Hunted (Book 2)

by Megg Jensen

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Bastian lay in an unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't stop replaying the scene in his mind. Holding out a hand to Tressa. Watching her step away from him. Her eyes filled with regret and resolve.

  They were done. Without so much as a word.

  Fingertips trailed down his chest to his bellybutton. "Want to go for it again?"

  Her voice grated on him, the woman he'd found in the dark and dragged to the nearest inn after dropping off Connor and Elinor at the castle. He'd spent half the night forgetting Tressa. His face buried in her hair, his lips on her breasts, and his hands on her ample bottom. She'd been a willing participant, but he didn't fool himself. The coin he'd left on the table was her only reason for being there.

  It was fine with him. He’d needed release after waiting so long to be with Tressa again. He was done wasting his time on a woman who no longer wanted him. There was a new world outside of Hutton's Bridge, one he was happy to explore.

  "Go." He slapped her bottom. "We're done here."

  The woman, whose name he hadn't bothered to ask, and didn't really want to know, slid out from under the covers, shamelessly exposing her entire body. "Sure you don't want one more romp?"

  "I can't afford any more from you." Bastian winked, exhausted.

  She bit her lip. "For you, I might throw in a complimentary act of your choosing. I've never been with a redhead before. It's like you're made of fire."

  Bastian laughed. There were no prostitutes in Hutton's Bridge, but he was under no illusions as to what this woman wanted. He could do with sex like that once in a while, but he didn't want to make a habit of paying prostitutes. He'd be broke before he'd be sated. "We're done tonight." He fished another gold coin he’d taken from Stacia’s reserves from his pants pocket, and tossed it to her.

  She caught it expertly in one hand. "If you need me again, you know where to find me." She shimmied a dress over her body.

  Bastian had enjoyed himself thoroughly. She knew exactly how to pleasure him. There was no hesitation. No concern anyone would be hurt.

  She leaned over, leaving one last wet kiss on his manhood. Bastian had to hold himself back from yanking her down on him. No, he was done for now.

  After she left, he pulled the curtains open, revealing a blinding sun. Bastian yanked on his pants, paid the man behind the bar for his room, and ventured out into the new day.

  When they'd arrived back from the Sands the night before, everyone was exhausted. They'd gone their separate ways, promising to meet again at lunch and discuss their plans. They had secured the Blue throne, but they had to decide what to do next. Bastian wanted to find the people of Hutton's Bridge, particularly his daughter. It was time for her to have a secure life. He’d give up his position and give her a normal life. He'd gotten off course searching for Tressa. No more. All of his efforts would be focused on finding Farah and building a new home for them.

  The castle gates were closed, barring him from entering. Bastian rattled the iron bars, bellowing orders at no one. After a few agonizing breaths, a man in a black robe slowly approached the gate.

  "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice sonorous.

  "I'm the ruler here. Bastian. Let me in." He hit the gates one more time.

  The man's face remained hidden in the hood. "Our ruler is inside."

  "What are you talking about?" He wanted to reach through the grates and throttle the healer. "I control the dragon. I am the ruler."

  A low laugh emanated from the hood. "The dragon is under the control of Maester Malachi. He is the new leader of the Blue."

  "What?" Bastian couldn't wrap his head around what he was saying. Bastian had set off in pursuit of a sexual conquest and Connor said he was going to check on the eggs and Fotia. "No, the dragon won't answer to Malachi."

  Another chuckle.

  If Bastian could reach him, he would have wrapped his hands around the man's throat.

  "The dragon does as he's told when his offspring is in the hands of Maester Malachi."

  "No!" Bastian shouted. Fotia and the other eggs were as much Connor's children as Farah was to Bastian. If threatened, Connor would do anything to protect them.

  Anything.

  Even give in to Malachi.

  "Where is Elinor?" Bastian demanded.

  "Elinor?" The healer sounded confused. He tapped his chin with one long finger. "Ah, yes, Malachi’s daughter. She is in her new chambers, sleeping peacefully. I suggest you stop your yelling before you wake her."

  Bastian stumbled back. Malachi's daughter. No. She was only a simple healer, recently graduated into the upper ranks of her guild.

  Was she a traitor? Had she been using him from the moment they'd happened upon Connor in the woods? No wonder she'd been so irritated at Bastian for wanting to fly to the Sands. The guards had taken it for love. Bastian knew now it only served to delay her plans to steal the throne from him. More importantly, she now controlled Connor, Fotia, and the eggs.

  She was just another female, playing him like a lute. The idiot he was, he’d played along again. What good were his muscles if he trusted so easily, only to be fooled again?

  Bastian spat at the man. "This town has done nothing but bring me trouble. You can have the stupid throne. I'm leaving."

  He stalked down the street, seeing the men of the Black Guard ahead of him. The large one, Marden, stood with his beefy arms crossed over his chest. Bastian rolled his eyes. He didn't want to face these men. Not now. Not ever.

  Bastian stepped to the side, staring at the toes of his boots. Maybe if he ignored him, they'd leave him alone. A strong hand clamping his shoulder told him otherwise.

  "I don't want to fight," Bastian told Marden, not sure if the man would even care.

  "Neither do I."

  Bastian looked at him, surprised. He waited to hear what else the man had to say.

  "The healers took over the throne late last night. It's one thing for us to leave our posts because you had a dragon behind you. It's another for a group of worthless healers to relieve us of duty. We respect the throne, and it shouldn't be under their control."

  "What do you propose we do?" Bastian asked.

  Before Bastian could react, two men grabbed his arms and a third hit him over the head. The world swirled away into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Bastian sat on a hard wooden chair, his arms behind him, hands tied at the wrist. "This isn't necessary," he said for the fourth time.

  Marden eyed him, his lips tight.

  "Come on," Bastian implored. He had to get free and find his way back to Connor.

  Not Elinor.

  Maybe everything Elinor had done was all a set up to steal the throne. Once she found the dragon and figured out he and Bastian knew each other, she could have created the plan to take power. For all he knew she was sitting on the throne now, planning to be the new queen.

  If he’d stop thinking with his cock, maybe he wouldn’t be fooled again.

  "Silence!" Marden signaled to another man. "Barden, if he talks again, shut him up."

  Barden nodded, his braided beard bobbing up and down. "Yes, brother."

  These men were brutes. Grunts. They didn't have a full brain between them. "I can get you the throne." Bastian said, taking the chance Barden wouldn't hurt him after a statement like that.

  Holding a gloved hand in the air, Marden stopped his brother from hitting Bastian. "I'm listening."

  "I don't want the throne. If we can win it back, you can have it," Bastian said.

  "Go on." Marden turned a chair around, straddling it. The seat bowed under his immense weight.

  "The dragon does as I say. If you help me break into the castle and secure it, the dragon will serve you. It will be grateful." At least Bastian hoped Connor would agree. If the healers had Fotia, he was sure his friend would agree to almost anything. Bastian knew he would if their places were reversed. Even now he was fighting to set Connor free so they could look for
the people of Hutton's Bridge, one of whom was Bastian's own daughter, Farah.

  "How do I know this isn't a trick?" Marden asked.

  "Yeah," said Barden. "What if it's a trap?"

  If Bastian's hand was free, he would have smacked his forehead. He knew people in his village looked at him as if he were lacking in brains, but these two were beyond stupid. Their muscles told him exactly how they'd won a place in the Black Guard. Maybe the next queen should have her men run through a gauntlet of intelligence tests as well.

  "It's not a trap," Bastian said, holding back a sigh.

  "If it's not a trap," Barden said, "we might be able to get whores for free again." His eyes lit up as he licked his lips.

  "All the whores you want," Bastian said. His promise was empty and he felt bad for the women who had to suffer through a night with either of them, but he'd say anything to get free and on his way back to the castle, sword in hand.

  Barden nudged Marden. "Did you hear that? Whores!"

  "Quiet," Marden ordered his brother. His eyes narrowed. "If I gather my men together, you will fight with us to take back the throne?"

  "Yes."

  "And you won't betray us?" Marden asked. He tapped his chin with a beefy finger.

  "I won't." Bastian tried not to fidget in the chair. Anything could be seen as a betrayal by these buffoons.

  "All right, then. I will gather the rest of the guard and we will storm the castle before the sun sets." Marden stood and headed for the door.

  "Wait," Bastian called out. "Untie me."

  "Not yet," Marden said.

  "But I promised to help you." Bastian struggled against the rope. A burning sensation rippled across his skin.

  "These ropes hold you to your promise until the time comes to take back what is ours." Marden stalked out of the room, leaving Bastian alone with Barden.

  Bastian bit his tongue. These men had walked away from Bastian when he claimed the throne. They hadn't cared enough to fight for it then. Why now?

  "So Barden – "

  "Don't talk to me." Barden clamped his hands over his ears and hummed a discordant tune. "I don't trust you," he shouted.

  Bastian cleared his throat and coughed. Then he sniffled. Barden eyed him, his hands still over his ears.

  "I'm thirsty," Bastian said.

  "Can't hear you," Barden shouted. "You have to talk louder."

  "If you would take your hands off your ears," Bastian mumbled, "you'd hear me just fine, you idiot."

  "What?" Barden yelled again, coming closer.

  "Thirsty!" Bastian screamed at him.

  "Well, why didn't you say so?" Barden dropped his hands and poured Bastian a cup of water. "Here." He extended his arm, holding the cup out to Bastian.

  "I can't pick it up unless you untie me." Bastian reminded him.

  Barden screwed up his face, his eyes squinted and his lips curled. "That's true."

  "Marden didn't say I had to remain tied up." And he hadn't. Not in those exact words.

  "No, he didn't." Barden set the cup down on a table and ambled behind Bastian.

  A swoosh whispered in the air as Barden released a dagger from its sheath. Straining against the rope, Bastian made as much space as he could between his wrists. The rope went slack. Bastian shook his hands free, rubbing his wrists. "Thank you." He stood and grabbed the cup, downing the water in one gulp.

  "You won't leave, right? We're in this together?" Barden's eyes widened, realizing what he'd just done.

  Bastian couldn't imagine what Marden would do to his brother if Bastian escaped. Luckily for Barden, he had no intention of leaving. Without these men, he had no chance of getting back into the castle for Connor, Fotia, and the eggs.

  "I'm not going anywhere." It was a promise he would keep.

  They passed the time in a suspicious silence. Barden wouldn't answer him. Instead, he glowered at Bastian, as if his gaze alone could keep Bastian from bolting. Barden was a decent fighter, Bastian assumed since he'd won a place in the Black Guard, but Bastian knew he was smarter, and likely stronger. If it came to a fight, Bastian knew he'd win. Bastian didn't want to start anything, but if Barden did, he'd finish it quickly.

  The door swung open. Marden strode in, followed by a few other men Bastian vaguely recognized. They'd ambushed him when the fog dissipated, knocked him silly, and dragged him to the castle on a pallet behind a horse that wouldn’t stop shitting.

  "Why is he free?" Marden demanded.

  Barden uttered a few nonsensical answers, none of which were fully intelligible. Marden cuffed his brother, and then turned to Bastian. "You didn't leave."

  "No, I didn't. I'm with you on this. I told you that before. Maybe you'll believe me now." Bastian crossed his arms over his chest.

  "I'll believe it when the throne is secured." Marden nodded to the other men. They drew their swords and pointed the tips at Bastian's chest.

  He didn't flinch, even though every fiber of his being was telling him to run out the door. He had to trust them if he had any chance of freeing Connor. "When do I get a sword?" he asked, eyeing theirs.

  Every blade was newly buffed and sharpened. He couldn't have done better himself. They might not have been the smartest men, but they knew how to keep their swords in fighting condition.

  "Well?" He raised one eyebrow at Marden, who nodded at a dark haired man. One sword stood out. The double-edged blade was lightly stained with the blood of fallen enemies.

  "Give it to him, Kelton."

  Kelton flipped his sword around, handing it to Bastian, handle first. He gripped the hilt in his palm, relishing the feel of it. He'd created this very sword in his free time at the smithy in Hutton's Bridge, brought it with him when he stepped through the fog. Used it to kill the beasts hidden in the fog. They’d held onto the weapon all this time. It was a beautiful blade, far better than the one Elinor had stolen for him before leaving Ashoom.

  It was his past, his present, and his future. Bastian's blood boiled, throbbing in his veins. "Are you ready to fight?" he asked the men.

  Marden stood next to him, his hand on Bastian's shoulder. "We are." His hand snaked to Bastian's neck. "But if you betray us at any point, I will tear a hole in your chest and rip your innards out with my bare hands."

  Bastian eyed Marden's free hand as it clenched and unclenched. He remembered the blow the man had dealt to his genitals not long ago.

  He wouldn't betray Marden unless it helped free Connor, and then he'd run as fast as he could.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Bastian followed Marden and the rest of the Black Guard down a dark alley. Although the sun was still up, the tree cover above and the buildings built into the forest shaded their march toward the castle. Nine left from the Black Guard and Bastian. They weren't an army, but if they could displace the healers who'd taken control, Marden hoped some of the soldiers at the castle would defect to their side.

  As far as Bastian was concerned all he needed was to get to Connor and the eggs. If they could free them, they wouldn't need anyone else's help. Everyone deferred to the one who controlled the dragon. Bastian had taken the throne without incident once before. Unfortunately this time someone had given them away.

  Elinor.

  It couldn't be anyone else. Only the three of them knew about the eggs. How else could the healers have known their vulnerable spot?

  Marden stopped at the end of the alley and held up a hand. The men readied themselves, hands on swords, waiting for his signal.

  The plan was to storm the castle from the front gates. The hope was that the healers would surrender without incident. Though Bastian knew some of the men were anxious to draw blood.

  Marden held two fingers in the air, then cocked them forward. He rushed into the street, his sword aloft, glinting in the early morning sunlight. The men in front of Bastian grunted and bellowed. Bastian followed, his feet pounding, his heart racing. He'd seen a lot of battle lately, but this was the first time he'd be facing other men.
r />   He reminded himself he wouldn’t be killing a man for sport. It was to free his friend and the eggs. He wouldn't take a life unless it was necessary. There were many ways to fell a man without stopping his heart from beating.

  The Black Guard didn't have the same standards.

  When the healers at the gate didn't relent, Marden ran two of them through before they could even draw their swords. Blood gushed from their guts, splashing onto Marden's clothes. He didn't look down for even a moment. Instead he bent at the waist and rushed the gates, his left arm cocked in front of him like a battering ram.

  The gate cracked open. A loud metallic sound echoed through the street, calling to the people in their homes. Faces appeared in windows, curious, but not one door opened.

  Bastian gripped his sword tighter. They were smart to stay inside. This wasn't their battle.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. The healers weren't even prepared and they should have been. Why take control of a castle without the means to defend it? The soldiers stood to the side, letting Marden and his men pass. They wouldn't take part in the slaughter, but they wouldn't stop it either.

  Bastian wasn't sure what to make of any of these men, not the Black Guard, nor the regular soldiers. Did they have no loyalty to anything or anyone? Perhaps they only followed the mighty, even if it meant switching sides twice in one day.

  He followed the Black Guard as they worked their way deeper into the castle. The healers in the black cloaks no longer opposed them. They stood with their backs against the wall. Some cowered on the floor, their fear palpable.

  Still, Bastian kept his sword at the ready in case someone decided to be a hero. He didn't want to kill, but he wouldn't be caught off guard.

  The doors to the throne room were shut but not barred. Marden kicked them open, striding in ahead of the rest of his men. Bastian held back in the hall. He didn't care to face whoever had holed up in there. All he wanted was his friend.

  "Don't hurt me!" a familiar voice called from within the throne room. Elinor. Bastian would know her voice anywhere.

  He sighed, shaking his head. The woman who'd betrayed him. She could stand in line behind Tressa. He was done trying to take care of them when clearly neither needed, nor wanted, him.