We both grunted as we slowly and carefully maneuvered her out of the death trap. By the time she’d moved past it, her hair was clinging to her forehead and she was gasping for breath. A pink tint bloomed high on her cheeks.
“A trap, no doubt,” she panted, coming to the same conclusion I had as she tightly gripped the low-hanging branch of another weeping willow. The whites of her eyes were large and wide. She didn’t even flinch when the sap burned her flesh raw. I knew then that the brave centaur was capable of feeling fear. Not once in the games had she evinced any sort of weakness.
Flooded by a feeling of overwhelming relief that she was safe, my hands trembled as without thought, I ran them down the smooth, but dirty coat of her hind leg, over and over, more to soothe me than her. Her muscles were twitchy and jumpy beneath my callused palms.
We both stood like that for what felt like forever, but could have been only mere seconds, before I finally sensed her begin to settle down. The white-knuckled grip she held on the branch loosened noticeably, until she was able to release it completely.
Long fingers strumming nervously against her breastbone, Ty looked around, then back down where we’d come from, before turning again to me. “The sun sets in an hour. I am holding us back. My hooves cannot navigate this terrain.”
I almost told her it wasn’t true, but that was a lie, and centaurs never enjoyed hearing cavalier platitudes, unlike nymphs who wanted always to believe they were perfect in all ways. Tymanon knew her strengths, but she was also confident enough to recognize her weaknesses. So I bit my tongue.
Satyrs had gripping hooves. We were built for this type of terrain. Centaurs were built for speed. It’d been all I could do earlier to keep up with her. But now it was she, and not I, who struggled.
I glanced up the rock face. We still had another thousand or so feet to go. Not much in terms of distance, but the constant upward trek coupled with the hard terrain meant we could be in very big trouble.
The trail wasn’t just winding. There were hundreds of paths carved into the very foundation of the rock by millions of travelers over the years. This particular path I’d quite literally stumbled upon the last time I’d come through here, as though very few had ever found it. If I wasn’t vigilant, I’d miss the turn off, and we’d wind up headed toward the very heart of the stone dwarf’s stronghold. And that would be the end of us.
We had an hour left of sunlight and not much time to decide.
“What do you want to do?” I asked her. I wanted to push forward, but not if it endangered her. We’d find another way. My heart sank, because I could think of no other paths that would shield us half as well as this one. But Ty’s safety was paramount and superseded anything else.
Still breathing heavy, she shoved sweaty strands of hair behind her ears. Dainty, pretty little ears she had, unlike my own large ones. Funny how I’d never noticed how ungainly and awkward I was until I’d spent time in the company of a creature far larger than myself. And yet it was I and not she who I felt was clumsy in their skin. I knew my looks were nothing to make hearts flutter, and yet I’d never felt ugly before. Nymphs were made to desire us above all else. Centaurs were not.
I froze in my petting of her, only just realizing I hadn’t stopped once I’d started. I found myself reluctant to pull away from her completely. Touching Ty was intoxicating.
She said, “There is no choice but to press on. It’s already taken us two hours to get to this spot. We cannot tarry long in stone dwarf country, exposed as we are. Are you certain the area you take us to is safe?”
I shuddered as I forced myself to break contact with her. The moment I did, I waged war within myself, wanting to touch her some more, wanting to hold her, to caress her, to assure myself again that she was safe now, that she was okay. Gods above!
She cocked her head, still waiting on my answer.
I forced the words past my numb lips. “Aye, or at least it was,” I said, voice thick and gravelly. “The waters there are bitter. No life grows and nothing cares to stay for long. There were no tracks of anything recent having passed through there last time I was there. It’s the safest waypoint for us.”
Her jaw set. “Then we go. But I cannot continue on four legs. I’m far too clumsy and broad for these narrow passes.”
It took me only a second to understand what she meant to do. I stepped back as Tymanon glowed with a wash of golden power. Shielding my eyes against the brightness, I thought I was prepared to see her like that again, thought it would be nothing. I’d seen her once already. Beauty was beauty. A satyr’s attention didn’t last long. We’d been created with the innate desire to spread our seed far and wide, and to never tarry long at the side of any one nymph. And yet when she stepped forward, moving on two legs, my knees grew weak and my heart quite literally skipped a beat.
Ty kicked out one leg and I couldn’t help but let my gaze wander down the supple, strong length of it, imagining for just a moment what those legs might feel like wrapped around me, how she’d sound during the throes of passion, what she’d look like.
She blinked, cocking her head just slightly with a confused twist of her shell-pink lips.
I grunted. What the devil was wrong with me? For the past month, I’d not been acting like myself, and my sudden and very unwanted attraction to a centaur was proof of it. Centaurs and satyrs did not mate. Ever.
Fire burrowed through my gut, punching steely ropes all through me at the thought. In all likelihood, this had more to do with Myra than any true desire on my part. I was a wreck without her.
I glanced down at Ty’s bare feet. She wiggled her toes, and I fought a grin at the sight of those alien appendages on her. “You will cut your feet wide open on this land. Have you no shoes?”
Pursing her lips, she gave me a steely-eyed stare. “I am centaur. I’ve no need for human accouterments. You can trust that I will not hinder us further. Set whatever pace you need to get us there. I will follow.”
Grabbing hold of her bow that she rarely took off except to sleep or hunt, she gestured for me to proceed. I knew the pain she’d feel, having tended to many a nymph after a long and drawn out chase. But Ty was a proud woman and wouldn’t appreciate my nagging.
With a nod, I turned on my heel and began a swift trot up the cliff’s face. True to her word, she kept pace. After fifteen minutes, a zephyr stirred, bringing with it the coppery stench of blood, faint, but there. I bit down on my molars and curled my hands into fists. I knew she was injured. I could hear her wincing, a sharp breath every so often, no doubt when she stepped down on something that cut her deeper.
My pulse pounded, thrumming through my veins with anxiety by the time we finally made the left toward the bitter spring. It was ingrained in a satyr to always tend to his female’s needs, even if said female was only his for a night or two. It was simply our way.
But again, I had to remind myself that Tymanon wasn’t my female. She would not like it, nor would she thank me, if I made a fuss over her. Even so, by the time I smelled the first whiff of rotten eggs from the sulfur-rich spring, I was shaking with adrenaline that had nothing at all to do with our march.
Tymanon was now lagging several steps behind me. Her pace had slackened considerably. I’d not turned, but I had slowed, pretending exhaustion too, when in truth I could have been here at least fifteen minutes ago. But she’d done this for me earlier, and so I would do the same for her.
The sun was nothing but an orange sliver along the horizon. We’d not be building a campfire here. It was much too dangerous.
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her this was our stopping place for the night when I heard a moan. At first, I thought it was Ty, but it came from the left of us. I frowned.
“Ty?” I said her name slowly, looking over at her as I held my arm out in a defensive gesture in front of her.
She nodded, eyes already scanning the plateau to the left of us. Neither of us moved or spoke as we waited to see if we’d heard nothing more than wind playing
through the bushes. We didn’t have to wait long before we heard it again.
This time, it was a definite whimper followed by a strange, wet gurgling sound. Yanking a dirk from my pouch, I gripped it fast as I followed the noise. Tymanon was just a few inches behind me, so close I felt the heated wash of her body press against my own like an electrical spark. My nostrils flared.
There was blood, and a lot of it. I’d not seen any other tracks on the path we’d taken up here, and I’d been looking for them, which meant there was a second route to this spring.
I was thinking maybe a wild animal had come here to die, but the closer we drew, the more human the noises became. A rock sank in my gut when I finally spied a faint outline, long, lean, and covered in shadow. I shook my head, refusing to take another step. Whatever it was, it wasn’t long for this world. There was a heavy rattle in its lungs each time it breathed and a high pitched whistling whenever it exhaled.
“No further, Ty,” I murmured.
“We must check it out, Petra.”
Meaning Ty was far too tired to go on tonight. Whatever was up here, we were going to have to deal with it.
Keeping one eye on the shadow, I leaned back toward her. “You’re injured. I smell your blood. We don’t know if that thing is friend or foe, or if it is a stone dwarf lying in wait. You stay here.”
I heard her teeth gnash and knew she did not like my unyielding tone, but I would not budge in this. The time to cater to her pride was at an end.
“I’m the better fighter.”
True enough. “Aye, but I’m not the one bleeding all over the place. Take out your bow, keep it trained on that thing, and if it comes for me, shoot to kill.”
“You have a point,” she conceded, though I heard the bitter tang of disappointment in her words. “Be safe, gída.”
I nodded and studied the sparse landscape. The plateau we were on held very little in the way of life. But there were a few plants that thrived no matter where they were, and they always tended to be of the killing variety.
I knew from personal experience that there was a small, but very dangerous, snare bush somewhere around here. The bush looked benign until its victim got within striking range. Then it would shoot bramble snares coated in sappy venom that would paralyze, allowing the scrub to pull its victim in and slowly digest him, much as a spider would a fly.
I shuddered. It was dark, but my memory was sharp enough that I could remember the safer spots to step. There was nothing truly safe about this area, but a traveler could survive the night so long as he stayed alert. Moving in a crisscross pattern, I moved safely toward the shadow. The closer I got, the more I could make of it.
It was the stuff of bloody nightmares. A man, with what once must have been a full red beard—but which was now partially shorn off, exposing long bits of lean, red muscle beneath the lower left half of its jaw—was looking back at me. It was hard to make out the dimensions of his body in the near darkness, but he seemed like he was short, taller than the average stone dwarf, but little for a human male. He’d been partially scalped. There was an entire section of his neck missing, which no doubt accounted for the strange sounds of his breathing. He wore no clothes and his body was coated in wounds and thick black grime. He seemed human, and yet he wasn’t at all, for he stank of stone dwarf. I’d recognize the stench anywhere—rot mixed with viscera and the dust of mining rock all his life.
Only when I looked at his eyes did I know what he was, though I could hardly believe it.
“What is it?” Ty asked, her soft voice carrying like a melody on the breeze.
I swallowed the bile threatening to come up. “What the bloody hell happened to you, mate?” I asked the stranger.
Dwarfs were unbelievably sturdy, healing from wounds that would kill a lesser being. Part of the tradeoff, I supposed, for living in a land as inhospitable as this one. They had to be hardy, or they’d never survive. If this was a dwarf, which I was all but certain of, even as gravely wounded as it was, it would still be capable of harming us both should we draw too close to it.
“I ain’t yer mate,” it snapped, voice sounding like gravel and making me grimace. “Come here, goat. I won’t hurt you.” His laugh was low and darkly foreboding.
Instinctively, I took a step back, holding my dirk where he could see it. Dwarfs were notorious cannibals, even amongst themselves. The way he was torn up, it looked like something, or several somethings, had taken bites out of him, like he’d been dinner.
He hacked, coughing violently and causing the whistling sounds to increase. Without aid, this abomination would die come morning.
He chuckled again. Pink foam escaped the corners of his mouth. “I’ll die out here. Once king of all these mountains, if you can believe it. Screw them,” he snapped.
“King?” Tymanon whispered to herself, sounding intrigued more than disbelieving, as I was.
“That’s not possible.” I shook my head. “You look too human. You’re not Wulfric, not the—”
“Devil King?” he growled. “Aye, but I am. It was that damn bloody magic, that dark, twisted nightmare, that changed us, perverted our beauty, twisted me into this... this—” He gasped, clutching at his stomach as another coughing fit gripped him.
Tymanon’s hand landed on my shoulder, startling me. I shot my hand back, trying to push her away, trying to keep her safe.
“He cannot harm me,” she said, voice calm and steady. “He has been defeated by his own. King once, but now no more.”
“We don’t know that, Ty. He could be lying. This could be a trap. He could be...”
As she stood beside me, I realized she was several inches shorter than me now, and a powerful feeling I could not name suddenly came over me. Warm. Soft. But also strong and powerful, clamping hold of my heart and making me want to protect her and keep her safe, which was just nonsense. I’d never met anyone more capable than Ty.
“Look at his hand, Petra.” She nodded with her chin.
I frowned, glancing down, and noticed the sixth finger. The Bonecross line all had the same disfigurement. It was a hideous deformity to most, save for the dwarves themselves. To them, the sixth digit was a sign of royal blood and of beauty.
“Come ride my cock, ugly human girl.” Wulfric grasped his flaccid and obscenely large penis, gesturing at her crudely with it.
I pursed my lips and took a step forward, ready to do what, I wasn’t sure. But Ty grabbed me by the elbow and tugged me back.
“He dies,” she reminded me.
And with those two softly spoken words, all my fire died out. The old king wasn’t just dying. He was unworthy even of our time or anger.
A loud, terrible sound that could only be called laughter spilled off his tongue. It shocked me. I’d expected anger, rage thrown at her for what she’d said. But instead, his dark eyes danced with mirth.
“Aye, you’re right. My cock is nothing but a limp noodle now. No pleasure to be had from it no more.” He paused, his gaze locking with Ty’s, and then softly said, “Kill me.” His words no longer held mirth. They were spoken in earnest, and I heard the sound of true pain shiver behind them.
Tymanon took a step forward, but this time, I was the one holding her back.
“What are you going to do?” I snapped.
Her look was stern. “I do not care for his kind, but I cannot stand idly by and watch him suffer.”
I flicked a glance to Wulfric. He was snaking his tongue across his chapped and bloody lips, avarice clearly written on his face.
“He lies. He is trying to lure you in.”
She smirked, the look confident and sure, and for just a second, I felt stung by it. Gods, she was gorgeous, haughty, proud, and vexingly annoying.
Tymanon patted my hand like one would an ill-tempered child. I clenched my teeth. “I am no fool, gída, but all the same, he dies, either now or later.”
“Then let him die later. A stone dwarf’s mouth is infested with disease. One bite and you would—”
“I understand the nature of a satyr, but you must—”
Damn her. No she didn’t. There were times Tymanon irked me like no other. There’d only ever been one before her who had, and Myra was gone now. I would not lose Ty too.
Yanking out of her grasp, I turned and marched with determined steps toward the fallen king.
“I said her,” the vile, twisted thing spat with rolling fury.
I knew why he wanted her, and I’d be damned if I let him have her. The soon-to-be-carcass struggled, snapping his jaw, his intent more than obvious the closer I got to him. He would have lured Ty in, with her soft heart and her caring disposition, and taken a bite from her.
Dwarves, even the dying kind, were cruel, spiteful, and hateful creatures. The old king knew there was nothing here that could save him, but he’d be damned if he crossed the veil alone. He would have died, but she would have fallen gravely ill too.
Angry at what might have been, I was none too gentle when I rolled him over, keeping well clear of his mouth or hands, and plunged my knife through his back, sinking the blade deep between his ribs to his still beating heart.
I knew the moment my dirk hit true because he took one last breath before going limp. Up close, I could see the damage that’d been done to the king. They’d not just eaten from him, they’d torn off both his feet. Dangling bits of flesh and the peekaboo of bone made my stomach instantly heave.
What little I’d eaten at lunch came right back up. I had just enough time to twist to the side and retch. Mortified by my reaction, I stared at the ground with a furious scowl.
I heard Ty’s footsteps draw near.
“Stay back,” I warned.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I barked.
Furious.
So bloody upset that there was a sudden ringing in my ears. Standing, I angrily wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I needed to swish the filth out of my mouth but couldn’t even drink of the waters beside me.
The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens Book 7) Page 6
