"So you intend to kill me, then?" My words resonated with unbridled bitterness as I stared my nemesis down.

I knew when he bit his wrist that something wasn't right...

My sister's life hung by a thin thread, about to disappear. Choked by irrational anger, I glanced at her body, which had begun to convulse in the last deadly throes of mortality, and I bellowed with venom as I realized his plan, "I would rather die than degrade myself like that. Anixae, if you can hear me, I want you to heal yourself and then stab this fucker."

Balthazar's cold eyes darted to her face just then, as if searching for something. His face grew tight, pinched, every line of his body radiating tension from whatever it was that he'd empathically picked up from her, making me ease in the direction of Rizzaget while his focus was elsewhere.

I must have kicked something on the floor because Balthazar snapped out of his daze and snarled at me.

I felt the velvety presence of his shadows wrap around my hips, drawing me downward, my knees hitting the floor first. I looked back at my sister, whose rigid form no longer moved, whose rosy, red lips were stone-cold. But she was still alive, I could feel it. Her heart was slowly, slowly beating.

No. Dryads weren't helpless. I would simply do what I’d always done – execute my own plan.

Before Balthazar could reach me, I summoned the vines, urging them to wrap around Rizzaget's bulky mass... and when they'd swept him up, depositing him into my lap in an instant, I bit into his wrist, suckling on his skin like a leech.

My wrist was a second away from going into the Sorcerer's mouth when I felt something bite my neck from behind. No, not something, but a Dragon. A majestic creature of icy shadows, of black scales in its truest form, with fangs and talons for weapons and enormous wings to graze the sky.

Inexplicable euphoria and an ocean of delirium stumbled through me, the strength of it maddening and draining, my mind struggling to sift through it all. I didn't want to leave the dark, sinful cage that my consciousness had consequently fallen into… for it was temptation and bliss, a place of refuge.

My eyes had all but rolled into my head and I dropped Rizzaget's wrist straight away, one hand going straight to the soft head of hair resting on my shoulder...

I curled my fingers, tugging on the strands. Sighing. Arching against the presence at my back. I might have even moaned in pleasure, the ecstasy a fire that roared through me with abandon. This feeling, this intensity caused by the bite of that person – it was filling me with a fluffiness that made me want to soar high and forget everything.

I was drifting, longing to strengthen that connection with that person. That tether, that gold-coloured life-force was my anchor in this world, and without it I felt as if I couldn't attain true rapture. That presence felt strong and familiar, comforting even.

Wait...

There was something wrong about this–

Just as I was awakening from some dizzying spell, a tanned wrist came into view, shoved in front of me and I realized that I was still being bitten. A certain pair of cold lips had still not unlatched from my neck.

I was being restrained by one of Balthazar's hands and the other, he'd offered up in front of my face. An invitation for me to bite.

Except we both knew he wasn't giving me much of a choice.

His shadows threshed along the floor, snarling at every tendril of my vines, keeping them at a distance. This was his way of telling me that I was trapped; I was only half-present in the mind, semi-aware of my bearings and dimly able to grasp what would happen if I wrenched myself away from his fangs.

"Don't do this." I beseeched him quietly.

The Dragon's teeth had retracted, barely, and the tips of them grazed my skin. I shuddered against him, unable to stop my body from remembering the pleasure they evoked.

"Anixae won't die." Balthazar intoned, brushing off my plea. "You have my word."

"Then why must I life-bond to you?!"

His lips just caressed my petal-soft skin, not answering. But then his wrist came up to my cracked lips, the open wound pressing into my mouth at the same time his teeth sunk into my neck.

I felt...

No.

It wasn't just me.

We felt– everything. Together. As one. We were locked in the same mind. Sharing every ounce of thrilling, trilling, powerful, joyousness that had ever existed. Whatever sacred ritual this was, it was pure elation; and it was our undoing. It hammered our individual magics into a stellar force, our minds into cohesive units... right before returning our minds into our separate bodies.

I gasped. I'd somehow shut my eyes throughout it all and Balthazar's arms had come around me at some point, holding me to him during the entire life-bonding process. Had we been locked like that the entire time? His long arm flexed around me, banding me to him, his chest to my back as we'd moved so intimately on the floor? Writhing, groaning aloud.

I spat out his blood as my senses jumped in at full force, and I tore myself away from him.

"You've poisoned me!" I screamed.

Balthazar's attention wasn't on me, though.

Healthy colour had returned to Rizzaget's face, and he'd rolled to his side, sputtering, drawing weak breaths. My sister, too.

I scrambled over to her and wiped at her face. Her eyes were unfocused, the green shade of her locks now faded to light brown, and the short lengths were all but shrivelled around her damp neck. My fingers worried at her pulse, feeling for the slightest movement.

When it jumped erratically, I almost cried in joy and gratitude. "I don't understand."

"You are no fun at all, Dragon." Rizzaget, wiping his chin of drool and blood, arose without an ounce of frailty, his body movements now fluid and overperformed as he looked at me and sighed, "I was never in any danger – nor was your precious sister. I just kept her in a state of unawakening. My dearest Dryad, poisons are my specialty. I carry anti-venom on me all the time. I'd be a fool not to and since Anixae thought to initiate this nonsense, I thought I may as well get something out of it. A life-bond with two Dryads, that would have been fun! Oh, but Balthazar just had to go and ruin it all by seeing through my devious plans. I'm sure he sensed that Anixae was under a minor spell."

This was nothing more than a malicious ruse? This Sorcerer had an astonishing sense of antipathy that was surely born from the pits of hell!

Anixae, released from whatever mysterious magic Rizzaget had set upon her, was starting to mutter words unintelligibly to herself, her slim fingers arched on the floor, and her legs kicked out. And then in a moment of precipitous clarity she gasped, as if a tremendous weight was being lifted from her chest.

My sister sat up in a tizzy, furious awareness painted on her beauteous features, and she clutched at my shoulders, breathing wildly, her jade eyes slowly searing with a temperamental gleam.

"Don't," I cautioned her, seeing her need for vengeance written all over her face. "You cannot."

"I am not his puppet! Sister, how do we know that he is telling the truth about Galadryn? I would not for the world trust the words of this viper!"

Before she could throw herself at him, I put myself in front of her and smeared my bloodied wrist along her necklace, trying to awaken the Faerie magic in it.

"The cottage." I said, linking my hand through hers, "Take us out of here."

Rizzaget snorted. "I've already disarmed your pretty Faerie technology. It works for me now. A component of my blood must be used in order to travel, or else it will take you straight to me and only me. Have fun leaving, Dryads."

The audacity of this Sorcerer... oh, how I longed to rip out his heart with my bare hands, I seethed internally, every muscle of mine tensing in dark, sickening anger. I'd even built myself to a point where I wanted to hurt myself instead – my hair elongating in a manner that boded ill for the future of Blackswallow City; my structures altering from pleasantly human to minacious, the ruby colour of my veins changing to green-blue just as every vine and root beneath the city clambered drunkenly to Rizzaget's apothecary. Anything to rid myself of this overwhelming volatility–

I'd begun to notice an occurrence within the valley of my mind. I almost didn't notice the subtle intrusion at first, but when fingertips of an icy wind slipped into my subconscious, stroking over my thoughts, I cringed inwardly.

Bit by bit, I felt like I was being dragged into a lake, forced to soak in tranquil waters, relinquishing every ounce of my indignation, although I knew this change of heart wasn't something I'd initially conceived...

No, there was too much tightly wound control involved in the execution. Basic 'self-control' was not a personal quality I valued within myself because Dryads were spirited and reckless creatures, as capricious as the weather and prone to change like the seasons, always faithful to frolicking rather than arguing in circles – and then it dawned on me with a quickening head rush that I'd been shamelessly influenced. This had all been a devious assault on my mind, and the Dragon Faerie who stared at me from his position, shaking his head, had just used our life-bond to reframe my emotions towards Rizzaget.

Refuting my choice to damage either of us with my foolishness.

"Stay out of my head, Balthazar. I should cut out your heart for what you've done to me! And you, Rizzaget! This is twice that you've done the unforgiveable." I said, grappling onto my sister's sleeves for consolation.

Undaunted by my outburst, the unkempt Sorcerer glided over to a table with a metal decanter filled with smoky-brown liquid, gesturing to the destruction of his shop as he poured himself a drink, "Look around you, Doralis. And let's not mention the atrocities of your sister Galadryn. Your family has out-beaten me when it comes to 'unforgiveable slights', I'm afraid. I'm merely trying to balance the scales."

Because of Balthazar, my ire was greatly diminished and yet I could still feel that the reverberations of my earth-shaking magic had yet to completely fade away; the vines and roots outside the store barricading the doors and windows, and I whirled toward the male who'd tethered himself to me, intending to reproach the villain with every breath in my body – except I quickly found that I couldn't.

My lips acted against me, closing before I could even speak, and then I heard the dark, sensuous voice of my long-time foe trickling through the depths of my mind, his terseness ringing through each syllable, "Just for once, Doralis, keep that delectable mouth of yours shut... I'll handle this."

I jumped on the spot, disgruntled brows drawn in dismay, insults clanging for release in my head as I expressed mental discontent through our bond at having him privy to my thoughts, the surprise in my eyes burning like coals on a fire.

The Dragon Faerie was back to his indominable, insufferable self, fortifying the rigid muscles on his face back into its usual wall of indifference, ever the dignified rule of Adalantra as he adjusted his rumpled clothes and strolled over to Rizzaget, his insouciant sway suggesting that nothing was amiss.

The Warlord’s eyes were the true indicators of his mood, revealing every dark, acidic thought in his mind. But just because his face was taut with control, that didn’t mean he’d come to shoot blanks at the Sorcerer. His words were always his favourite weapon of choice, and as he deliberated on what to say, Balthazar’s mask had begun to melt into an expression of false playfulness – one that boasted hellish intentions.

As his shadows stalked the room, growing like oversized spiders along the walls, he plucked the now empty decanter of liquid from the surprised male, his voice turning frosty as he enunciated through clenched teeth, "You've gone to great lengths to gain an audience with me... Rizzaget La'Barrier – But a word of warning. Do not think I take this lightly, being summoned like a mule to your stable.”

Rizzaget chuckled. “Anything else, my lord?”

“Galadryn is a Dryad and if there's one thing I know about their kind, it's that they can avoid detection right until they plan on revealing themselves. For days, months… centuries, if need be.”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget that you’re the most informed person on Dryads? No one else can claim that they’ve spent as much time in the company of these inconstant cherubs as you have. What would you recommend, then?”

“Here is what I propose: We lay a trap for the third sister. Allow her to come to you of her own volition. Once you capture her, you'll of course be able to find whatever it is that your guild is so pressed on returning to its archives, yes? And then you'll owe me a very, very big favour in return for not killing you right now. How does that sound?"

Anixae and I moved toward the door and tested the magical boundary that had somehow been put in place while we'd been distracted. My plants were jabbing at Rizzaget's magical force, unable to get in and the barred entry caused upheaval for my own powers as a Dryad, my thoughts clambering with rebellious plans because of what Balthazar had suggested.

I glared at the rippling, green boundary before giving my attention to the man of silky, ruby-red hair.

Rizzaget had moved back into the tea room, shedding his torn, green tunic as he walked, revealing scarred tissue on his shoulder blades and Orc slave symbols on the back of his neck.

Anixae was visibly thrown off by the sight of Rizzaget's bare skin and heavy scarring... I felt a pang in my chest at what Galadryn and I had done in order to keep our baby sister ignorant and purposely unfamiliar with the effects of war.

We all took the vacant seats in front him, but this time I sat on the obsidian one that looked like a brusque, tinier version of Balthazar's throne. Our moods had seemingly settled into quiet, fickle dispositions, although the Dragon was the least outwardly perturbed of us, leaning back in his guest chair with his hands behind his head, putting one booted foot on the corner of the wooden table as he waited for our host to speak.

Rizzaget sighed and finally answered in a voice that was aged beyond the years of his youthful face, "My master Kromstark is dying. He has bequeathed me the Omnisong. It is an object that passes onto the next Angitho once the conclave has decided who it will be. To us, it means... Well, it is precious beyond words. Your sister has stolen it from our guild."

Nothing could have prepared me for his cloudy eyes or those long, slim fingers of his scratching the table in swirling patterns, as if to take his mind off the topic at hand. I was floored by the truth in his words, could feel all his devastation let out in a single breath and I swept my animosity aside, if only to ruminate on how my older sister could do such a despicable thing.

Why, Galadryn... why?