[Emma's POV]
Maddox moved through the forest not as a man, but as a scythe, cutting a swath of grim, violent intent through the pre-dawn gloom. His men were spectral shapes in the mist behind him, a disciplined, lethal net cast wide. They were hunting a sorcerer, a creature of shadow and ritual. Their fingers were on triggers etched with silver, their eyes scanning for hex-signs and unnatural beasts. They were prepared for a monster. They were utterly unprepared for the weapon Damon chose.
It began as a whisper of sound where there should have been none—a choked, feminine gasp, taut with a pain that felt intimately real. It came from a dense copse of weeping willow, their tendrils like a curtain of tears. Maddox’s hand shot up, halting his men. Every muscle coiled. There, silhouetted aga
