by Chloe Jacobs
She hated to be so predictable, but it didn’t change her mind. “Then I guess this is going to be their lucky night.”
“You realize that if you insist on this, I’ll have to come in with you.”
“No you don’t. You’re off the hook.” Greta had been trained for this. Nothing was in there that she couldn’t handle. Not to mention, it was cold and she needed to get feeling back into her fingers and toes. “Who’s to say you even saw me here?”
Siona leveled her with a haughty gaze and released Greta’s arm. “Nice try, but it doesn’t work like that. Not with me.”
“Fine. Have it your way.” Greta shrugged and opened the door.
Chapter Seven
The blessed heat was the first thing to hit her. Greta’s extremities didn’t remember what it was like to be warm, and the ache that accompanied their return to life shocked a groan out of her that she couldn’t quite muffle.
Truthfully, as much as she might be an idiot for walking into what was probably an ambush, she didn’t have any other choice. With another storm on the horizon, there was nowhere else to go, and especially now that every hunter was on her ass, the only person who might still help was Maidra.
She wanted to make a beeline for the fire and strip off her heavy gear, but didn’t dare, having already picked out the two hunters Siona had mentioned. They were so obvious, their gazes following her from the moment the door had opened.
Pretending not to notice, she unbuttoned her coat, moving to a free spot along the stained and pock-marked bar. She took a seat, waiting for Maidra to be finished with her other customer. When the sprite saw her, trepidation rolled across the old crone’s face before she took a fortifying breath and came forward.
“Danem Greta.” Maidra’s low voice was devoid of its usual warmth as she absently swiped her cloth over a wet ring in front of Greta, then twisted the fabric tightly in her fists. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Good evening to you too, Maidra. Some of your hot tea would be wonderful, thank you.” Wondering if she was going to be tossed out, Greta simply waited. Finally, Maidra huffed and turned her ample girth around to fetch a mug.
Gaze lowered, hands on the counter, Greta was aware of everybody in the room.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a pair of goblins looking nervously at each other. One of them jerked his tankard to his lips and swallowed a large gulp of ale, chugging it down quickly before they both got up and made a break for the exit. They had the right idea and she hoped others followed their example. The less people in the way when trouble went down, the better.
And Greta had no doubt there would be trouble.
Maidra’s daughter, a buxomy water sprite who liked to flit from one male to another, perched stiffly on the lap of her current partner and stared at Greta, showing none of the lithe grace that normally oozed from her pores.
Siona had moved off to the far side of the room by the hearth. Maybe so she’d have a good seat for the show. The goblin could say what she wanted, but Greta didn’t believe she’d stick around when this went bad.
So far, the two patrons who interested her the most weren’t making a move. She sized them up through the mirror hanging on the back wall of the bar. Definitely ogres. Oversized bodies with mallets for hands. Huge cauliflower noses. Slobbery expressions.
They betrayed their inexperience in their very obviousness, showing none of the constant awareness of seasoned hunters, or the careful motions of fighters ready to surge into battle from any position. Yes, they were big physically—holy hell, look at those tree trunks for thighs—but still just babies.
She didn’t think she’d met either of these particular winners before, but after one glance, she knew she’d be able to take them both, although she hoped it didn’t come to that. It went against the grain to destroy such youngsters. What she wanted to do was send them back to their pater for more training.
Maidra returned with tea. Setting it down quickly, she jerked her hand back from the cup before Greta could reach for it. Shifting in her seat, she only sighed, knowing the slight could have been worse.
She grasped the mug between her palms, and brought it to her lips for a sip. Despite the tension vibrating from every corner of the room, she couldn’t help but take a moment to savor its warm, tart taste. “Thank you, Maidra. This is just what I needed,” she said with a polite nod and a small smile for the female bartender who had comp’d her late-night beverages more than once to thank her for breaking up the occasional bar fight.
When Maidra still said nothing, Greta leaned forward. “Nothing about me has changed, you know. I’m still the same person you’ve known for years.”
She tried to take Maidra’s hand, but the female gasped and pulled out of reach, staring at Greta as if she’d grown a huge wart on her nose, or another head, which probably would have been more acceptable in the eyes of the old sprite than becoming human overnight.
“All right, fine. I understand.”
Maidra glanced up over Greta’s shoulder. “I think you should leave, Danem,” she croaked.
“Listen, I won’t stay long,” she protested, “but I have to ask a few questions. I’m looking for—”
“No. No questions.”
“Maidra,” she warned. “I watched my pater die this week. You better believe I didn’t come here just for the tea, and I’m not leaving until I have the answers I need.”
Her eyes widened and a whimper escaped her compressed lips as she shook her head with agitated vigor.
“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll go,” Greta pressed. “I’ll leave and never come back if that’s what would make you happy.”
“What do you want to know?”
Obviously, Greta had used just the right sort of threat to open the floodgates. “Agramon. Where can I find him?”
“No one speaks of the demon.”
“Well, someone had better, or I’m going to get cranky. You think you hate me now…” Biting back frustration and impatience, she turned from the sprite and slowly rose from the bar to face the company at large. “So, who’s going to give me the information I want?”
If it was possible, the silence got heavier, until a few stools screeched back and the more intelligent half of Maidra’s clientele hurried to file out of the tavern through the closest door. The rest of them looked a little bit like cattle separated from the herd, skittish and lost.
The two newbie hunters finally stepped up to the plate, but she had a feeling it wasn’t to give her answers. Greta glanced over at Siona—whose nonchalant posture up against the wall was suddenly looking a lot stiffer—before she took in the ogres standing before her.
Each of them was easily the same mass as a small island, taller than some decent-sized trees. And probably just as thick in the head, although she shouldn’t make assumptions. That was one of Luke’s first rules of combat. Never underestimate your opponent. Or, in this case, opponents.
With her elbows braced casually on the bar’s countertop behind her, she looked back and forth between them. They weren’t particularly scary looking, but there was never any guarantee that she’d come out of a fight alive. Shit happened. Bad, unpredictable shit. Recent events were proof of that.
Behind the ogres, the door whooshed open, letting in a blast of frigid air.
Greta didn’t have to see who was coming to know the arrival didn’t bode well for her already dicey situation. She could have blamed the arctic chill racing up her spine on the cold wind and snow blowing into the tavern with the newcomer, but she’d learned to trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming at her to be wary of more than just the weather.
A faerie stepped into the open doorway.
Nobody dared yell at him to shut the door. In fact, no one dared say anything at all, or even breathe too loudly. From the edge of her field of vision, she saw Siona step away from the wall. A worried look settled on her face as she pushed the flap of her coat behind the hilt of her sword.
&nbs
p; While Greta wasn’t intimidated by the pair of ogres, she couldn’t say the same about this guy. She had a strong suspicion the faerie hadn’t stopped in for a friendly round of drinks with the locals. Faeries hated the locals. In fact, faeries hated pretty much everyone, even their own kind.
Which made him another hunter. But not just any hunter. The only faerie bounty hunter. Lazarus. She’d never met him in person, but his notoriety surpassed even Luke’s impressive reputation.
The way he looked at her, there was no doubt in her mind what he was here for.
Lazarus didn’t bother to wipe the snow from his shoulders or stomp the ice off his boots. He only pushed back the hood of his thin cloak.
Growing up, Greta had shot up in height before everyone else. She vaguely remembered being ridiculed by the boys—probably because they didn’t like having to look up at a girl—but in Mylena the things that used to make her feel awkward quickly turned into strengths. She’d been able to stand her ground against creatures who would have pummeled a smaller, frailer breed of human into the frozen tundra.
But this guy… He stood taller than her five-eleven by at least another foot and a half. Even with the winter wear covering him from head to toe, she could tell he was wiry thin, the kind of thin that hid a core of relentless steel, with sleek muscles that would be dangerously deceptive in their strength. And in contrast to his white skin and pale blond hair, Lazarus’s eyes shone black and empty.
He’d been a bounty hunter longer than there’d been bounties to collect, but nobody could really say how old he was. In theory, faeries could live the equivalent of ten goblin lifetimes, which was something like twenty-five human lives, but at some point, most of their race had withdrawn deep into the mountains, refusing to have anything to do with all other Mylean species. Nobody knew whether the ancient ones still lived or not.
Combine that with the fact that faerie clans were always at war, killing each other off for some reason or another, and the likelihood of coming across a thousand-year-old faerie by random chance was quite slim.
Of course, random didn’t enter into the equation. Not for this guy.
“Place is closed for the night,” she said, nodding toward the door and indicating he could march himself right back through it. “Private party.”
Glancing left, she saw Siona’s mouth drawn tight. Worry lines etched her perfect brow even as she widened her stance.
Lazarus remained still and silent, taking in the ogres without blinking. There was no doubt that he was a true creature of Mylena, exemplifying the land in every way. Impenetrable, like the Mists of Luna. Desolate, like the barren plains in the west. And frozen, like everything else. He was exactly what a hunter should be, and no doubt more of a hunter than Greta would ever be unless she let go her grip on that one last sliver of human vulnerability—a pesky penchant for mercy.
She tightened her grip on her sword to keep her hands from shaking as Lazarus turned to face her. The weapon would be useless against a faerie of his age and experience. She’d never get close enough to use it.
“Human.” He sneered, imbuing so much malice and disgust into his expression, Greta felt like a nasty slug at the bottom of an oily sludge pit in the roasting depths of the brimstone caves.
“Look buddy, if you want a piece of me, you better come back tomorrow and get in line. I’m all booked up for tonight.” She feigned a cavalier look of contempt, but it was probably as effective as the looks the two ogres had tried with her just minutes ago.
Ogre number one—Wart Nose, she decided—was getting antsy. Definitely ready to leave. She couldn’t blame him. If he’d been outmatched against her, it didn’t take a genius to calculate the winner of a fight between the ogres and the faerie.
With ogre number two at his back, Wart Nose roared and nervously went to push past Lazarus.
Oh, crap.
The faerie moved so fast, she didn’t even see what he did to Ogre number two, but the big guy crashed to the floor with a high wail that was cut off when his head smacked the plank board floors.
Wart Nose cried out.
Blood splattered.
Lazarus was a blur of pale skin and hair, steel and…something else. It was as if he drew the very air around him into a whirling vortex. Anything caught within it was trapped, at his mercy, sliced to ribbons—and right now, that was Wart Nose and his cohort.
With a shout, Greta jumped forward to intercede, but Siona was at her side. She slapped the flat of Greta’s blade down and shoved her back. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t help them. You have to get out of here.” Her voice was changing, deepening. “Hurry, Danem. Run. Run now!”
Greta could see the moon in Siona’s eyes. She was turning. Claws and teeth had elongated and become sharp. Her skin was darkening, her profile filling out. The way Siona threw herself into the change, it was obvious that it wasn’t her first time. Since Myleans only changed with the eclipse or when emotions ran extremely ragged, Greta had to wonder what tragedy the goblin female had suffered—and how she hadn’t ended up one of the Lost.
With another hard shove, Siona spun away, her echoing howl confident and fierce, a challenge Lazarus wouldn’t be able to ignore. As expected, he turned to her and dropped what was left of Wart Nose to the floor at his feet. Greta groaned. The faerie had begun to change, too, the fire of battle and the pull of the moons turning his eyes icy silver as they filled with dark magick.
“Siona, don’t,” Greta cried out. She didn’t have a chance. That faerie was going to mutilate the goblin, tear her apart piece by piece.
This was all her fault.
No. This was Isaac’s fault.
“Go.” Siona snarled, baring her teeth. “Before the change is complete and I forget I’m protecting you instead of hunting you down.”
Greta wasn’t about to let her face him alone. They might have a chance if both of them bolted out of here and ran deep into the woods. It was a long shot because Lazarus was going to be very close behind, but if they could lose him, faeries weren’t as good at tracking as some of the other species. They didn’t have the same ingrained animal instincts.
When she reached out to hold Siona back, the goblin spun around and, suddenly, Greta was flying across the room. She landed hard in a tangle of arms and legs, the air knocked out of her as she choked out a shout of pained surprise.
Siona came after her before Greta could jump to her feet, mouth full of crazy sharp teeth and claws extended right for her throat. Good God, she was barely recognizable from the surprisingly honorable goblin who’d been teasing her about Isaac and promising to watch out for her such a short time ago.
The faerie surged forward, attacking from behind. The thing that had been Siona snarled as she whipped around and scored a long gash down Lazarus’s chest. Like the rest of Mylena, the faerie’s moon form was a baser manifestation of his more civilized self. Raw and primal. But in this case, maybe because their kind had mastered the ancient magicks long before Mylena’s curse had befallen them, even Lazarus’s raw form seemed highly evolved—if devastatingly vicious.
As much as she wanted to help Siona, it was too late. Greta scrambled backward, fingers grazing the sword she’d lost on her trip through the air. She grabbed it before pushing to her feet and launching herself over the bar. Crunching down onto a scattering of broken glass, she was surprised to see Maidra still cowering by the door to the kitchen, breathing heavily like she might pass out.
“What are you doing here?” Grasping the crazy female’s forearm, she pulled her along through the door, but came to a halt when the old sprite stopped and refused to move another step. “Danem, hurry.”
Maidra shook her head. “I won’t go with you.”
Greta groaned, impatience and irritation scraping her raw. “Maidra. Do I really look like such a big freaking threat to you?”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re damn right I don’t.” Something in the other room yelped in pain. Ah, God. Siona. Time had jus
t run out. “We have to get out of here.”
Maidra’s arms crossed over her ample chest. “Go, human. This isn’t where you belong.”
No, really?
The old sprite wasn’t going to budge. Greta was batting zero today.
She swore, but there was nothing more she could do. “May the Great Mother keep you safe then, Maidra,” she said, then slipped out the door.
Chapter Eight
Greta was still running long after both the moons had set and Mylena’s distant suns were well on their way to rising.
Fear and urgency had kept her other emotions at bay as branches scratched her cheeks and caught in her hair. She stumbled over roots and rocks, trying to steer clear of anything that made a noise—above and beyond the inescapable sound of her own heavy breathing. And still, it eventually all caught up with her.
Damn this place.
Damn Isaac.
Even if the bounty on her head had been issued by the gnome king, Leander couldn’t have known she was human. Not unless his fellow royalness and altogether good neighbor had ratted her out in the interest of “public safety” or some other pathetic excuse.
But then why pretend otherwise? Why not make more of an effort to keep her under lock and key when he had the chance? And why sic Siona on her with instructions to keep her safe, instead of adding the other bounty hunter to the posse already after her?
The only thing that made sense was that it was all still part of some game he was playing.
She finally came to a halt in a small copse of trees and bent over with her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths. She blinked up at the morning’s soft sunlight. As tired as she felt, she was glad there’d been no opportunity for sleep. No way could she have dealt with Isaac on top of everything else, even if it meant keeling over from exhaustion now.
“Damn goblin,” she muttered, taking deep drags of the cold air.
Where to go next? The most logical place would be Rhazua. As much as the gnome city would be filled with Myleans who would kill her on sight if they recognized her for what she was, Isaac would never expect her to go there. She might be able to evade him a while longer.
