Hidden (Book 1)

by Megg Jensen

  The woman’s voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It dripped with honey and the promise of sunshine. It was kind. It was truthful.

  No wonder his heart pained him so much. The woman he’d loved sent him away.

  “You stumbled into a forest surrounded by fog. A great beast tore you apart. I found you. I nursed you back to health.” Fingertips lightly grazed his forehead.

  Warm. Soft. Comforting.

  He vaguely remembered the forest and the fog, thicker than the wool of the clothes he wore. Clothes? He’d touched his own body. His skin. There were no clothes. Shame spread over him. No woman, other than his wife and his mother, had seen him without clothing.

  “You are beautiful. Don’t be embarrassed.” A silken blanket spread across him.

  He was grateful. He wanted to thank her, but he still couldn’t speak. His lips were spread apart ever so slightly. Not one sound emerged.

  “You don’t have to talk, sweetling. I can hear you. We have a connection, deeper than any you’ve ever had with anyone else.” She placed a hand under his back, helping him to sit up.

  His legs swung over to the side and the blanket fell to his waist, covering the most private part of him. That part he’d kept only for the woman he loved. The one who became his wife and bore his children. The one he swore he’d return to, no matter how difficult. If the voice was to be believed, his wife no longer wanted him.

  Memories of dense fog and the snarling of a beast coming after him haunted him. He knew they were true memories. The rest was a blur.

  “You’ve blocked out the pain.” She stroked his hair. “It’s okay, my darling. Eventually it’ll all come back.”

  He looked at the woman next to him. Her long dark braid fell behind her back, nearly touching the floor. It sparkled in the dim light. Where was he? The walls dripped. Stalactites clung to the ceiling. A cave, then. That explained the moistness in the air and the faint scent of dirt.

  She wore a gown of blue. Light bounced off of it, blinding him every time he looked at her. Dazzling. Devastatingly beautiful.

  The woman’s hand rested under his chin. A nudge. He looked into her eyes. Deep pools of blackness. The azure iris of her eye slit in a vertical line.

  “You have no idea how grateful I am that you have woken from your sleep. Your injuries were extensive. Everyone else thought you dead. I am the only one who believed you could be brought back to life.”

  He was grateful to her too. Though without his wife, he wasn’t sure if life was worth living.

  “Life can be so much more. You are young. Don’t give up so easily.” She traced a line down his face to his lips. Her finger lingered there, only a moment, before she drew it back.

  He licked his lips. The metallic taste of blood mingled with the sweetness of honey. He swallowed. Looking at her again, she appeared even more beautiful. Radiant.

  Her eyelids lowered, her lashes fluttering. “I’m pleased you think I’m attractive.”

  Despite wanting to fight it, he found himself being pulled toward her. With the passing of every moment, the tender memories of his wife faded, obstructed by the woman in front of him.

  “Yes, that’s right. I feel the same pull to you. It’s only natural. I’ve grown to love you as well.”

  Love. It was a word he’d never used lightly. He’d sworn to use it only for one woman. But she’d spurned him. Left him to die.

  The woman sashayed in front of him. She nudged his legs apart, stepping between them. Her hands rested on his stomach, just above the blanket that still covered him.

  “I want you,” she whispered in his ear, her lips tickling the edge of his earlobe.

  He couldn’t form the words to answer. He didn’t need to. With a sudden burst of energy, he reached out, cupping one breast in his hand. She moaned and bit his ear.

  The woman pushed him back down on the table. She grabbed the blanket and flung it to the ground. Straddling his waist, she ground into his obvious arousal.

  “Now you are mine, Connor.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bastian dropped his sword on the ground and tucked his dagger into the holster around his calf. He needed both of his hands to scale the tree. The limbs rustled like living arms, reaching out for him, threatening to flay his skin. Rough bark dug in, biting his flesh. Still he climbed, desperate to get to the top, hoping he could rise above the fog. Praying he would be able to see Tressa.

  He couldn’t see the ground any longer, nor could he see the top of the tree. Anchored on a sturdy branch, he felt afloat, drifting in a sea of damp clouds. He was used to the fog surrounding him when he lived in Hutton’s Bridge, but the only time it ever enveloped him so completely was in the forest with Tressa and Connor.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Losing Connor and Tressa within the space of a day. One through the most bloody death he’d ever seen and the other gone, without a trace. She’d promised him they’d be together. Then she left. She’d vanished with the moon.

  Scaling the top of the tree was his only hope of finding her. If she was still wandering, maybe he’d see her. Or he’d see some kind of path. Or figure out where his village was. He knew the fog didn’t reach up into infinity. The dying dragon in their village told him that.

  He wished, only for a moment, that he had a dragon to fly on. He could soar over the forest, save Tressa, and then rescue everyone in the village.

  Bastian steeled himself and began the ascent again. Connor’s death would not be in vain.

  A bright beam of light cut through the fog. It was only a pinhole, but it was enough to spur Bastian to climb faster. He was close. The air was drier and he could feel a hint of a breeze brushing wisps of his hair to the side.

  Closer now. Only a few more branches until the sun broke through the fog. Bastian shielded his eyes with his hand, hanging onto the trunk with his free arm. Holding on carefully, he shimmied from branch to branch, trying to get to the opposite side of the tree where he could hopefully see Hutton’s Bridge.

  His hand grabbed onto a knot in the trunk, his fingers curling around the ageless bark. Then he felt it. Flesh.

  Bastian tore his eyes away from the forest and looked up at the trunk. A hollow, the size of a human gaped in the trunk. But it wasn’t empty. Gnarled within the tree was a woman. Alive or dead, he couldn’t discern.

  He snatched his fingers away from her toes. At first he’d thought they were knots. He climbed a little higher on a branch, one that looked sturdy enough to hold his weight. To be safe, he balanced against another branch, taking care not to put too much pressure on either.

  Bastian took a deep breath. The woman in the tree didn’t acknowledge him. Her wrinkled eyes remained closed, forever locked in a dance between life and death. Her heart pounded in her transparent chest. A faint red glow emanated from her heart where it still beat out a slow, even rhythm. If Bastian squinted, he could almost see the forest moving along with her, as if her heart kept it alive.

  And maybe it did.

  “What kind of magic is this?” He’d seen enough to know he had to suspend disbelief. Hutton’s Bridge had exposed him to nothing more than stories. Everything he’d seen had proved there was far more out here than he’d ever suspected.

  Her skin was shriveled with age. Her wide eyes glowed green. Her mouth contorted in a gasp of terror. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him, yet her naked body continued to pulse with a sappy rhythm.

  “What are you?” Bastian reached out, caressing her emaciated cheek.

  She didn’t flinch.

  If she was connected to the forest, killing her might end the torment of the fog. His people would finally be free from its tyranny. He’d be able to find Tressa. And yet…

  Bastian knew now that staying hidden was better than what was out here. At least when they were unprepared. If Tressa made it back to Hutton’s Bridge, if he could join her there, then they could train their people to fight back.

  But the woman had done nothin
g to him. He couldn’t even be sure why she was there or if she had anything to do with the fog. Bastian squeezed the hilt of his sword. The blood pumped in his veins, screaming at him to kill her. The scene before him was unnatural. It reeked of evil magic. Even the tree no longer smelled of dew and earth. There was a stench of rot in the air, tickling at his nose, threatening to climb down the back of his throat and gag him.

  “No.” He said it to himself. A glance out of the corner of his eye assured him. She still didn’t acknowledge him. No movement. No life, despite the pulsing of her exposed heart.

  Bastian turned his back on her and gazed out into the forest. He forced himself to focus on finding Hutton’s Bridge.

  It didn’t take long. His eyes skimmed the tops of the trees, honing in on a wall of fog in the distance. It rose into the sky, higher than he could see. He craned his neck upward, careful to maintain his balance on the tree branches.

  It appeared there was no end. The tendrils stretched on forever.

  A black crow cawed in the distance. A rustle in the tree behind him snatched his attention from the sky. The branches crisscrossing the woman’s chest curled away from her body. Her limbs moved in a smooth motion as she stepped away from the hollow.

  Bastian scuttled farther out on the branches. They dipped dangerously low, threatening to snap and send him spiraling to the ground. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t get an inch closer to the naked woman emerging from the womb of the tree.

  Her lifeless eyes looked toward the sky, in the direction of the cawing bird. She raised her arms, her palms facing the fog. Her mouth opened; she sucked in a deep breath.

  Tendrils escaped the fog, racing through the air toward her, passing over her lips, giving moisture to her shriveled body. Her mouth closed. Her lips warped into a smile, one so vile Bastian wanted to throw himself to his death. Still, he hung on.

  Her eyes swept over him, but just as quickly as they’d found him, they were trained on the sky again. The bird came into view.

  The woman’s mouth opened, her jaw slack. Ice crystals shot out of her mouth and hurtled through the air, stabbing the bird straight through its chest. Wings beat frantically, fighting against the finality of death.

  Giving up the struggle, the bird spiraled down into the trees, landing on a mess of branches not far from Bastian.

  The woman raised a hand toward the bird. It hurtled through the air, landing in her outstretched palm. She lifted the bird to her mouth and took a bite. Blood gushed, the scent of copper overtaking the rot and moistness in the air. She swallowed the bird with one big gulp.

  Her eyes fell on Bastian again. Gliding over the branches as if she had no fear of falling, the woman stood only inches from his feet.

  “Leave,” she commanded, blood dripping out the sides of her mouth.

  The branches broke at her command, sending Bastian falling to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bastian opened his eyes to the sound of a piercing screech. He lay in a tangle of branches, not far from the ground. Had they not caught him, his bones could have shattered into a million pieces.

  He recognized the sound and held still. It was the same beast in the forest the first time they’d passed through. Few had ever survived one trip. A second was suicide. He knew why he was doing this. For Tressa. Everything was for her.

  Bastian hoped he wasn’t too late.

  “Bastian.”

  He heard it gliding on the wind. Tressa! He’d know her voice anywhere. Bastian slowly lowered himself to the ground. The fog enveloped him, erasing any chance he had of seeing his way through the forest.

  Bastian pulled himself back into the tree and up onto the branches. He could see a bit better above the fog. Looking around, Bastian tried to find another tree close by. If he could move from tree to tree without touching ground, he might be able to avoid the beast hiding in the mist. He only wished he’d thought of it before.

  “Bastian.”

  There it was again. Tressa. His breath came faster, his heartbeat increasing. He shimmied out on the branch and reached for the next one. With a careful foot, he probed the branch. It was strong and stable. Bastian leapt to it, quickly grabbing the upper branches, like outstretched arms of the tree.

  He moved like that, just above the fog, trying not to think of another fall. He also wanted to kick himself for not thinking of this the first time he travelled through the mist. Every few minutes he’d hear Tressa’s voice again, calling his name. He wished she’d just stay still. It would be much easier to find her.

  Terror bubbled in his gut. It was possible the beast out there was chasing her. He had to find her before it did. As long as he could hear her voice, he knew she was still safe. He would reach down, grab her hand, and pull her up into the trees with him. They’d escape together and lead their people out of the fog. Or stay there, safe, guarded by that strange woman trapped in the tree. He didn’t really care as long as Tressa was okay.

  He heard her again, louder, much closer. Nearly below him.

  “Bastian?”

  Bastian looked at the fog below his feet, tendrils wrapping around the toes of his boots.

  “It’s me. Stay where you are. I’ll be right down.” He knew she had to be terrified. She’d been out there too long by herself.

  Bastian dropped a foot into the fog, blindly reaching for a lower branch. He took a deep breath, as if he were about to submerge underwater. The fog kissed his face, cold, dead. He shivered, but kept up the descent.

  “Are you still down there?”

  “Bastian?” Tressa’s voice sounded closer.

  Finally, he touched ground.

  “Tressa, talk to me so I can find you. You stay still, okay?”

  “Bastian.” Her voice trembled.

  He turned to the right.

  “Bastian!”

  He turned to the left.

  “Bastian!”

  Behind him.

  “Tressa, don’t move!”

  “Bastian!”

  In front of him.

  “Tressa, please!”

  A deep laugh echoed through the thick fog. Spittle flew through the air, landing smack on Bastian’s cheek.

  He wiped it off with his sleeve.

  “Tressa?”

  Sweat coated his palms. His hands shook. This wasn’t right. Not one bit of it. She would have said more than just his name. She would have stayed still.

  Dread spread through his body. His concern for Tressa had him so distracted he hadn’t even realized someone, or something, had been deceiving him. Bastian scrambled back to the tree. He reached up, grasping for a branch. His fingertips scratched bare on the hard bark. Finding purchase, Bastian hoisted himself back into the tree.

  A scratching noise behind him was followed by a low growl.

  Bastian held on to the tree trunk, balancing precariously on a branch that might be too weak to hold him. It bent toward the ground, threatening to dump him at the slightest wrong move.

  He stretched his arm out above him, scrambling to find another branch that could carry him even higher.

  The wet chortling wafted toward him. A scratching noise tore at the bark on the tree.

  Bastian finally felt a branch. He wrapped his hand around it, tugging hard. It didn’t budge. With a heave, he pulled himself up, desperate to get higher before the thing below could catch him.

  The noise got farther away as Bastian climbed higher. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He shivered and hugged the tree, his muscles screaming for a break. Safety couldn’t be far away.

  A sharp tip came shooting through the air, piercing Bastian’s leg and yanking him back toward the very thing he was desperate to escape.

  Chapter Thirty

  Bastian reached up, grabbing the hilt of his sword with his right hand before he fell to the ground, landing with a hard thud on his back. The spike stuck in his leg retracted. His leg throbbed, but he didn’t feel any blood. Yet. Quick thinking had kept hi
m alive until now. He wouldn’t let a spike stop him.

  The fog swirled, blinding Bastian before he could determine where the beast hid. Instead of attacking, he held still on the ground, his sword in front of him at the ready. If his hunch was right, the beast couldn’t see him either. If it could, it would have attacked already. It would have gotten them the first time through the forest. Based on Connor’s wounds and his mother’s scars, Bastian guessed this was what attacked them. He refused to be its next victim.

  “Bastian,” it said in Tressa’s voice again. Honey dripped from its voice, but it was no longer tempting. Was it so foolish to think he’d answer the call?

  “Bastian!”

  He sat up. That wasn’t Tressa. It was Vinya, his wife. The voice came from behind him and sounded very far away.

  “Dada!”

  His stomach dropped. Farah, his daughter.

  A scratching noise on the forest floor jolted Bastian to his feet.

  “Shit,” Bastian mumbled under his breath. He ran in the direction the voices came from. At least in the direction he best guessed. The screams for him continued.

  “Be quiet!” He yelled back. “Don’t say another word!”

  “Vinya.” It wasn’t Bastian. Damn it. The beast was playing its game on them too.

  “Over here, asshole.” Bastian yelled so loud his throat felt it was ripping to shreds.

  “Vinya,” it said again, ignoring him. Its voice sounded exactly like him.

  Bastian’s sweaty hands gripped the hilt of his sword. He could follow the voice just as easily as Vinya. Faster, even, because he didn’t have a kid to slow him down.

  A few moments of silence passed. Good. She’d stayed quiet like he ordered. He could only hope she’d stayed where she was too.

  A whimper punctuated the air. “Mama! Where are you?”

  Bastian paused. He couldn’t find them and he knew what was coming next. He waited for the inevitable.

  “Farah,” the thing called out to his daughter, using its sweetest imitation of Vinya.