The awareness of danger reached down through the layers of darkness and semi-consciousness to hammer on Tamryn’s skull as if it was a woodpecker at a favorite tree. Wariness slid its cold finger around her spine, all her instincts screaming at her to open her eyes, meet the danger head-on with her sword in hand. But experience told her to stay put, eyes closed and breathing deep, until she’d figured out what was going on. She’d never come out of sleep so slowly. A member of the Queen’s Scouts, she was one of the elite—the best of the best. The soldiers the rest of the faery army looked up to. And the elite didn’t wake up groggy, with a head so thick it felt as if she’d drunk the entire contents of the quartermaster’s liquor wagon last night. As least not without meaning to and a good head start on said quartermaster. Keeping her eyes shut, she moved slightly to test the waters. Pain shot though her arms, twisted behind her back, quickly accompanied by pins and needles. She bit back a groan.
