Never in his 20 years of life had Finch been more scared than when he heard that woman speak directly off to his left side. The Lance Corporal bit down hard on his tongue, using the pain to center himself as he felt a collective shudder run down the stack.

  The voice sounded so real, so close, like someone was walking right beside them just out of sight. Every instinct urged him to look—either his protective impulse from his caveman brain to see who needed help or his fight-or-flight response to spot a potential threat.

  But he kept his eyes on Reyes's pack, watching those ALICE clips bounce, counting the pouches, memorizing every bit of MOLLE webbing as if it were the most important thing in the world. Because right now, it most definitely was, and if that SEAL was to be believed, his life depended on it.

  At least, he was fighting tooth and nail to stop himself from looking. Because something was itching and gnawing at the back of his mind in a sinister, subtle way, making him want to spin his head and look. The feeling felt as if it didn’t belong there, but it also didn’t feel natural either… It was as if someone slid into his mind and began beckoning him, whispering to just take a quick peek.

  "Please... I'm… I’m so lost. The forest is so dark..." The voice resounded again.

  The SEAL's jaw tightened as he keyed his radio with his free hand. "This is Jackal 4-2 Be advised, we're being stalked by a dryad and a fairy. Over." The SEAL spoke into his headset while they continued their pace.

  Finch's eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of their sockets as they kept moving, just a bit faster this time. The word hit him like a bucket of ice water. Dryad. Not a lost woman. Not even human. Some kind of forest creature straight out of a fantasy novel, except this wasn't fiction and she was right fucking there, close enough that he could fucking smell her floral scent.

  "Jackal 4-2, Jackal 4-1." the radio crackled softly. "Copy your traffic. Push THROUGH their zone and do NOT engage."

  “Jackal 4-2 copies all.” The SEAL acknowledged as they kept moving like some kind of human centipede.

  The chain of Marines continued to follow their guide through the nightmare forest as something beautiful and terrible stalked them in the crimson shadows. The fireteam had completely forsaken their slow, stealthy pace, and, apparently, the team behind them kept up as if they were being chased by a demon.

  And from the sound of the SEAL’s tone, they very much were.

  "Oh," she said, her voice like wind through leaves, sweet and musical. "You don't need to point that at me. I'd be more than willing to provide a favor in return for just a little help..."

  The way she said 'favor' made it clear exactly what kind of payment she had in mind, but it was apparent the SEAL wasn’t biting “Shut the fuck up, freak.” He growled in response causing Finch to furrow his brow.

  Unable to help himself, the Lance Corporal’s eyes flicked up to the SEAL, and what he saw made his blood freeze. The operator was glaring fiercely to his left, his weapon half-raised in a way that spoke of violence that was barely held in check.

  Following the SEAL's gaze for just a brief second—a second he knew he would soon regret—Finch caught sight of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

  She moved through the crimson forest as if she were part of it, keeping lockstep with their formation in a deliberate yet flowing manner. Her hair wasn't hair at all, but a cascade of living vines that fell in gentle waves around her shoulders—soft green tendrils that acted like thick locks and seemed to glow with their own inner light. Delicate flowers—pink and yellow—were woven throughout, as if they'd sprouted naturally from her scalp. From her forehead grew slender, branch-like antlers that curved gracefully upward, adorned with more of those tiny blossoms.

  To make things even more bizarre… and arousing, was the fact that this woman was also completely, utterly nude.

  Her proportions were perfect in a way that seemed almost mathematical, as if someone had taken the ideal feminine form and brought it to life. Her skin had a faint greenish tint, reminiscent of new leaves in spring, and shimmered with the same bioluminescent quality as the moss growing on the roots of each tree. Moreover, the woman—or creature—moved with a grace that made Finch's chest tighten, each gesture appearing calculated to draw the eye.

  However, the Lance Corporal physically jumped as his body tried to escape his own skin the moment the Dryad's head snapped toward Finch with such predatory swiftness that every fiber of his being screamed to run. Her eyes—honey-colored, with pupils that seemed to shift and swirl with a strange blue energy that looked as if it didn’t belong—locked onto his own with the intensity of a creature that had just identified prey. They weren't human eyes. They were the eyes of something that had been hunting in these woods for centuries, something that knew exactly how to get what it wanted.

  In that moment, Finch knew with absolute certainty that… he fucked up. He really, really fucked up.

  "KEEP YOUR GODDAMN EYES DOWN!" The SEAL’s voice snapped like a bullet overhead, ripping Finch from his reverie and making his head jerk downward. "FUCK!" A yell of frustration resounded as the distinctive click of a safety flipping off punctuated the words.

  But it was too late. The damage was done.

  A soft, warm hand slid around the back of Finch's neck before gentle fingers began to slowly run down to his back in a silky, soothing manner, releasing the tension there. The touch sent electricity racing down his spine—not the good kind, but the kind that screamed danger, even as his body betrayed him by leaning into it.

  "Shhh," the dryad whispered, her breath somehow warm against his ear despite the fact she should have been too far away. Her voice was like warm honey to his ears as Finch fought tooth and nail not to look again. "I'm not dangerous, sweet thing. But this forest is. I could guide you through it if you wanted me to."

  "DO NOT ACCEPT A GODDAMN THING SHE OFFERS!" The SEAL's voice had taken on a desperate edge now, his weapon tracking the creature even as they continued to move. "No matter what crawls into your head, no matter what thoughts pop up—DO. NOT. ACCEPT!"

  The operator's hand flew to his radio, keying it with frantic urgency, broadcasting over the main net. "Jackal 4-1, this is 4-2! We have been compromised! Dumbass made eye contact and now the Dryad is attempting to seduce the idiot!"

  A beat of silence came over the net that felt like an eternity before the radio crackled back to life in everyone’s ear. "Jackal 4-2, this is 4-1." The voice on the other end was cold and professional, yet it was also laced with an undercurrent of grim understanding. "You are to push through their territory. DO NOT ENGAGE under any circumstances."

  "If he goes with her, just put the poor fuck out of his misery before they can make a deal. 4-1 out." The SEAL Platoon leader said flat out, breaking all pretense of NATO protocol.

  The transmission went out over the main net, ensuring every Marine in the company heard it. Finch bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted copper, forcing his eyes down to stare at the ground as they continued their desperate march through the forest. But even as he focused on the alien moss and twisted roots passing beneath his boots, he could feel... something.

  Something was wiggling around in his mind.

  It wasn't painful, exactly. More like fingers gently probing at the edges of his thoughts, looking for a way in. Testing defenses. Finding cracks.

  "I know what you want," the dryad continued her voice somehow both outside and inside his head now. Her other hand started to slide along his waistline in a knowing manner while her fingers traced just below his belt. "I know what you all want."

  Her touch was electric, sending shivers through him that had nothing to do with the eerie cold penetrating this hellscape of a forest. Every point of contact felt sensational, almost like a warm, enticing pleasure luring him into the abyss, which his brain couldn't properly process.

  "I can see it in you," she whispered, and now her voice had taken on an almost sympathetic quality, like a therapist who'd finally gotten to the root of the problem. "The loneliness. The fear. The... wanting."

  That last word dripped with promise and understanding. It was the kind of offer that every young Marines dreamed about during long, boring nights on fire watch.

  "I can make it go away," she continued, her fingers still working their magic on his neck, his waist, somehow touching him in ways that shouldn't be possible while he was still moving, still holding onto Reyes's pack. "All of it. The pain, the fear, the endless nights wondering if you'll ever feel whole again. Just..."

  She paused, and in that pause, Finch could feel the hook being baited.

  "Just agree to help me with one… small… thing..."

  The words of acceptance desperately wanted to come out. They pushed at Finch’s lips and tried to force their way past his clenched teeth. Yes. Such a simple word. Three letters that would end this torment and give him everything he'd been missing since he'd signed his name on that recruitment form and shipped off to Parris Island.

  Finch focused all his attention on where he was placing his feet as they jogged through the thicket. The alien undergrowth snagged at his boots with every step, threatening to send him sprawling, but he kept his eyes locked on the ground ahead. Even as the Lance Corporal maintained his grip on Reyes's pack, his hands were shaking so badly that he could barely keep a steady hold as he clung on for dear life.

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  Every word the dryad spoke seemed to shake his very being, and each syllable rattled around inside his skull like shrapnel. In essence, he was scared shitless—and if the SEAL was this spooked, then they were dealing with something way beyond his understanding. The operator's anxiety was infectious, spreading through the fireteam like a virus.

  For a full minute, the seduction continued. The dryad's honeyed words poured over him like warm syrup with each breath designed to wear down his resistance. But somehow, through sheer terror and the taste of his own blood from where he'd bitten his tongue, Finch held on. He didn't speak. He didn't agree. He just kept moving, kept staring at the ground, kept fighting that insidious presence trying to worm its way into his thoughts.

  Then he heard it—a sharp click of a tongue, the universal sound of feminine frustration. The hands retracted from his neck and waist, leaving behind a cold absence that was somehow worse than the touch itself. But something felt wrong. Strange even. The frustrated noise hadn't come from his left where the dryad had been.

  It came from his right shoulder.

  Instinctively, against every order and ounce of common sense, Finch turned his head to the right.

  There, sitting on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world was a tiny feminine being, no bigger than his hand. She had one leg crossed elegantly over the other and butterfly wings that shimmered with colors that shouldn't exist, folding and unfolding behind her in agitation. Her hair flowed like liquid water, cascading down past her tiny waist in waves that moved independently of gravity or wind. And that hair—it was the same alien blue that had swirled in the dryad's eyes, that impossible color that spoke of magic and danger.

  The fairy stared at him with an expression of pure annoyance, as if he was a particularly slow student who'd failed a simple test. Before Finch could process what he was seeing, her tiny hands shot out and grabbed his face and smooshed it together even though her minuscule fingers was barely find purchase.

  "STUPID IDIOT!" she shrieked, her voice high-pitched but carrying surprising volume. "Why can't you listen, you insignificant mortal! We're trying to talk to you!"

  "OH SHIT!" Finch yelled in pure, primal fear, his body reacting before his brain could catch up. He stumbled backward, feet tangling in the alien undergrowth, and went down hard. His death grip on Reyes's pack meant the Sergeant came with him, both Marines crashing to the forest floor in a tangle of limbs and gear.

  Stumbling as the human chain suddenly collapsed, the Navy SEAL also let out a quieted yelp. "Oh shi—" the SEAL started, but he somehow caught himself and somehow remained standing while his rifle smoothly transitioning between the dryad—who now stood obediently off to the side, posed in an even more seductive manner as she observed her master work—and the fairy who now hovered in front of Finch's face.

  "Hey! HEY! We're LISTEN to me!" The fairy jabbed a tiny digit within inches of Finch’s nose. Despite her size, there was something deeply unsettling about having those alien blue eyes focused on him with such intensity.

  The SEAL kept his weapon trained on the new intruder before one hand flew to his radio, "This is Jackal 4-2! We've come to a full stop—the dryad's patron just revealed itself!" He nearly shouted as he sent a rabid broadcast over the entire net.

  Whatever response came through was lost as the SEAL immediately shot an eye at Finch. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see or hear, DO NOT accept or agree to ANYTHING it says!" He growled in an almost desperate voice.

  After the SEAL’s interruption, the fairy's head snapped around at the man, sending her beautiful features twisting into something ugly with rage. The temperature around them seemed to drop ten degrees as her tiny face contorted with fury.

  "You..." she hissed and raised one delicate arm to the side.

  What happened next made Finch's brain short-circuit completely.

  The air around the fairy's arm began to shimmer and distort, like heat waves rising from hot asphalt. Moisture seemed to condense from nowhere as droplets of water rapidly materialized from the humid forest air, swirling toward her outstretched hand. A moment later, it all coalesced into a thick band of silver-blue liquid that wrapped around her tiny forearm like a living bracelet.

  Then, with a gesture that was both graceful and violent, she flicked her wrist, sending the water outward, extending nearly a foot from her hand before coming to an abrupt stop. While mesmerizing, this water was no longer just a liquid—no, it had transformed into something impossible. A perfectly smooth blade formed from the Fairy’s tiny arm, not quite solid but also not quite liquid. The magical weapon’s surface flowed and shifted like a hypersonic river as it compressed into a sword's edge. It caught the crimson light filtering through the canopy and refracted it into prismatic patterns that hurt to look at, as the edge itself seemed to retain insane speed while constantly flowing along its length. It was as if the damned thing defied physics, creating a cutting surface that renewed itself thousands of times per second.

  Finch could even hear it—a high-pitched singing sound, like crystal glasses resonating at just the wrong frequency. The very air around the blade seemed to part before it, as if droplets of water that managed to escape instantly turned to steam. But everyone’s thoughts were soon interrupted when the fairy pointed this impossible weapon at the SEAL, her tiny form radiating a kind of menace that had nothing to do with her size.

  "HEY!" she shrieked, her voice taking on harmonics that made Finch's teeth ache. "Hey, no interfering! Shut your stupid mortal mouth! This is a negotiation between me and him!"

  The SEAL, to his credit, didn't even flinch. His rifle remained steady, though Finch noticed that his finger had moved from outside the trigger guard to resting on the trigger itself. Behind them, Newman and Pham could do nothing but gawk in stupefaction as they muttered something incoherent.

  "Ma'am," the SEAL said in a careful, polite and controlled voice. "This Marine is already spoken for… Under contract of the United States Armed Forces and any negotiation will go through—"

  "I SAID SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" The fairy's blade whipped through the air, and a tree branch the thickness of Finch's wrist simply ceased to exist where the water touched it. There was no cut, no violence—the wood just wasn't there anymore, leaving behind perfectly smooth surfaces that wept red sap. “I WON'T LET YOU RUIN MY CONTRACT!” As the branch let out a quiet and almost human-like moan of pain.

  Finch just sat there, frozen on the ground. His mind raced at a million miles a second as he desperately to process what he was seeing. This wasn't supposed to be real. Fairies were supposed to be cute little things in children's books, not terrifying creatures with water-swords that could delete things.

  And here was one such twisted horror with their water sword thing completely, utterly focused on him.

  "Now then," the fairy said, turning back to Finch with a smile that was all shark-like teeth and no warmth. "Let's talk about what you really want, shall we?"

  Finch's eyes darted between the fairy and the SEAL as his mind desperately reached to its deepest corners for some knid of solution despite the terror coursing through his veins. Something about what the operator had said—about contracts, about already being under obligation—seemed to have hit a nerve with the magical creature. And if there was one thing Lance Corporal Anthony Finch was good at, it was thinking on his feet when shit hit the fan.

  "H-He’s right! I-I'm already under contract!" Finch stammered out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. "With the United States Marine Corps!"

  The fairy's expression shifted, her tiny features scrunching in annoyance, but she didn't immediately eviscerate him. Taking that as encouragement, Finch pressed on, his voice gaining strength as he recited the terms that had been burned into his brain at MEPS. "A six year contract! I've only completed two of those six years!" His words came faster now, almost babbling. "Four years active duty, two years in United States Marine Corps Reserve. I'm legally and contractually obligated to the United States of America until..." He did the mental math quickly. "Until-"

  Cutting him off, the Fairy’s beautiful face twisted into something ugly—a horrible, sneering snarl that revealed teeth that were far too sharp for something that looked so human. She zoomed closer to Finch's face in a flash with that singing blade of water following her movement with deadly grace. The Lance Corporal could feel the weapon's presence like static electricity against his skin as she pushed it closer, closer, until it was mere millimeters from his cheek.

  Finch held his breath. One twitch, one wrong word, and that blade would probably take his head off as easily as it had deleted that tree branch. Behind the fairy, he could see the SEAL's rifle tracking her movement, but Finch couldn’t help but question how effective bullets would be against something like… this thing…

  For a moment that stretched like an eternity, nobody moved. The only sounds were the alien calls of the forest and Newman's ragged breathing behind them.

  Then, suddenly, the fairy pulled back with a disgusted noise. "BAH!" She threw her tiny hands up in exasperation, the water blade dissolving back into harmless droplets that sparkled in the crimson light. "Fine! Fine, fine, fine! This is BORING anyhow!"

  A beat later, she spun in the air, her butterfly wings leaving trails of that impossible blue color as she zipped over to the dryad's shoulder. "Let's go! These stupid mortals are already spoken for!" The fairy then looked over her shoulder and pointed at the group. “Lucky! You’re lucky I’m not a contract breaker! Idiots!”

  The dryad, who had remained perfectly still throughout the entire exchange, gave Finch one last lingering look. There was something in her honey-gold eyes—perhaps disappointment, or maybe promise. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, both creatures melted back into the forest. One moment they were present, the next they were simply gone, leaving no trace except for the cleanly severed branch and the lingering scent of tangy copper from the strange blood red sap.

  For several seconds, nobody moved. They all remained frozen in place. Finch was still on his backside in the alien moss, Reyes was half-sprawled beside him, the SEAL had his rifle still raised and aimed where the two beings had disappeared, while Newman and Pham huddled together like scared kids.

  Finally, the SEAL let out a long, shaky breath and lowered his weapon. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered. It was the first crack in his professional demeanor Finch had seen.

  The operator looked down at Finch, and despite the face paint and neck gaitor covering most of his face, the Lance Corporal could see something like respect in his eyes. "Good job thinkin’ on your feat," the SEAL said, reaching down to help Finch to his feet. "You still fucked up getting us in this position, but still… good job."

  Finch took the offered hand, his legs shaky as he stood. "What... what the fuck just happened?"

  "You just lawyered your way out of a fairy pact," the SEAL said, something like dark humor creeping into his voice. "Using your fucking recruit contract, no less."

  Reyes was picking himself up, brushing alien plant matter off his gear when he gave both Finch and the Seal a strange look. "Wait… That’s actually a thing? That actually works?"

  The SEAL nodded, checking his rifle one more time before gesturing for them to reform their line. "Fae take contracts seriously. Apparently, they take other people's contracts seriously too. Who knew Uncle Sam's paperwork would actually save someone's ass for once?"

  "Holy shit," Newman breathed, still pale beneath his face paint. "Holy shit, we just met a real fairy. And she tried to... what was she trying to do?"

  "Who knows? It’s always a crapshoot with those fucking things. Sometimes you get something harmless, or hell, one dude actually got a deal in good faith, but most of the time all you get is a monkey’s paw… " the SEAL said grimly, turning to a tree that was especially blood red, "You see the trees? A lot of them scream when you burn them…”

  A deep and disturbed quiet fell over the fireteam as a look of absolute horror clouded their faces. “Now… grab hold and let's move. We've still got a few klicks to cover, and that little failure to make a pact with you probably attracted more of those fucking things."