by S T Branton
“Hey.” I shifted so that she could see me clearly. “I told you, we’ll take you out of here, and I meant it, okay?”
Laurel chewed her pale lips. “It won’t be easy,” she said. Her hand tightened on my sleeve with a surprisingly strong grip. “We made a run for it once, but we had to come back.” Tears brimmed above her lower eyelashes. “Can you imagine? I had to bring my babies back to this awful prison.”
I squeezed her arm. “That must be how they finally found you,” I said. “I’m glad we got here in time.”
She shook her head. A specter of fear drifted across her face and settled deep into her half-starved features. “Something else is waiting deeper in the forest.” Her volume dwindled down to almost nothing. “A monster.”
I examined her closely to discern whether this information was paranoia-fueled fiction or actual fact. She looked at me with bare, frightened honesty, and I decided to take her words at face value—for now.
I offered her my hand, and we both stood. “Let’s get you safe,” I said.
She lit up with hope. “Thank you. Oh, thank you so much. You’re an angel.”
Deacon and Brax moved in around her and her son. After a peek at the GPS, I directed us back the way we’d come, and we began to walk.
We weren’t alone for long.
Loud, boisterous voices drifted through the trees, capped by the braying laugh of their bearded leader. Laurel froze like a deer in headlights. Instinctively, she searched for a place to hide. “Don’t run off,” I cautioned her and held her arm. “We’ll defend you. Trust me. We are your best chance.”
She cowered and trembled visibly. Her little boy tugged at her skirt. “Mommy?” he asked loudly. “Are the bad guys back?”
Laurel shushed him, but it was too late. The voices fell dead silent the moment the child spoke. They picked up again and grew louder as they angled directly toward us. Deacon, Brax, and I stepped together to form a living barrier between Laurel’s little family and the barbarians who shortly materialized from the uneven tree line.
The leader emerged first and planted his feet in a wide, immovable stance directly in front of me. His grin had become more of a snarl, and as he bared his teeth, more of his forces appeared to surround our party. There were too many for us to handle without backup. His troops filled the spaces between the trees as far back as I was able to see.
“Going somewhere?” the leader demanded with a leer. “It’s rude of guests to cut and run, don’t you think?”
Brax clenched his fists. “Get the hell out of our way.”
“Or what?” The brute ran his fingers through the red coils of his beard. “You’ll fight like a fool and be killed where you stand? That’s fine by me.”
Laurel screamed in horror as her kid bolted from the safety of her embrace. His huge eyes were crazed with fear.
The warrior strode forward and reached one burly arm past me with lightning speed. I lunged to deflect him, but he was deceptively quick.
“No!” Laurel sobbed.
“See this rat?” he asked and lifted the little boy by the ragged collar of his shirt. “Make one wrong move—one tiny move that I don’t like—and I’ll burn him alive. The other one, too.” For emphasis, he pointed at Laurel’s face.
She flinched, her gaze locked on her son as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please don’t,” she pleaded. “Please!”
“Hear that?” asked the leader. He snorted. “The lady doesn’t want me to cook her little piglets.” He scowled. “I didn’t think so. Does anyone have any objections?”
I glanced at Deacon and Brax. The agent knew an impasse when he saw one, but Brax? I wasn’t so sure. The blatant, white-hot rage scrawled across his face didn’t offer much assurance that this wouldn’t end in copious amounts of bloodshed. I tried to get him to make eye contact with me so I could signal him with my eyes, but everything except the sneering redhead had ceased to exist in his world.
One second ticked by. It might as well have been an hour. The kid, still held aloft, had begun to cry again, though he did not squirm. Brax’s black eyes flicked to the boy’s face.
Finally, he stepped back. His rage had obviously not cooled, but he chose to stand down for maybe the first time in his life. Following his lead, I put my hands up at shoulder height, palms out. Deacon did the same.
The brute laughed. “So, you have some sense after all. I’m surprised—but not yet impressed. There will be time for that later.” He tucked the kid under his arm. “This, I keep. Call it insurance.”
Laurel sobbed. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t dare turn my back on the leader.
“March, piggies,” he commanded. “A new destiny awaits.”
Chapter Eighteen
The redheaded barbarians herded us deeper into the twisted trees, their weapons at the ready. They watched us like hawks for any suspicious movement. Behind me, Laurel cried quietly and clutched her baby to her chest.
I could feel Brax smolder with barely contained fury, though I didn’t dare look in any direction except forward. We marched in silent formation along the overgrown track. The soldiers’ footsteps were a steady drumbeat in my ear. Under the leader’s burly arm, Laurel’s son hadn’t moved a muscle.
The path deteriorated significantly at the end of what had formerly been the town’s main street. Gnarled root balls marred the way, some as wide around as my waist. Hardly any grass grew in this place. Mostly, only debris littered the ground. My foot kicked a ragged plastic bag half-buried in the mud. The skeleton of a shopping cart lay on its side, its wheels long gone. More houses appeared, each looking at least as run-down as Laurel’s.
A tableau of destruction, Marcus said.
I kept my mouth shut, followed in the leader’s wake, and did my best to project a docile image. I had no doubt that we’d be slaughtered if they caught even the slightest whiff of resistance—most likely starting with Laurel’s closely guarded son.
The tribe had shepherded us a quarter mile before the sound of other people pierced the quiet. Coarse voices conversed in a language I didn’t understand over more and more footsteps. We turned a bend, and I saw a pack of the same redheaded warriors who led their own captives. I looked into the frightened eyes of dozens like Laurel. Some of them were in even worse shape.
Our leader stopped, moved back, and motioned for us to join the new throng of prisoners. Acting against every ounce of logic in my brain, I did as he indicated. Deacon and Brax fell into place next. They did their best to shield Laurel from the newcomers’ prying eyes. She kept her head down, but she couldn’t resist shooting fearful glances after the leader as he strode toward the front with her child. Her trembling fingers dug into the baby’s thin blanket.
I managed to get near enough to grab her free hand and squeeze it. She froze, but the ghost of a tiny, grateful smile settled on her lips. Providing her a shred of comfort made me feel slightly better, and I didn’t release her hand as we resumed our march. Most of the enforcers were out of my line of sight, but I knew they were there and flanked us like sharks that had penned in a school of prey.
The walk went on forever, and the farther we went, the harder it was to take it quietly, despite Laurel’s hand still shaking in mine. She had finally stopped weeping, but her eyes stared blankly ahead. I turned to Deacon on my other side and whispered, “Can you look after her? I want to see if I can work the crowd a little.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Deacon replied. “Probably better you than me.” We changed places, and his fingers brushed the small of my back. “Good luck.”
I slipped through the crush of bodies and looked for anyone who could potentially be coaxed out of their shell. Hardly anyone noticed as I passed, and when they did, it was only for a second. My attempts to start conversation were met with little more than tight-lipped stares. The atmosphere was heavy, cold, and fearful. I pushed it away. The single thought present in my mind was that I needed to get something started there—if not a full-scale revolut
ion, then at least some civil discontent.
But everyone was either terrified, demoralized, on their last legs, or a combination of all three. One of the guys I approached was so short of breath he couldn’t even respond, and his friends shooed me away. Plus, I had to be wary of possible eyes on me at all times and of the fact that the soldiers might see my purposeful movement as a threat. I darted a few feet at a time and tucked myself as close to the absolute center as possible. The longer I could stay out of sight, the better.
In all honesty, I really didn’t have a real plan. I merely didn’t want anyone to get in my way. For once, all I wanted to do—all I could do—was talk.
I lost track of time fairly quickly as I weaved through that living maze. At least a dozen more interactions fizzled and died in the cold. A young woman finally stopped me as I cut carefully in front of her. “You’re wasting your time,” she told me, and her lips barely moved. “And you’re putting us all in danger. We’ve accepted the inevitable. You should too.” She directed her dark eyes to the ground at her feet.
“You can’t all think that way,” I said. “I’m trying to help.” The situation was dire; I understood that. But the air of insurmountable hopelessness crept under my skin. I refused to subscribe to that way of thinking. My own tribe had been through worse. Finding a way, however, required a will, which was sorely lacking at the moment.
Victoria, I have ruminated over our new acquaintances. Perhaps I can be of some assistance.
“Go for it.” I wound slowly back toward Deacon, Brax, and Laurel, a little glum and relieved to hear a helpful voice that wasn’t my own. “There isn’t much else at the moment.”
It remains puzzling to me that these particular Forgotten should have teamed up with the likes of Oxylem, but they do remind me of one individual in particular. His name was Hyrrik. You might have considered him similar to human Vikings.
“Known for their hospitality,” I quipped. “I guess that explains all the burning. And now we can safely assume there was pillaging, too. That would have kept me up at night for sure.”
I detect trace amounts of sarcasm in your tone, he said flatly.
I brushed it off. “I’m more interested in why the hell this dude and Brax use the same hammer. Maybe not exactly the same, but you know what I mean. It can’t be a coincidence.”
For that, you will have to ask Abraxzael yourself. In which case, you are on your own. He sounded a little sullen. I refuse to engage with him.
“Suit yourself,” I said. Marcus fell silent, and I approached the demon’s dark, brooding figure. He didn’t acknowledge me as I fell into step beside him. I wanted to roll my eyes a second time, but I restrained myself. “Can I ask you something?”
“You will regardless,” Brax said. “So why not?”
I sighed. “Geez, don’t cut yourself on that edge, my man. All I want to know is, what’s the deal with your heroic first-responder routine back there? For someone who never shuts up about how little he cares for humanity, you sure came dangerously close to giving a shit.”
The demon gritted his teeth and obviously regretted the fact that he hadn’t ignored me outright. He said nothing for at least thirty seconds. “The baby’s cry reminded me of something.”
“Okay,” I prompted and angled for more. “Of what?”
That time, he stonewalled me completely. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his coat, and his face was unreadable behind those black glasses. A palpable barricade had gone up in front of that line of questioning. I reversed and tried a different tack.
“I saw you talking to Jules before we left. Did she give you a locket or a valentine or something?” It was meant to be a joke, but he didn’t take the bait. His expression remained inscrutable.
Before I could say anything else, a shout rang out. Everyone flinched collectively. “Separate!” the warriors at the front shouted, their weapons raised. “Women and children to the left. You pathetic, weakling men, to the right. Now!”
The formerly grave-silent herd of prisoners erupted in a wave of emotion as we realized we would be separated. In the instant it took to look at Brax, he had already been drawn away. Deacon squeezed my arm as he moved past.
I bolted for the burly leader.
He saw me coming. “What now, you pesky wench?” he demanded. “You’re starting to annoy me.”
“Where are they going?” I asked. “Why are you dividing us?”
“See for yourself,” he said and swept his arm out. In doing so, he dropped Laurel’s son. I gathered the child up quickly, prepared to stand my ground. But now that we’d blended into a larger populace, the brutish man didn’t seem to care that much about the boy. He glared and shrugged. “Look.”
The path ended ahead, and the claustrophobic ranks of trees gave way to a surprisingly wide and open clearing. Massive, sawed-off stumps dotted the dead plain. Once I comprehended what I saw, my heart sank. This was the true national forest, or what remained of its ruins. An army of emaciated men labored to cut down the trees that were left. Thick, rough-looking vines chained them together, and when one collapsed, the others in his gang all stumbled.
“What the fuck?” I whirled to look for Deacon and managed to catch one last glimpse as he gazed back at me. In a split second, he was gone in the rush of other men, and I was prodded forward.
“Enough questions,” the leader said brusquely. “Let’s go.” He led us toward where the trees were still the thickest around the edge of the clear-cutting. The trunks felt more like the bars of a cage now between us and that horrific scene.
I wasn’t sure which side I wanted to be on.
Chapter Nineteen
If nothing else, I was able to reunite Laurel with her son and released the boy into his mother’s open arms. She wept with joy although she didn’t dare stop walking. He clung to her skirt. I took her hand again.
“Thank you,” she said through tears. “Thank you so much. I thought…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “It’ll be okay.”
Skepticism furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure.” Her voice dropped. “There are monsters in these woods. We’ve never been out this far, and with good reason.” She talked softly as if she were afraid the others would hear. “I wasn’t kidding when I said we never left the house.”
The mention of monsters had roused the little boy’s interest. He peered out from behind Laurel with wide, bright eyes but she shook her head and didn’t elaborate.
I wracked my brain for a way to extract more information without acting like a jerk. She was clearly traumatized, and she was not the only one. Every woman I saw had that same haunted expression. The last thing I wanted was to make it worse, but I also needed to understand all possible threats.
Laurel didn’t volunteer anything more after that, and I didn’t want to leave her side. I remained silent and mulled things over in search of the best angle of approach. My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar moaning howl from the trees.
“Slow!” came the call from the front line. Our movement ratcheted down until we barely shuffled forward, which struck me as a little odd. I stretched to peer over the group at the redheaded soldiers. They were on full alert and their wide eyes peered into every dark nook and cranny they could possibly see. I frowned. Were they looking for something? Wary of an ambush?
Suddenly, they didn’t act like the top of the food chain, and that concerned me.
Something tugged at my jeans, timid but insistent. I glanced into the round, sweet face of Laurel’s son. “Can I tell you something?” Jesse asked somberly.
I bent to hear him better and slipped my arm around his shoulders. He nestled up to me, and even though I’d never been what some might call a kid person, I felt my heart melt a little. “You sure can,” I said, my tone light. “What’s up?”
“Do you hear that?” He pointed vaguely to indicate the ethereal noise that resounded through the air. “That’s what the
trees say when they know he’s coming.”
The ominous way he spoke sent a chill through my blood. “Who’s ‘he?’” I asked.
The kid’s giant blue eyes panned the surroundings. From his vantage point, there was little to see other than legs and feet. “The white wolf,” he proclaimed reverently.
I bit my tongue to keep from spewing my instinctual response, which was along the lines of, “And who the hell is that?” It turned out not to matter anyway. Before I had the chance to utter another word, a different howl eclipsed the first. This cry was louder than the trees as if it came from even greater multitudes. And it was all around us.
“Stop!” the leader bellowed. “The enemy approaches. Do not back down.” At once, all his subordinates drew into a tighter circle, tense and ready. I strained to see what they watched for, but inside, I already knew. I’d worked side by side with one for too long not to recognize the battle cry of a Were.
Their first strike was swift, merciless, and immediately overwhelming. The wolves surged upon the flame-haired Vikings like a tidal wave of terror and ripped into their ranks. The women screamed, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of soldiers dying in droves. In a matter of seconds, flames flickered as they bled from the Vikings’ wounds.
“Oh, hell no,” I said and went quickly into full evacuation mode. “Listen to me!” I shouted above the din. “We have to get the fuck out of here if we want to live. Follow me!” I grabbed Laurel by the hand yet again and her kid too.
She beckoned to the woman beside her. “You can trust this lady,” she said. “She saved my family.”
The woman looked at her, then at me, and nodded with grim determination. “If she can help us through this,” she said, “that’s all that matters.”
