by Chloe Jacobs
And she called herself a professional?
Self-disgust twisted her lips as the male swung her sword in front of him, casually testing its weight as if inspecting the wares of a street vendor. “This is a nice weapon. Lightweight. Balanced. Custom, right? Probably worth a couple of guineas.”
There was something about that voice…
“It’s not really your color,” she said. Remain calm. Bending slightly, she casually wiped the snow from her butt and legs, her eyes on the shadowed face peering back at her. “Why don’t you hand it over and I’ll give you the name of my smith,” she said. “Then we can talk about how rude it is to sneak up on people.”
Something about his deep chuckle made her pause, but she still couldn’t decide what it was about him that set her instincts bouncing up and down in a frenzy of warnings.
“I wish I could say I had been sneaking up on you instead of stumbling over you by accident. The premeditation would certainly be better for my reputation.”
“What kind of reputation is that?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing so lofty as your own, I imagine.”
She stifled a shiver. She didn’t know what to make of the stranger. His voice wasn’t familiar, and yet it was. Almost. There was something off about the accent, and she didn’t recognize his face. But what she could see hinted at a square chin and high cheekbones that made him look as if he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a long time.
Was he another hunter after the bounty on her head? Greta didn’t think so. He didn’t stand like a hunter, and having plenty of experience with the type, she could usually pick them out from a mile away.
“And what do you know of my reputation?” She raised a brow and rolled her shoulders to work out the stiffness. She might have to thank Isaac for terminating her dream, otherwise who knows what might have happened while she lay asleep and vulnerable.
She didn’t like that he had her sword. It made her feel naked.
“Well?” she prompted. “Are you planning to hold onto this stalemate thing much longer, or are you going to give me back my property and tell me who you are?”
“Actually, I’m thinking of keeping it.” Watching him lift the sword and point it right at her as he stared down the length of the blade set Greta’s teeth clenching so tightly she worried about cracking a molar—always a concern considering modern dentistry didn’t exist in Mylena.
“After all, it might be my only defense if things get rough between us,” he added.
“If you hand it over now, I promise I won’t gut you with it.”
“That’s real sporting of you, bounty hunter. It really is. But under the circumstances, I think my odds are better if I keep this, don’t you?”
So he did know a thing or two about her reputation.
Well, he didn’t know everything, or he wouldn’t be standing there smiling.
In a fast, fluid move, Greta’s dagger went from the sheath on her arm to her hand and into the air, flipping end over end right for him in a blur of flashing steel.
He shouldn’t have seen it coming, but surprisingly, he shifted at the last minute. Instead of lodging in his shoulder, Greta’s dagger sliced through the arm of his coat.
At least the result was what she intended. Her sword fell into the snow just as she leaped forward to close the distance between them. He made a grab for it but she was there, holding her third blade to his throat.
“You didn’t really think that was my only weapon, did you?”
With a sigh, he put his hands up in surrender and she shoved him upright to look into his face.
What she saw surprised her.
He had a thin, scruffy face. Brownish hair. Deep brown eyes.
Human eyes.
Her mouth fell open. She glanced over at the clean slice she’d put in his jacket. She had drawn a thin line of bright red blood. Could it be that she had drawn human blood?
His gaze flicked upward over her shoulder and then he smiled. A broad, dazzling smile full of mischief that stopped her breath.
“You didn’t really think I was alone, did you?”
Chapter Ten
Jerking the man’s body in front of her as a shield, Greta yanked them around and watched as his companions crept out of the protection of the surrounding foliage until they were completely surrounded.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Isaac or Siona. Ogres or gnomes. Those she could have handled. These were just boys. Humans, all of them.
But only children.
Human cheeks gaunt with hunger. Human eyes staring out at her from dirty human faces set in human expressions of caution and mistrust. Human hands clutching makeshift spears and stones—all aimed at Greta’s head. Most of them were wearing threadbare Mylean garb that had probably been stolen, but one of the younger boys was actually wearing denim, and another had a pair of tennis shoes on his feet.
Now she knew why his accent had sounded unusual, but familiar.
“You’re human,” she whispered, needing to hear it out loud. “All of you. You’re really human.”
Assuming there weren’t any more hiding in the woods, Greta counted six bodies. All boys, all of varying ages, but none over twenty. In fact, the oldest—the one who’d lifted her sword in the first place—was maybe only a year older than she was.
“Who are you?” she demanded, tightening her hold and digging the point of her blade a little deeper into the guy’s neck. “Where did you come from?”
The boys watched her with mixed expressions of fear, awe, and even what was clearly aggression. Great. As if she didn’t have enough people looking to carve interesting patterns into her hide.
“She’s not one of us,” piped up one of the oldest. She could hear the sneer in his tone. “She’s one of them.”
Wow. He made them sound about as appealing as a hall full of gnomish tax collectors. Greta eyed the grumpy-looking one. The boy wasn’t holding a gnarly stick shaved to a point or a heavy rock to brain her with. No, this kid had already slickly commandeered the dagger she’d thrown.
He looked to be about sixteen, although it was hard to tell through the large hood that obscured his face.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” he continued with a voice full of anger, addressing the one with her blade still at his throat. “I don’t think she looks anything like a human.”
It was good to know her disguise was still fooling someone.
Two of the older boys nodded their heads in agreement, while one particularly little guy took the opportunity to pull off his threadbare mitten and pick an obviously bothersome booger from his nose.
Granted, it wasn’t ghoul poison or anything, but still… Ew.
“Oh, I don’t know…” Her captive shrugged as if she wasn’t this close to cutting his throat. “She looks human enough to me.”
Shocked and confused by his cavalier attitude, Greta hissed. “Listen to me, all of you. I don’t know what this is about, but everybody except me is going to drop their weapon right now.” She held her hard gaze on each boy in turn, feeling rather like a mean-tempered schoolteacher with a group of unruly students. “Unless you all want to be missing limbs.”
The thief lifted his hand to the blade she held at his throat. “Would you really harm a group of little kids?”
Greta didn’t know what she would do. In fact, she might be too stunned to react at all—and that meant she had to take back control immediately.
“Just a group of little kids, huh? Little kids who happen to be aiming spears at me all Lord of the Flies-ish?” She snorted. “Absolutely, I would.”
“She must be human,” he called out to the other boys as if she wasn’t threatening to spill his very red blood on the pure white snow. “She’s read William Golding.”
Greta drew a hard breath. “Buddy, considering the position you’re in right now, what the deadly bounty hunter holding a knife to your throat has or hasn’t read should be the last thing on your mind. What you need to be t
hinking about are answers to my questions.”
He sighed. “Can’t we all lose the weapons and talk like reasonable people?”
She wanted to trust him. Humans in Mylena. Could they possibly know how to find a portal home?
Finally, she nodded. She had to take the chance. “Agreed,” she said. “If everyone drops their sticks and stones, I’ll put away the knife.”
The little ones eagerly threw their makeshift weapons into the snow. Some of the older boys grumbled a bit, but eventually they did the same.
Only when Grumpy had added Greta’s other dagger to the pile did she release their leader and push him clear of her.
Replacing her knife in its sheath, she put her hands on her hips and took a closer look at the boys. They gathered together behind the older one and as she watched, the smallest reached for his hand, crowding into his side as if for protection.
God, they were so young.
“Who are you? How did you get here?” She bent to retrieve the last dagger, as well as her sword and scabbard, strapping it around her waist before returning the full weight of her gaze to the guy who’d stolen it right out from under her. Greta had to admit, that had been a pretty ballsy move.
“I’m Wyatt Castle,” he offered. “Formerly of a little nowhere place in North Dakota.” He rubbed a hand over the small scrape in his neck, but Greta only crossed her arms and waited. He wasn’t going to get any sympathy after sneaking up on her like that.
“This is Ranier, but everyone calls him Ray.” He nodded at Grumpy. “We’ve also got Charlie, Jack, and Sloane…and the mean little guy here is Jacob.” He paused to muss the hair of the boy huddled up to his side who stood looking at Greta with a wide grin that showcased the equally wide space where his two bottom teeth had been until probably just a few days ago.
Greta had a sudden vision of purple flannel pajamas, a pink stuffed elephant, and her larger-than-life father putting her own tiny molar into an empty candy tin and slipping it under her pillow before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She couldn’t remember exactly what he looked like, or how he smelled, and she couldn’t remember the timbre of his voice, but she remembered his promise that the tooth fairy would come and leave her a dollar. He must have told her he loved her. Told her to sleep tight. Said he’d see her in the morning, but she couldn’t remember that either.
She shoved aside thoughts of all the nights she’d gone to bed without those words since, all the mornings she’d wakened and he hadn’t been there. Instead, she wondered how many other mothers and fathers had been left wondering, waiting, but may never know what had happened to their children. These children.
Had they accepted their losses and moved on? Or were they still waiting? Still searching? Had her own family given up? Probably. And why not? It had been four years for her. They had to give up sometime…and so did she.
Her hand went to the chain around her neck. Inside was a tiny photograph of her parents, the only thing she had. She thought it was probably the only reason her memories hadn’t completely faded. At least she had this, whereas these boys had nothing.
There was no defense against the sudden sharp tug on her heart as she blinked and turned her focus back to the children. How hard it must be for the little ones to be separated from the people who loved them, the people who were supposed to guide them through the time honored rituals, traditions, and trials of childhood. Lost teeth. Bad dreams. Learning to ride a bicycle. The first day of school.
“It’s…um…nice to meet all of you.” Greta winced. God, how ridiculous that sounded coming from her, especially when she had threatened all their lives and held a knife to Wyatt’s throat only a few short minutes ago. “I’m—”
“We know who you are.” The sullen one, Ray, was still glaring at her as if he carried a very personal grudge.
“Oh?” She raised a brow. “And what is it you think you know about me?”
“We only know of you.” Wyatt put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. To Greta’s surprise, the kid visibly reigned in his hostility enough to keep his mouth shut, although those blue eyes continued to shoot daggers.
“Greta the Bounty Hunter,” Wyatt continued. “We know that you’re one of Mylena’s best…and obviously its best kept secret as well.”
Not anymore. “At this point, the cat is out of the bag when it comes to most of my secrets,” she answered with a grimace. “But how is it that none of you have come up on anyone’s radar? How long have you been out here in the forest?”
A rustle of needles in the tree limbs hanging over them captured her attention. Her instincts kicked into high gear and she spun around in time to see a timber cat leaping from its hiding place in the tall limbs of the trees right at Jacob.
Before its claws could put one scratch on the little boy, she was between them and slammed it into the ground.
It yelped, but quickly staggered back to its feet.
Wyatt yelled to the others as he pulled Jacob against his chest, turned his back, and hunched over him. When Ray tried to dart in front of them, Wyatt grabbed his arm, forcing him to hang back, despite the young man’s loud and vehement objection.
Thankfully, the others scattered like fleas off a dying ogre, but Greta didn’t think they went very far, which was also good. She didn’t want them taking off alone out of fear, only to get caught in a similar situation, but without anyone to protect them.
Greta put herself between the humans and the deadly cat. It snarled at her, but she kept her cool.
“Today is not your day, my friend,” she said, swaying slowly from side to side to keep its attention fixed on her. “Why don’t you accept defeat? Put that tail between your legs and get out of here, so I don’t have to hurt you?”
The beast started to pace back and forth in front of her, eyeing the dagger in Greta’s hand and growling as it looked for the weak spot in her defense. Long tendrils of foamy white slobber hung from its jaws.
She swung her blade in a wide circle, forcing the cat back a step. It hissed at her, furious.
“Go on,” she yelled, stomping her foot hard into the ground, trying to startle it into dashing back into the woods. “Go! Get lost.”
It should have worked. Timber cats were usually pretty skittish, preferring to hide high in the trees rather than come down to the ground where they were vulnerable to larger, meaner predators.
Apparently not today.
Behind her little Jacob let out a hiccup and a sniffle, drawing the creature’s attention. When its eyes flicked back to Greta, it growled again, understanding perfectly that she was the threat standing between it and its dinner.
“Oh yeah. You know it.” She jabbed with her knife, but it jumped back. “You know there’s no way in hell you’re getting past me today, so let’s not even try.”
Unwilling to bow out, the cat coiled back on its haunches like a winding spring. The muscles over its spine twitched in fitful spasms.
The look in its eyes gave her only a fraction of a second to predict the long leap for her throat before it was flying through the air.
Her quick reflexes saved her a nasty gash—like she needed another scar—but the timber cat was not so lucky. The slender animal collapsed at her feet, her blade stuck in its chest. All that fire and hunger gone in a final leap. Gone in one choked, desperate rush of breath.
“Crap.” Greta resented being forced to take a life when it shouldn’t have been necessary. With a hard lump in her throat, she slowly went to her knee and pulled her dagger, then wiped it in the snow to clean off the blood.
Little Jacob stopped at her side, looking sad. “Poor kitty. Why was it angry at us?”
Wyatt took the boy’s hand and pulled him a few steps away. “That wasn’t normal,” he said. “That cat was more likely to hide from us than attack us. There was no reason for it to turn. The species isn’t usually feral and eats mostly rodents…never short in supply, so it couldn’t have been starving.”
She rose to stand beside Wyatt
. “On a good day, sure, it wouldn’t have bothered,” she said. “But the moons are too close now. What, with the eclipse in only a few more nights, nothing is what it should be.”
“Eclipse?”
He didn’t know? “How long have you been in Mylena?”
“It’s been two years.” He paused, his hand tightening over Jacob’s protectively. “I think. My memory holes are getting bigger, and it’s hard to keep track of the time…”
“Memory holes? You too? I have a hard time remembering things from…before…but I thought maybe I was blocking it out just to keep myself sane, you know?”
He nodded. “I think it’s a side effect of the portal. We’ve all experienced it to some degree, but it seems like it hits the younger ones harder and faster.”
Jacob reached up and pulled on her arm. “I’m five,” he said.
She looked down and spared a small smile for the little guy until the pain in her chest became too much for her to bear. Closing her eyes, she remembered Drew looking up at her in just the same way, with an endearing smile and bright blue eyes amazingly like Jacob’s.
“Jacob has only been with us for a few months,” Wyatt continued, “and he says he doesn’t remember anything from before, but some of the older boys have been in Mylena as long as I have or longer, yet they still have some memories.”
It didn’t seem fair that they had lost so much, and would eventually lose all memory of their families as well.
Greta blinked and took a quick inventory. It looked like the boys were all accounted for and no one had been hurt. And at least Ray had stopped looking at her as if he wanted to stick her with her own dagger.
“I’ve been here one year,” he admitted with a grunt. There was a darkness in his eyes that was all too familiar. Greta thought she understood where it came from, but it was still disconcerting. For the first time she was on the other side of that darkness, looking into it.
His obvious pain made a person want to reach out to him, but the hard set of his mouth warned her not to try it…and Greta understood that, too.
She turned to Wyatt. “How?” she asked. “How have you all survived?” How could there be so many of them? She knew this area backwards and forwards and she’d never felt an inkling of their presence before today. “How did you get here? Was it the Lamia—the witch? Do you know where I can find her?”
