Henri stays true to his word, keeping close enough that his power lingers over me and I'm not in danger of tripping or running face-first into a branch. Beneath the false calm his magic provides waits a sea of roiling emotions: fear and anxiety and confusion and disbelief. I'm worried that if his power slips even a fraction, they might rise like a tidal wave and claim me. There's one way to avoid that, and with a heavy exhale, I surrender myself to my strange state of focus and detachment with more ease than ever before.

My vision sharpens, chasing away the lingering shadows. Grim reluctance settles over me as the night comes alive anew, and I press my lips together in a hard line, trying not to scowl. Surrendering to this ability doesn't feel good right now. It feels like giving up, like admitting to something I've been avoiding thinking about for weeks. Even with the numbness it usually brings, even with Henri's power burgeoning me, I'm still unnerved. Because this isn't normal, this isn't human, which is why I've been avoiding entering this altered state and relying instead on Henri's magic. It offers nearly the same results without the troubling side effect of making me question my humanity.

But between what Henri said before I fainted and what his father said and did after I woke up, I can't hide from the truth any longer: I have powers I shouldn't have. What does that mean? Where did they come from, my mother? She seems the most likely candidate with her tales of the uncanny and how she somehow knew things the rest of us didn't. But then there are all those stories of Papa in battle, how he never missed a shot, how his blades always flew straight and bullets seemed to bend around him, and now I'm wondering if that had more to do with magic than skill or exaggeration.

Now isn't the time, I tell myself, and with the impassiveness of my hyperfocus settling over me like a second cloak, it's easier to let these troubling thoughts go than it probably should be. Another sign I'm abnormal?

I shake my head and return my attention to my surroundings. There might still be a vampire – in the back of my mind, a hysterical laugh threatens. Really, a vampire? Is this my life? – lurking out here. I need to keep my wits about me. Straining my ears, I step carefully, rolling each foot from heel to toe as I try to make as little sound as possible. After the cacophony of battle, this silence feels deafening, wrong, as if the entire forest is holding its breath. The men are still working somewhere behind me, and the occasional voice or rattle of metal are welcome reminders that I'm not actually alone, lost in the wilderness. But in the spaces between their noises, the quiet feels loaded. Something is still out here, watching us – I can sense it with some vestigial part of my mind that feels like it's just starting to wake up. Henri seems convinced the vampire is gone, and maybe it is, but I can't shake this clawing feeling that unseen eyes are boring into my back.

It could just be him, but I doubt it. His presence has always served to calm me, at least when he's exuding so much magic. I might not be able to see him, but I can feel him out here with me, somewhere to my right, slinking through the trees as he flanks me, staying true to his word and keeping me in sight.

No, this...strangeness, this offness comes from my left, somewhere deeper in the dark heart of the woods. I hunch my shoulders and walk the last fifty paces to the clearing quickly, wanting this over and done with, so I can retreat to the relative safety of the chateau. At least there, I'm used to my surroundings and the constant spying and duplicity. Better the devils you know than the ones you don't.

The human captain sits alone in a small forest dell created by the death of an ancient oak. Moonlight slants into the clearing at an angle, bathing the scene in silver and casting long shadows over the forest floor. The oak's trunk lies decomposing on the ground in pieces, looking like the vertebrae of some fallen giant. Mushrooms and lichen rise from the rot, and as I cast my gaze around, I have to fight back a shiver. This looks like one of the fairy circles from my mother's stories, where villagers of olden times brought their dying babes in hopes the fae might save them.

I bring my focus back to the man. He sits in a crumpled heap at the edge of the clearing, tied to the base of a pine tree. His meaty hands are bound in front of him, and he's clearly unconscious, head lolling to the side. He's maybe thirty, with thin lips, a broad nose, and light brown hair. The uniform he wears is stained and torn in places from the fight.

I pause a handful of paces away from him. What would be more unnerving, to wake with a masked stranger in your face or find them standing eerily in the gloom, watching you? Definitely the latter, I think. If I stay where I am now and rouse him from here, there's a greater chance he'll think me a specter. I'll be little more than a wraith-like shadow to him, bathed in moonlight, cloak floating around my feet in the breeze that's starting to pick up.

On instinct, I remove my mask and tuck it into the cloak's pocket, thinking of when I first stepped from the chateau and how spooky it was to be met with the line of cloaked horsemen. I pull my hood up and angle my body so my back is to the moon, knowing my face will be lost to shadow.

"Wake up," I croon in a low, sing-song voice.

The man doesn't so much as twitch.

"Wake up," I say, a little louder.

Nothing.

A dark shape shifts in the forest behind him, from where I can feel Henri lurking behind a large tree. "Try throwing something at him," he says helpfully.

I nearly laugh. This is insane, and I clearly have no idea what the hell I'm doing, so I take his advice and crouch down, grabbing up a few twigs and pebbles from the forest floor.

"Wake," I croon again, chucking a small rock at the man and hitting him in the chest.

He snorts and shifts a little but doesn't wake.

"Hey," I call, dropping the creepy sing-song and speaking a little louder. I throw a stick this time. It bounces off his shoulder with no effect.

A minute later, my hands are empty, and the man has started to snore. The low choking noise coming from the trees behind him tells me Henri finds this situation just as ridiculous as I do and is having a harder time fighting his amusement.

"I'm glad someone's enjoying this," I mutter, embarrassment rising. Some agent of the rebellion I make. What a fearsome specter. An absolute nightmare-making creature. Fear me, mortals.

"I have an idea," Henri calls.

"Hopefully, it's better than your first one," I say, and he laughs again.

"Brace yourself."

I frown. Brace myself for what? Is he going to fire a pistol or somethi –

A howl rips through the darkness, shredding the peace of the night. I clap my hands over my ears and pray for it to end, goosebumps erupting across my entire body, every instinct screaming at me to run, to get away from whatever the hell is making that deep, rending baying. If not for my state of focus, I would give in and bolt.

It's just Henri. You're not about to be torn apart, I tell myself, but it does little to stem the panic in the back of my mind.

I thought it was eerily silent before, but that's nothing compared to the absolute absence of noise that descends after the howl dies away. Even the crickets have stopped chirping. I pull my hands away and see the captain is awake, eyes wide and rolling as he tries to find the source of the howl.

Here goes nothing.

"It won't hurt you," I say, taking a step forward to draw his attention.

His head jerks toward me. "You have to untie me," he says, speaking so fast he almost trips over the words. "We need to get out of these accursed woods."

I crouch down, at eye level with him, fifteen feet between us, and cock my head sideways in the same unnerving way the baron does. "But why would I leave? These accursed woods are my realm."

His mouth pops open, only to snap shut again. I watch him squint, trying to see through the shadows, his mind working as he starts to realize how odd this little scene is. As if to drive it home, a low growl rumbles out of the darkness, Henri doing his part to make this encounter even more ominous.

The man jerks in his bindings, trying to look behind him.

"Be at peace," I tell him. "The monster won't harm you." Belatedly, I add, "Without my command."

His head snaps back around. "Who are you?"

I let out a low, rattling breath that sounds unearthly even to my ears. The blood drains from his face, and I feel a small stab of remorse for terrifying the poor soul.

Don't, I tell myself. I have no idea who this man is. He seems harmless and helpless right now, at my mercy, but outside of these bindings and in a different setting, he might happily become my tormentor instead. He might have killed dozens of rebels, ransacked houses, dragged innocent people to the guillotine, raped, assaulted, and ravaged his way across the countryside. Most captains in the republic have earned their rank by proving themselves deadly loyal to the cause. I have to assume he's done terrible things, that he's truly my enemy. Anything less, and the guilt may eat me alive when this is all over.

"I'm the mother of the men you've killed," I tell him, slipping back into a sing-song voice. I have to make this good, real, send him out of here convinced that nothing but death waits for him and his comrades within these woods. If I pull it off, I might just be saving lives.

I place my hands on the ground and take a stuttering step toward him on all fours, making my movements as jerky and unhinged as possible, hoping that with the aid of the cloak, I look like some half-dead ghoul whose limbs don't function correctly anymore.

The man sucks in a ragged breath and leans as far away from me as the tree will allow. I stop a dozen feet from him and cock my head sideways again, sharper this time, like my neck might break if I went any faster. He lets out a low moan and starts praying under his breath.

I have to raise my voice to be heard over him. "I'm the daughter who will never see her father again. The widow who waits for a husband who won't return. I'm the women you and your men have raped, and I stalk these woods with demons, seeking my vengeance against you and yours."

He's still praying, looking past me as if trying to remove himself from this situation. I scrabble forward on all fours and grab his face. The fractured scream he lets out is far too satisfying for some reason. I've spent my whole life wary of strange men, always aware of the possibility of violence, never forgetting how many women they've ruined because they were drunk or bored or on a goddamn whim, with no thought or care for the carnage they leave in their wake. To have the tables turned, to have a man fear me instead, is something powerful and heady and instantly addicting in a way that makes me certain if the baron asks me to play this role again, I will gladly agree.

I hook a finger and drag it down his cheek like a claw. "Tell the republic to stay out of the Vendée," I whisper.

And then Henri explodes out of the woods behind him, scooping me up and carrying me away so fast that the forest blurs around me. I have to bite back a whoop of triumph. To that captain, it must have looked like I just disappeared into thin air.

"That was magnificent," Henri says as he starts to slow. He pulls me away just enough to look down at me in his arms, one brow lifted, expression troubled, but a hint of mirth dancing in his dark eyes that makes me think he's secretly amused. "Disturbing, but magnificent."

I grin, feeling a strange, bubbly sense of euphoria like I drank a glass of champagne too fast. "Was it scary enough?"

His teeth flash in the moonlight as we slip between trees. "Downright terrifying. The moment you shuffled over to him on all fours like something freshly crawled from the grave will live in my nightmares indefinitely."

My lips twitch up even higher. "Have I put you off me then?"

He changes direction so fast my head spins, and before I know what's happening, I'm back on my feet, pressed to the nearest tree trunk with his hands in my hair. He digs his thumbs into my lower jaw with enough pressure to tip my head up to him. His eyes are bleeding from brown to amber, and by the way he stares at my mouth, it's easy to guess what kind of emotions have triggered the change this time.

"Never," he says, his voice gone low and husky. And then his lips crash into mine, stealing my next words and my breath along with them.

I open immediately to him, my arms snaking around his neck in a vice grip as I pull him closer. The moment his tongue touches mine, my strange focus is shattered and I'm dumped back into my body with all its emotions and senses and needs. He smells like heaven this close, some musky note in his scent driving me to distraction. But that's nothing to the way he feels pressed up against me, enormous body curled over mine, both sheltering and crowding me at once.

Our tongues dance between us, flirtatious and tentative at first, but then he lets out a low groan and deepens the kiss, and all rational thought flees my mind. We're pressed together as tight as possible, and still, it's not enough. His hands drop to my thighs, and I jump without needing to be told, wrapping my legs around his waist. This time it's my turn to groan. In this new position, there's no hiding how much he wants me. His arousal strains against my core, large and hot and demanding, even through our layers of clothes. What would it feel like to have him pressed to me, skin to skin? The thought makes me writhe against him, grinding him right where I need him.

He lets out a low, tortured noise and thrusts against me, hands rising to dig into my hair, tree bark abrasive on my back. The pain should be distracting, but for some reason, it only adds an exquisite ache to my pleasure.

With a sharp inhale, he pulls his mouth from mine. His eyes are wild in the moonlight, a bright ring of topaz barely visible around his blown pupils. "You make me forget myself," he rumbles, dragging his thumb across my bruised and swollen lips.

I sway into him, still caught in the spell of our lust when a twig snaps nearby, and reality comes crashing back. What am I doing? We must be close to the road, where a small army of men with supernatural hearing are clearing bodies from the battle scene. There may still be a vampire out here, stalking us, or worse, the baron. I must be out of my damn mind.

Henri's fingers tighten around my chin, and his expression sobers. "Don't."

"Don't, what?" I ask.

"Don't pull away from me. Don't regret this," he says.

I stare at him, still struggling to clear my mind. It's not easy with him pressed so close, his manhood still straining between us, demanding attention. The urge to grind my hips down onto him is almost too strong to ignore, but I shove my desire aside and unwrap my legs from around his waist. He steps back and gently sets me back on my feet, a look of loss bordering on hurt darkening his expression.

Wanting to reassure him, I reach up and brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead. "I don't regret this. But you make me forget myself too, and I can't think that's entirely a good thing when we're within hearing distance of your father."

A wolfish grin tugs at his lips. "We're not. I ran us away from the road instead of toward it."

I shiver, looking past him. "Even worse. We don't know what's out here with us."

He lifts a finger and taps his ear. "Nothing. I've been listening this whole time. I wouldn't forget myself enough to put you in danger."

I frown as I bring my gaze back to his. "I..."

He sobers, stepping close again. "What is it?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure, but I..." I glance around him, trying to sense what I did before, but it's impossible with him so close and without the aid of my hyper-focus. "I thought I felt something out here with us earlier. It was probably nothing."

Instead of dismissing me as I expect, he jerks his head up and casts his gaze into the trees, tilting his head this way and that as if he's straining his ears. "I don't feel anything," he says, bringing his gaze back to mine, but it's not disbelief I see in his expression, only worry. "Please tell me the next time you feel like anything is off."

"You believe me?" I ask.

A frown creases his brow. "Why wouldn't I?"

I let out a huff. "Because I have no idea what I'm doing?"

I expect him to smile, but his eyes soften as he stares down at me. "That doesn't mean you're not right." He drags his gaze to the woods, looking wary. "Let's get back to the others."