by Plum Pascal
Its roar shakes the tunnel, rattles my bones, and sends terror clawing down my spine. Another involuntary scream rips from my throat. Every instinct in my body tells me to run.
But run where? Every new corner I turn prompts another monster, each more horrifying than the last. That is, if I don’t run headlong into mirror first. Ground particles of the broken glass line my neck and face like stinging glitter, cutting tiny furrows into my skin with every movement I make. But even breaking the glass doesn’t stop the monsters from coming.
I lash out blindly, my knife connecting with the wall in a screech of protesting metal and glass. My knuckles drag across the hard, broken surface, splitting again. Blood oozes, hot and wet, between my fingers and my grip on the knife falters. It drops to the floor, only to be consumed by the inky spill of black matter below. I try not to look at the blackness below my feet. It’s too much. A monster—it’s all eyes and huge, fanged jaws. I keep expecting it to gnaw one of my feet off, boot and all.
But it won’t bite me because it’s not real.
None of this is real. If these were flesh-and-blood monsters, I’d have snatched their powers by now, turned them into nothing. But my mind doesn’t care about pesky things like logic or sanity.
My lungs burn, my throat stinging as I breathe in still more of the glass particles. I can’t stop my traitorous heart from bruising my ribs. There should be nothing to be afraid of here! But knowing and accepting are two different things and I shriek, barreling forward in a vain effort to find an exit.
Thirty meters down the corridor, I encounter another hidden mirrored wall, impacting it so hard, I see stars. The surface breaks, raining glass and a thousand refracted images of a serpentine beast striking down at me from all angles.
All I can do is throw my hands over my head in an effort to protect my face from the onslaught of jagged mirror pieces. Blood flows in rivulets down my arms. I’ve lost so much already. The only reason I’m not already dead is the massive power-up I took from Leith. What will happen to me when that power fades? There’s no life here to drain, no power to steal. How far does this blasted thing stretch?
I have the notion that I could wander this place for days and never find my way out.
Will they truly allow me to die like this—gibbering and insane, afraid of my own shadow? Maybe they intend to let me waste away in here, starving to death with nothing to keep me going but my own fear? Is my crime truly worth that? I’ve only tried to save the lives of thousands. So what if I’ve stolen and lied to do it? The ends justify the means and all that… right?
Something moves in the green murk behind me and I whirl around, ready to face the next monster, pulling another of my daggers from the interior of my coat. I was surprised to find most of my things still intact in the armory and now I’m grateful for that fact. I bring the knife to bear with a defiant snarl and lunge, aiming for the location where the eyes should be on an average sized human.
My blow glances off leather armor and in the next second a real, substantial hand twists the blade from my grasp. I let out a surprised scream, my irrational hindbrain convinced that one of the monsters has somehow crawled from the walls to attack me. I bring up a knee and flail wildly, all my training going out the window in my panic. I score my nails down leather but they barely leave marks.
A hard, armored forearm crosses my chest, holding me in place like a steel bar. My back slams into an equally armored front, my head coming to rest below a strong chin. The head of my attacker dips and a familiar voice growls into my ear.
“Stop fucking kicking me, thief! I can just as easily choke you and carry you out unconscious.”
Nash. It’s Nash.
Relief washes over me at once. I can’t deny I’m happy to see him, happy to know the monsters in the mirror haven’t become real. Yet, Nash is his own type of monster. But, he’s one I can handle.
My chest still heaves, budging his arm a few inches every time. Every lurch of my heart is painful, and hits like a drum whenever I spy a monster in my periphery. I’m starting to think unconsciousness would be a mercy at this point. I bite my tongue before I can say so. It feels like admitting surrender, something I never want to do in front of a predator. Sabre and Titus taught me proper shifter etiquette—well, they taught me what not to do around huntsman, who are pretty much the only shifters I’ve ever feared. My brothers taught me that shifters often react like their beast half. Showing weakness to Nash is probably the worst thing I can do, under the circumstances.
And then there’s just pride. Let the ferocious bear shifter carry me over his shoulder through the courtyard like a war prize, again? I don’t think so. I’ll never live this down as it is—I’m more than sure Nash will mock me over the fact that he had to come in here to save my ass.
Nash’s sigh stirs the hair at the nape of my neck. Warm breath dews on my skin and the proximity of him makes my heart lurch once more. It’s just now begun to strike me that there’s a very muscled, very attractive man holding me close to his body. His mouth hovers just above the shell of my ear. I’m struck with an image of him teasing the shell of it with his tongue, rolling the lobe between deliciously sharp teeth.
My hips squirm involuntarily, pressing my ass against his front. I’m lucky he’s wearing armor, or I might have given him the wrong impression. Thankfully, he misinterprets my action as fear. He slides one rough hand over my eyes, blotting out the verdant shadows, the mirrors, and the monsters within. When he speaks, his voice is gentler than before, but still edged with impatience.
“Take a deep breath and hold it until you feel your lungs are about to burst, then release it.”
I do as he says, drawing in a shaky lungful of air. It’s easier to breathe when I can’t see the monsters. I hold the breath until it burns my lungs and then I expel it, repeating the action without having to be told.
He’s right. I know this trick already, but in my blind panic, sense flew right out of my head. Titus, Sabre, and Draven drilled this into me from the moment I started training. Slow your breathing, and your heart has to follow.
Nash grunts his approval when my heartbeat slows to a gentle trot and my breathing becomes less wheezy. “Good. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here, Goldilocks.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mumble, as idiotic as it sounds since I already told them my name. But, hearing it now on his tongue is too personal, too much for me to handle. “Call me thief like you’ve been calling me.”
“You’re lucky I’m speaking to you at all, Goldilocks,” Nash retorts, scorn edging his tone. “I’m within my rights to kill you for attempting to kill our king. Weren’t content with stealing away our wares, were you? You had to attempt regicide, as well.”
Regicide?
No, he’s got it all wrong!
“I didn’t try to kill Leith,” I say hotly. “He should be fine after a few meals and a good night’s sleep.”
“What did you do to him? Poison? Witchery?”
“Neither,” I manage to say.
“Who and what in the name of Avernus are you?”
That is an excellent question—one I’ve been searching for the answer to for a lifetime. I’ve traded a dozen different appellations over the years and none of them seems to fit. Sister. Warrior. Criminal. Thief. Friend. In the end, every descriptor peels away like skin after a bad burn.
Underneath it all, I still feel like a helpless little girl, hiding in the lone, stunted sycamore tree in the backyard, trying to escape the notice of my father’s drunken rages. I nearly killed him at age eight, sucked the life right out of his body after he attempted to gut me like a trout. In the end, though, I didn’t wield the blade that ended him. That was Sabre, after the Guild convicted him of attempted child murder.
I say nothing in response. Nash’s growl comes out on an exhale, but it lacks volume. It sounds more like a frustrated sigh than anything. He starts moving forward, shuffling us slowly through the maze. Even at the reduced speed, it hurts every time
we hit a dead end. Thankfully, Nash seems to know his way around, so it happens seldom.
I don’t understand how he’s doing this. The monsters are sanity-rending. Even when I tried to close my eyes and navigate through the hall, I only ended up with more bruises and cuts to show for it.
“Don’t they bother you?” I ask at last, curiosity momentarily overcoming my dislike for him. “The monsters, I mean?”
Nash laughs, and it catches me off-guard. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound pleased about anything. The sound is downright touchable, a warm, rolling thing that sounds simultaneously boyish and filthy. It’s a laugh I could imagine him giving after a particularly good tussle between the sheets.
I’m ashamed when my clit throbs hard in response. I want to roll my eyes at my own body for being such a greedy creature. Haven’t I already had enough pleasure from Leith? I don’t need Nash’s attentions, too, especially when I hate him as much as I do.
“There’s no bigger monster in this maze than me, thief. Don’t forget that.”
It’s hard to judge distance without my sight, but I do my best. Counting the shuffle-steps we take, I determine we’ve walked about a mile and a half before Nash speaks again.
“When we get out of here, you’re going to explain how you escaped and what you did to Leith, and then you’re going to face punishment.”
“Punishment?” I repeat. “Then the Rite of Three is no longer on the table?” At this point, I’m pretty sure that option is out the window. Once Leith gets his energy and vitality back, I doubt he’ll ever want anything to do with me sexually ever again.
But, what if he does?
Hmm.
It seems incredibly demeaning somehow, to trade sexual favors for my freedom. I know other Guild members have done worse. Hell, Jezebel is practically known for it. Still, the prospect makes me uncomfortable.
Nash chuckles. “Were it up to me, I’d fuck you and then slit your fucking throat.”
I turn around to glare at him. “Well, luckily for me, it’s not up to you because you’re not the fucking king.”
He glares right back at me. “I don’t care if you choose the lashes of our claws or if Leith offers it still, his bed, but if you try something like this again, I will kill you.”
Maybe I should count my blessings and just keep my mouth shut. Unfortunately, that’s never been a strong suit of mine. No matter how fraught the peril, my tongue wags in defiance of danger.
“Well, my mind hasn’t changed: I still don’t want to fuck any of you.”
Nash shrugs, his hand inching up my torso a fraction as he does so. He brushes the underside of my breast with one calloused hand. Given I’m wearing nothing beneath Leith’s coat, it’s incredibly distracting.
“Then don’t fuck us and, instead, take your lashes and see if you survive.”
Nash’s head dips and he presses a searing kiss to the hollow beneath my ear. My entire body jerks to attention, nerves crackling like I’ve been struck by lightning. He lets his mouth linger on my skin, a sensual promise. As he slides his fingers along the underside of my breast, a moan gets caught in my throat. My head lolls back and I dare a peek at his face.
And he stares right back at me, heat in his eyes. I immediately look away.
The green cast of the mirrored halls is mostly gone, weak wintery sunlight washing away the unnatural glow as we step out of the maze. We’re in a patch of forest I don’t recognize. Nearby, a stream burbles, and something small scampers through the underbrush.
Nash’s face is incredibly handsome when it’s not twisted with rage, and he looks older than Leith without the juvenile, stubborn twist to his lips. His dark hair beckons to be touched, his lips to be kissed.
“Would it be so bad, thief?”
I jerk myself from his grasp, and he lets me go. Or maybe I’m bleeding too badly for him to keep a good grip on me. Either way, he allows me a foot of space so I can think. I’m not stupid enough to go loping into the forest. I’m injured again, bleeding from more places than I can count. He wouldn’t even have to run after me; he’d just have to trail behind until I succumb to the dizziness that’s sucking at the edges of my equilibrium.
“I’m not sacrificing my maidenhead to any of you,” I mutter.
I don’t turn to see how he takes that revelation. I just start trudging up the hill toward the gates of the compound, hoping that when I eventually fall, it’ll be somewhere other than in Nash’s arms.
SEVEN
Kassidy
At some point, I must have passed out, because when I come to, I’m in a warm, familiar room.
A cursory glance around the place confirms what I already suspect. I’ve been returned to Leith’s bedroom. And there’s a large wooden tub in the center of the room—large enough to fit three of me.
Leith is nowhere to be seen.
The place seems so empty without the massive werebear inside it. I spend the first ten minutes unwilling to climb out from beneath the covers. It’s very warm and comfortable here, and the novelty of it almost makes me want to smile. Never have I been able to afford such luxury.
Almost all of what I steal goes to the Guild’s coffers, and what little is left is just enough to get me a night or two at a local inn along the way and maybe a hot meal.
Even when I live with Titus and Sabre at the House of Corvid, it’s not bursting with amenities. Huntsmen learn to live on little and shed creature comforts as a way of life. Draven only enjoys so much wealth because he’s assigned to guard Princess Carmine, on King Leon’s orders.
I consider rolling back over and sleeping the rest of the day away. After what I’ve been through recently, I deserve a full night’s rest. When I turn my head, however, my cheek lands on something smooth and cool that crinkles beneath my touch. I jerk upright at the unfamiliar sound, then feel silly when I see it’s only a bit of parchment. Neat, looping scrawl reads:
If you are well enough to attend, your presence is requested by your king. Attire will be provided for you.
The handwriting is clearly masculine so I assume it’s in Leith’s own hand. But, why all the pomp and circumstance?
Maybe because he’s a king? I answer myself.
Frowning, I search the room for a timepiece and find none. With no windows to speak of, I can’t tell day from night. It was afternoon when Nash and I emerged from that evil maze. Is it evening now? Or have I slept through the night and ignored Leith’s invitation, snubbing him once more? I can’t imagine I’ll get away with doing so much longer.
And what am I doing in here anyway? Didn’t I make it clear to Nash that I wasn’t choosing The Rite of Three? I thought I’d been clear about that when I trudged away from him?
And, yet, here I am again.
I sit up and stretch my aching muscles, noting as I do that someone has tended to me while I slept. I’m naked beneath the covers. Almost every part of me is bandaged, so I appear more shrouded corpse than girl at the moment. I imagine it was Leith who cared for me. Or maybe it was the maids. Somehow, I can’t picture Nash crouched over me like an attentive nursemaid, picking glass from my wounds and swaddling me.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I take stock of myself. My face has been healed magically by Ambrosia, no doubt, though the rest of me seems to be in various states of recovery. Not going to waste more of the precious healing foodstuffs on me again, I see. Probably wise. I’m good at getting myself cut up, and they seem less than eager to part with their precious Ambrosia.
As to what Ambrosia is? I have no idea. All I do know is that it’s magical and the Guild wants it to heal our fallen soldiers.
My toes curl into the soft surface of one of Leith’s rugs. It would be heaven to stay here for a time, if it didn’t mean a bear would charge in at some point and mount me.
The door swings open and I snatch the bedcovers with a shriek, jerking them over my nude body as quickly as I can. The woman standing in the doorway blinks at me, nonplussed. She’s taller t
han me, but that’s not a difficult feat to achieve. All supernaturals are, and most humans as well.
This woman does seem a little short for a bear, though, standing at only about five-foot-four or so. She’s petite, with small but defined curves and an athletic build. Her maid’s uniform only reaches mid-thigh. She’s all lustrous earth tones and looks like she could blend perfectly in a forest. An oval face, with skin the color of teak. Her hair is mahogany, falling down her back in perfect ringlets, unlike my mass of unmanageable curlicues. Her eyes are chestnut, with a ring of ebony around the iris.
“I’m sorry for frightening you, mistress,” she says meekly. “Shall I go?”
My heart settles back into a somewhat normal rhythm. Gods above, I’m getting jumpy. I blame Sorren’s death trap for it. I’m seeing monsters around every corner. But, this girl is no monster. A werebear girl, probably, but a girl nonetheless. I hug the duvet closer to my body and try to grasp at the last shattered remnants of my pride.
“No, it’s fine. Come in.”
The girl steps into the room, her eyes immediately dropping to the floor as though she’s not worthy to even look at the place. She doesn’t raise them again until she reaches my side, and when she does, I can see the questions in her gaze. Why am I allowed here? What makes me worthy to spend a night in Leith’s bed when he’s not even fucking me?
I wish I had an answer to give her.
In each hand, she clutches a large bucket filled almost to the brim with water, a sponge floating on the top of one and a bar of soap in the other. Around her elbow is a folded dress, almost identical in color to the one she’s wearing.
“I am Celesse, and the king wanted me to check to see if you’re awake.”
“Why?”
She nods. “I’ve been assigned to act as your lady’s maid this eve. King Nord requests I bathe you and help dress you for supper,” she murmurs. “If her ladyship isn’t too fatigued.”
With that, she walks over to the large basin in the room and fills it with both buckets. Then she looks up at me.
