She’d thought it was a myth—her mother’s quaint obsession with the fae.
Until they’d stolen her boy.
She gave chase into their realm, tearing through the gnarled forest of twisted trees.
Relief surged when she saw him by the moss-covered fountain.
“Mama, I’m thirsty.” Pleading eyes squeezed her heart as he held out the flask. She filled it and passed it back.
He shook his head. “You first.”
Trembling hands raised it to her lips.
The illusion faded—her son’s image replaced by a faery baring jagged teeth.
Don’t drink the water, a memory whispered. Drink and you’re theirs.