If ever he needed help it was now. He opened the vial and inhaled. The musky scent seemed to skip his nose altogether and go straight to his head, tingling his senses. Not realizing that he had stopped walking, Erik barreled into him. Rushton stumbled and accidentally took in a large whiff of the liquid. This time it burned up through his nose and seared its way into his head. He closed his eyes against the blinding pain. Then without warning, Erik shoved him in the back, knocking him to the ground where he broke his fall with the palms of his hands. The remaining contents of the vial spilled out onto the ground.
Jack spun around to the large man, his eyes blazing. “What are ye doing?”
Erik swore. “He’s lucky that I did not run him through.” He lifted his sword. “But if we don’t reach the cave soon, I will do just that.” He glared at Jack. “Starting with you.”
The world started to spin, and Rushton fought to get his bearings. Then as quickly as the dizziness came, it left and everything became clear. Rushton held up a hand. “I am well.” He stood.
“Thy hand. ‘Tis bleeding,” Jack said.
Rushton looked down. He saw the blood but didn’t feel any pain. All he could think about was Erik, pushing him to the ground. He faced him full on, craning his neck in order to meet the man’s eyes. “Sword or not, if you ever lay a hand on me again, I swear I will kill you!”
Erik’s eyes registered surprise a fraction of a moment before they narrowed. Rushton braced himself for an attack. He may not stand a chance against the giant of a man, but at least he would die with his honor intact. Since they’d started on their trek, he’d been sizing up Erik, trying to determine if he could best him in a sword fight. The man was big but clumsy, and if Rushton had access to a sword, then he might stand a chance. His eyes never left Erik’s face, even as he crouched into a fighting position.
“You think you can defeat me?” Erik said, the sound rumbling deep from within his broad chest.
Rushton didn’t say a word but kept his eyes fixed on Erik, his senses going on full alert. It was those slight nuances that would let him know the precise moment the man would attack—a shift in the eyes, flick of the wrist, tensing of the muscles—all sure-fire signs that if heeded, would give him the edge. He saw Erik’s grip tighten around his sword. The moment of truth was here. A tiny part of him wondered where he was getting the nerve to go against this giant, but then a surge of adrenaline raced through him and everything seemed to slow. The power was intoxicating. He felt the blood pulsing through his veins, felt the steady beat of his own heart. Then he heard Erik’s heart beating. Slowly at first and then fast and chaotic like a horse galloping out of control. He could smell the fear on the large man, oozing out of his pores, making him weak and uncertain. He nearly laughed. Despite the fact that he was half Erik’s size and unarmed, the man was afraid of him.
The power that flowed over him was as certain and absolute as the red sun setting behind the peak of the mountain. Somehow, in a way he couldn’t explain, he knew that he possessed the strength to rip Erik apart.
Erik lunged at him, and Rushton sidestepped his attempt to jab him with the sword. Before Erik could turn and come at him again, he grasped Erik’s free arm and twisted until the sound of a breaking bone rent the air. Erik let out a howl and attempted to strike a blow with the sword, but his movements were clumsy. It took little effort for Rushton to bring the man to his knees. Erik’s cloak flapped back, and Rushton caught the glint of a ruby. His fury climbed to new heights when he realized that the ruby was one of two that were inserted into the metal of a dagger—his dagger. Evidently, Erik had stolen it when it was taken from Rushton on that first night when he was arrested and thrown into the dungeon. In a flash, he wrenched the sword from Erik’s hand. He motioned. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Ever so slowly, Erik unsheathed the dagger and held it out to Rushton.
“Throw it on the ground,” Rushton ordered. He pointed the tip of the sword at Erik’s chest. “Do it!”
Erik threw the dagger on the ground.
Ruston raised the sword in the air, relishing the look of fear in the large man’s eyes when he realized that his demise was imminent. Power surged through him—the anticipation before the kill.
“Halt! What are ye doing? Have ye lost your mind?”
The words seem to be coming from far away. He ignored them at first and focused on the primal urge to level the lethal blow that would vanquish the enemy.
“I said halt!” He felt a tugging and turned to the voice. Jack was holding onto his arm. He ripped it from Jack’s grasp, knocking him to the ground before turning his attention to Erik. The large man was weeping and holding his broken arm.
“Please, just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone where ye are. Ye don’t have to pay me anything. Please, I beg thee. Have mercy. I have young children at home. They will starve without me. Please.”
Rushton’s eyes glittered. “Mercy—an interesting concept seeing as how you were just trying to kill me.” He laughed. “Unfortunately, mercy is not on the table today. Say thy prayers, heathen, for you are about to meet your maker.” He brought the sword down for the kill but missed his mark when Jack rammed him from behind, knocking him forward. A hot rage seized Rushton, blinding all reason. He forgot about the man on the ground and charged at Jack who managed to elude the thrust of the sword the instant before it gashed him. Rushton was the stronger of the two, but Jack was scrappy and fast. He managed to stay out of reach until he tripped and fell. Rushton grabbed him by the hair of his head and held the point of the sword to his neck.
Jack’s eyes were wild. “Ye are under the influence of that potion! Think about what ye are doing.”
“Liar!” Rushton shouted. “Ye were planning on joining with Erik to betray me.”
“If that is so then where did he go?”
“What?” Rushton turned to where he’d left the man, lying on the ground. He was gone.
“The moment ye turned on me, he hightailed it away from here. This is not you. Ye are not a killer.” Jack swallowed hard. “Think about it.” He pointed to the empty vial, hanging around Rushton’s neck. “It was that potion ye were sniffing, right before Erik pushed ye. Think, man! ‘Tis the potion that is making thee crazy.”
The right side of Rushton’s head was beginning to throb. He mulled over the words, trying to decide if they had any validity. A hint of uncertainty started creeping in. “You are a liar!” He pushed the tip of the sword to Jack’s neck.
“Think of Cinderella! What will she think if you become a cold-blooded killer? You will lose her for sure,” Jack finished hoarsely.
An image of Cinderella flooded through his mind. He let go of Jack’s hair. “Too late, for I have already lost her,” he said flatly. “I need to think about this.” He stepped back.
“Take all the time ye need. Anything to keep ye from chopping my head off. I may not have the most handsome face in the kingdom, but since I am kind of attached to it …” He touched his neck and looked at his fingers. “See, here! I am bleeding! Ye rotten swine, ye nicked my neck.”
The dizziness had returned. Rushton felt like he had rotten cheese churning in his gut. He doubled over and vomited on the ground.
Jack scooted back, holding his nose. “Ew, not on my boot!”
A moment later, Rushton sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. “My head!” He groaned. “It feels like ‘tis splitting in two.” Stars were exploding around him and he couldn’t get a good breath. “I cannot breathe,” he gasped. “Help me.” He clutched his neck.
Jack paused long enough for Rushton to fear that he might leave him here, choking to death. “Here, drink this.” He held a flask to Rushton’s lips. “Drink!”
Rushton took a gulp and then began coughing profusely. “Breathe,” Jack ordered, pounding him on the back. “Breathe!”
He downed nearly the entire flask of water. It took a concerted effort to breathe in deeply, but it was starting to
help him feel more normal. The potion. He had inhaled too much of it when Erik pushed him.
Jack sat down beside him. An uneasy silence settled between them.
“About what happened,” Rushton began.
“Do not mention it,” Jack countered with a bite in his voice, “ye only tried to kill me … nothing too drastic.”
“I am indeed sorry. I know not what came over me.”
Jack looked sideways at Rushton. “Aye, ye know. I saw the change come over thee, and so did Erik. Ye snapped his arm so easily that it might have been a twig.” He touched his own arm and shuddered. “Thine eyes became ice blue, and they had a strange glow about them. I could feel the energy building in thee.”
Rushton shook his head. “I was only supposed to inhale a tiny amount. If only that lug-head had not pushed me—”
“Where did ye get it?” Jack said and then proceeded to answer his own question. “Thy mother gave it to thee when she came to the dungeon.”
“She was trying to help.”
Jack gave Rushton a speculative look. “Like she tried to help thee win the love of the peasant princess?”
“She is not a peasant!” Rushton said hotly, and you know not of which you speak.
Jack held up a hand. “Nay, do not speak on it more. It mattereth not. At least one good thing came out of it. Erik is gone.”
“We do not know that for certain. He could be hiding out, waiting to ambush us.”
“With a broken arm?” He shook his head. “Methinks not. ‘Tis a pity ye no longer have any more of the happy juice. It might have proven useful—seeing as how we are on the run from Prince Edward, with the entire kingdom hot on our trail.”
Rushton’s face fell. Every bit of it had spilled out when Erik pushed him to the ground. He clenched his fist and pounded it against his leg.
Jack slapped him on the back. “No need to get thy tights in a jumble, lad, ye succeeded in putting the fear into Erik, ‘tis for sure.” He chuckled. “Never thought I would see the day when the mighty Erik Duncan would take off running like a wee lamb. If I were a betting man, I would wager that he is already halfway back to the castle by now.” He glanced at the setting sun. “We are losing daylight, and I, for one, do not relish the thought of being out here in the open when the darkness comes.” He looked Rushton in the eye. “In case Erik finds some of that courage ye so aptly stripped him of and decides to come back for retribution.”
“You are correct.” Rushton stood and stumbled slightly. Jack gave him a concerned look.
“Are you ill?”
“I will be fine.” He walked a few steps and then cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”
Jack paused, listening. “Water?”
Rushton nodded. “This way.”
When they reached the river, Jack went to the edge and dipped in his flask. Rushton walked to the side and bent down. He cupped his hands into the clear water and began drinking greedily. After his thirst was quenched, he scoped the landscape, looking for the telltale maker that would let him know if he’d led them in the right direction. He pointed to the fork in the river. “There. The bent tree. We follow the water upstream to the mouth. To the waterfall. The cave is hidden behind it. Come. If we hurry, we can just make it before sunset.”
* * *
Rush cast a sidelong glance at Jack who’d been sullen and withdrawn ever since he’d picked him up from his trailer earlier in the afternoon. Not that Rush blamed him. He had no idea how rough Jack’s living conditions were. When Rush arrived to pick him up, he heard yelling and cursing from inside the trailer. He tentatively knocked on the door, and Jack’s dad threw it open, nearly knocking Rush in the face. He was drunk and slimy, like he’d not showered in a week. He reeked of booze, cigarettes, and body odor. Rush caught a glimpse inside the trailer, which looked a thousand times worse than the dilapidated exterior. The dingy curtains were only half hanging over the windows, and stuffing was spilling out of the ripped couch. Dirty dishes, caked with dry food, were piled a mile high in the sink, and the kitchen chairs were toppled onto their sides. Empty beer cans and clothing littered the ragged carpet. Jack’s dad let out a string of expletives. His speech was slurred as he stumbled backwards. “Jack! Get out here! Now! One of your rich buddies is here to pick you up.” He leaned into Rush and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “You got a twenty I could borrow?”
“Sorry, man, I don’t have any cash on me,” Rush said, averting his nose.
He grabbed Rush by the shirt and shoved him. Thankfully, Rush caught himself from falling down the steps by grabbing onto the handrail.
“You lousy, good-for-nothing, loser! How dare you come to my house and refuse to give me money!”
Rush held up his hands and began backing the rest of the way down the steps. Tangling with Jack’s dad would be about as foolish as trying to take on a grizzly bear. Whereas Jack was tall and lanky, his dad was burly and muscular—and there was a ruthlessness about him that suggested he was the kind of man who knew his way around a bar fight and was accustomed to bullying others into submission.
Just as he’d made it to the bottom of the steps, Jack came hurrying to the door. The rims of his eyes were red, and there was an ugly bruise spreading across his left cheek. Humiliation burned in his eyes when he realized what was going on. “I’m sorry, man,” he said quietly to Rush, glaring at his dad who, by this time, was leaning over the handrail and puking his guts up.
Rush pointed. “Do we need to get him help … or something?”
A look of disgust came over Jack’s face as he shook his head. “No, he’s like this all of the time. He’ll sleep it off.” He pushed past him and bounded down the steps. “Let’s go,” he barked.
That had happened over an hour ago, and they’d hardly spoken since. They were standing in the music store, looking for a new set of drumsticks for Jack. Supposedly, Jack had accidentally cracked his, but after witnessing the scene of destruction at the trailer, Rush wondered if his dad had purposefully destroyed them. He was also starting to wonder if Jack were being abused. He’d always attributed Jack’s raw-bone skinniness to his body type, but now he feared he might be going hungry. Jack had too much pride to let on that things weren’t right at home. He wondered if he should tell someone. Would Jack feel like he was a traitor who’d ratted him out? He shook off the thoughts and concentrated on the twenty-something-year-old, tattooed sales clerk who kept pointing out the higher priced drumsticks that came in packs of twenty-four. The man was relentless in his sales pitch, but Jack kept stubbornly going back to the cheaper ones. Finally, Rush stepped up beside him. “Don’t worry, I can help pay for them.”
“I don’t need your charity,” Jack muttered, swiping at his hair.
He kept his voice light and conversational. “It’s not charity but rather practicality. You break another drumstick, and I have to use my gas to take you to buy more. If you have extra …” He spread his hands. “Well, then it ends up saving me money in the end.”
Jack made a face that suggested he knew exactly what Rush was up to, but a slight smile escaped his lips. “Sure it does,” he quipped sarcastically.
“He’ll take the set of twenty-four,” Rush said to the clerk.
“Smart decision,” the man beamed.
When they were walking out of the store, Rush casually pointed to Jack’s face. “You okay?”
Jack nodded. “Yep, I’m kind of used to it.”
“If you need anything.” He gave him a meaningful look. “If there’s ever a time you need a place to crash or someone to talk to … I’m here.”
“Thanks.” He paused. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything to Rae about this.”
Rush lifted an eyebrow. “Rae?”
“Yeah, she worries enough about me as it is.”
“All of that hell you’re living in, and you’re worried about Rae worrying about you?”
Jack winced and scratched his head. “Yeah, something like that.”
He lo
oked at Jack through new eyes. He’d been so caught up in Elle that he’d not realized what had been right in front of his face the entire time. Jack and Rae had a thing for one another. He noticed that Jack was watching him, waiting for an answer. “All right. My lips are sealed. I won’t say a word to anyone … especially Rae.” His eyes met his. “But if you need anything …”
“Yeah … I’ll call you, man, I promise.”
As they got back on the bike, Rush glanced at his phone. “We’re running late.”
Jack chuckled. “Yep, better get to band practice before Rae blows her cork. You know how those redheads can get.”
Rush made a face. “Blondes aren’t much better.”
Jack slapped him on the back with a laugh. “No, they’re not, man.”
Rush put on his helmet and revved up the engine. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Bargain
“Are ye certain this is it?” Jack looked upward, his gaze taking in the tall expanse of the waterfall. They were standing so close that he could feel the mist coming up from the rushing water as it plunged into the pool. It was a magnificent sight, but Jack had no appreciation for it. All he could think about was that he’d never been comfortable around water, and the thoughts of somehow slipping into the dark pool unnerved him. He suppressed a shiver.
“Aye, ‘tis the place,” Rushton said. “You cannot see it from here, but the entrance of the cave is just behind the falls.”
“How do we get back there?”
He began removing his boots. “We swim.”
“Swim?” Jack’s pulse bumped up a notch. “Can we not walk around there somehow?”
“Do you see a place to walk?” Rushton pointed to the slick wall of rocks, jutting up fifty feet or more. “The only way to get back there is to swim.”
“Of course, the cave would be behind the waterfall,” Jack mumbled, removing his boots and plunking them on the ground. “First, ye go lunatic and nearly kill me and now this!” He ran a hand through his hair. “Methinks I should have left thee in the dungeon.”
Love Spell: Book 2 of The Grimm Laws Page 23
