The cold bit at my skin, even through the thin blanket someone had thrown over me.
I was in a large room, opulent, smelling of new wood and old money.
Men in expensive suits murmured, their laughter like stones clattering.
Jax stood near the fireplace, his back to me, talking to a woman with sharp eyes and a smile that didn't reach them.
Tiffany Rourke.
His lawyer, his new woman.
My body ached with a familiar weakness, a constant companion since I saved him.
Years ago, Jackson Thorne, Jax, came to my Silverwood tribe.
He spoke of respect for our ways, for the ancient forest.
  I believed him.
I loved him.
Then the sickness took him, a wasting disease the city doctors couldn't name, let alone cure.
He was dying.
"There's a way," I had told him, my voice trembling, "a forbidden ritual."
He clutched my hand, his eyes desperate.
"Anything, Elara. Please."
I used the Heartwood Totem, a sacred link to the forest's spirit.
I poured my life force into it, a torrent of energy that left me hollowed out but brought him back from the edge.
Healed him completely.
The ritual cost me, more than he could ever know.
A part of my spirit was gone, tethered to him, leaving me perpetually drained, my own connection to the forest's song muted.
He was grateful, for a time.
His eyes held warmth again.
Then the warmth cooled, replaced by a glint I hadn't seen before.
He wanted the Silverwood, our ancestral grove, our sacred land.
He wanted to buy it, to develop it.
"It's not for sale, Jax," I told him, my heart a cold knot.
"It's our life."
He didn't understand.
Or he didn't want to.
Tiffany had been there too, later, at a town meeting.
She spoke of progress, of jobs.
I spoke of treaties, of sacred ground.
The council listened to me that day.
Her face had been a mask of fury.
A major deal for her, for Jax, thwarted.
She never forgave me for that public embarrassment, that setback.
Now, I was here.
Their prisoner.
The taste of ash was still in my mouth from the fire that took everything else.