they didn't promise it."
Silence.
I digested what I'd heard.
Need to go to the Borderlands. To the circle. To the gates. It's the only way to get home.
"There's another reason," the old man added quietly.