“No,” Light told him quickly, glancing to Faith. “No stealing. I’ve passed it once. I think I remember its entrance.”
Jag blinked, asking good-naturedly, “You think, or you know?”
Light gave him a look that made Faith chuckle. “I remember,” he stated.
At least the guys could get along, Faith thought as she kicked off her boots. However, the thought no sooner materialized when Finn the Intruder walked in, threw a quick look around before settling on her as he said, “Great. No one’s naked.”
Faith shook her head, ready to get in his face and give him a verbal beatdown, but Jag muttered, “Just as well. No one wants to see you naked, believe me.” He studied his claws like they were new to him, shiny and interesting beyond all measure.
“I’m sure one of you does,” Finn remarked as he crossed his arms, staring squarely at Faith, insinuating something totally off-base with his words. Did Faith want to see him naked? Maybe at one point, in the far, far distant past. Years ago. Now, she had her own posse of attractive guys. She didn’t need Finn at all. “But that’s neither here nor there. We need to talk about the plan, because unlike some drooling boy toys, I’m not okay with the current one.”
“I take it, Finn,” Faith growled out his name, “that you have a better plan?”
Finn opened his mouth then instantly pursed it, debating on what to say. The all-knowing, I.D. rookie-of-the-year eventually said, “Not really.”
She gave him a blatantly fake smile. “Then you’re here to stir up some shit?”
“No, I—” He stopped when Jag flexed his muscles. “You don’t intimidate me.” His fingers, splayed on his arms, flexed, and Faith knew his rope Victus itched. She could see it on his neck, a black tattoo that desperately wanted to come to life. “Do you want to know a secret, Malus? You want to know why my hair is this color?” His hands fell to his sides and he took a step closer to Jag.
Jag, to his credit, did not back down. “I’m guessing it’s because you’re obsessed with your looks. Tell me, do you constantly carry a mirror so you can gaze upon yourself anytime you want?”
“Back on earth, if you have the connections and the aptitude,” Finn said, taking another very aggressive step toward Jag, “you can get—let’s just call it—upgraded. You might have some muscle under all that scraggly fur, but I can snap metal like a toothpick—”
Jag, ready to shoot something back, whispered seriously, “I don’t know what a toothpick is.”
“It’s a small, sharp piece of wood that you clean your teeth with after meals, but that’s not important right now,” Finn spoke in a jumble, stopping only when he heard Faith stifling laughter. His green eyes flicked to her. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Nothing,” she said, waving him off. “I’m enjoying this, really.” Faith waved again. “Go on.” She got comfortable on the bed, leaning her head against the backboard and crossing her ankles. The testosterone in this room was amazing. She loved every second of it.
Finn, insulted by her words and actions, sneered, “I am not one of your boy toys. You don’t order me around.” At that, she had to get to her feet. “You can’t—”
Walking past Jag, Faith cut in, “That’s where you’re wrong.” She crept up to him, sending him her best glare. “You might not be one of my boy toys, but you’re still here, and you’re following my lead. That means whatever crazy idea I have, you’re a part of, whether you like it or not. I know it might be hard for a stick in the mud like you to understand, but what I say goes.”
“You’re not a leader,” he muttered, the disdain in his emerald gaze clear as day, even in the waning light.
“Damn it, Finn,” she whispered, “I’m trying to be. You’re not helping.”
“Fine,” he said. “Then what can I do to help?”
Faith grabbed the mask on his belt, holding it in front of her face, wondering what it would feel like to have one of her own, molded to her skin, a computer sitting on her face, no cheap costume straps needed. He snagged it from her, taking it back within seconds. She gave him a frown. “You can start helping by being friendly and not picking fights. Think you can handle that, or are we going to have to start even lower?”
Finn was like a grumpy child as he muttered, “I can handle that, master.”
“Careful,” Faith joked, “if you keep calling me master like that, I might add you to the boy toy group.” The horrified expression he gave her made her laugh, and then she had to assure the rest of them that she was kidding, because she was. She didn’t need Finn; most certainly didn’t need his attitude.
His body, while she imagined it was nice, was not a necessary component in completing her mission. That mission being to kill, not sleep with, the Dread King. Stab, not enjoy. Decapitate, not pleasure. Choke, not stroke. Maim, burn, end—no licking, moaning or groaning.
Oh, she had this in the bag.
Her confidence did not last long. Murphy’s Law, right? Faith and her misfit group of guys headed to bed early. Finn went to his own room across the hall, while Cam, Jag and Light made themselves at home on the floor with extra pillows and blankets brought in by some guards. One of them she recognized as her guard from before, and the same guard shared a meaningful look with Light, which Light simply shrugged off. She didn’t even have time to wonder what that meant, for as soon as everyone was situated and her eyes closed, she was out within seconds.
She dreamed of a world of nothing, a world of blackness. Of dark and dreary mistakes. Faith was both alone and surrounded, familiar and foreign faces abounded. She was both herself and not herself. She was the Harbinger, given a single duty: slay the Dracon King.
Chapter Fifteen
Cold and sharp, something woke her from her sleep. It was instant, it gave her heart a jumpstart. Faith opened her eyes to the darkness of the room to find that someone stood next to her bed, and that same someone had a dagger to her throat. The hand tensed; they were going to cut her wide open. The Harbinger would be no more, and the Dread King could rise and do whatever he wished whenever he wanted to.
No, Faith wasn’t going to let that happen. Dying was the last thing she wanted to do.
Her body reacted, her reflexes fast and the very opposite of clumsy: she scooted her head to the right, away from the dagger-wielding assailant, simultaneously moving her arms under the sheets and bringing the blankets up and around the weapon. The scuffle woke the others, who were fortunately unharmed, and even though they were tired and half-asleep, they rushed to her defense. She totally had it under control, though.
Cam was on the attacker almost instantly, one with the shadows of the night, latching onto his back and tugging him away from her. As Faith activated her Victi, she leaped off the bed, daggers ready, but Cam—Cam was on top of the attacker, on the floor as he held him in a chokehold. He was going to kill him.
“Cam,” Faith called his name, afraid to touch him with fear that he would lash out. “Cam, stop!” If he killed him, they’d have no clue who he was or where he came from. How did anyone even get into the palace? There were constant guards on watch.
Jag wrapped his strong arms around Cam, pulling him off the attacker. Faith drew her eyes slowly from the motionless figure on the floor to Jag and Cam. Through the darkness of the night, her eyes were only able to focus on one thing: the redness of Cam’s eyes. They glowed an unnatural hue, flickering as Jag helped him back and tried to calm him down.
Kneeling beside the attacker, Light gingerly touched his throat. “He’s dead,” he whispered what Faith already knew. His windpipe, crushed, just like that. So fast. So effortless. Faith couldn’t tear her eyes from Cam, even as he wrenched himself free of Jag and turned away. “Stay alert. There may be others coming.”
Keeping hold of her Victi daggers, Faith whispered, “How did he get past the guards?”
Jag had his own question: “How did he sneak past us without waking us?” His hearing was matched only by Ulen, whose senses were sharper, but even Cam had
n’t woken in time to stop him. Faith knew he was right—something was off here. He moved closer to Faith as Light went to Cam.
“Are you all right?” Light whispered in the darkness.
Cam held his back to them as he muttered, “I will be fine.”
Accepting his words and probably knowing he’d get nothing more from him, Light returned to Faith’s side. He gently touched her arm. “And you are uninjured?” When she nodded, she felt his grip on her arm tighten for a moment before he wandered to the bed, looking for the dead man’s weapon.
“Those are something else,” Jag said, meaning her Victi. “I didn’t know Humans had magic.”
“It’s not our magic. We learned the technique from this world,” she explained as she lifted her hands, her Victi, in front of her. “You can see these?” Faith could hardly see a damned thing.
“Yes, can’t you?” Jag’s response was fast.
Faith frowned to herself as her Victi seeped back into her flesh. “A little.”
“Wow. You are blind at night, aren’t you?”
“Well, on Earth, there are these things called the moon and stars—they light up the sky at night so it’s never really pitch-black.”
“Huh. Sounds useful for a race who has terrible night vision.”
She thought about making another comment, but they all jumped to attack position the instant heavy footsteps entered the room. All except for Cam, whose eyes were no longer glaringly red. He spoke softly, “It’s Finn.”
“Damn right it’s Finn,” his gruff voice sounded even angrier in the dark. “I thought I told you guys to not do any loud stuff? If you have to fuck, then fuck, but for Christ’s sakes—”
“Finn,” Faith interrupted, glaring off into the blackness, “someone tried to kill me.”
It was a moment before the darkness whispered back, “Oh.” Another beat. “You’re not dead though, right? Obviously not. Somehow you stumbled your way to victory. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”
“Now is not the time to make fun of me,” she said.
“Right,” Jag remarked. “There’s always time for that later. Right now we need to alert the guards. Someone who can see, preferably.” When no one said anything else, he muttered, “Fine, fine. I’ll go, but if they skewer me because they think I’m the intruder, I’m going to get a little upset.” He padded away, his footsteps silent.
The room was quiet for a moment, until someone tripped. Faith felt the bed shake and figured the asshole himself had gotten what he deserved. Eventually, Finn muttered, “It’d be nice if my mask worked. I’d be able to see just fine.” Yeah, and then Faith would be the only one stuck blind. “So,” he said, now beside her in the darkness, “an assassin on our first night? Someone wants you dead.”
Someone.
Someone seemed rather small, didn’t it? Odds were a lot of people probably wanted her dead. But for being so early in their journey—technically it hadn’t even begun yet—it narrowed the perpetrator down to someone who knew she was the Harbinger.
Besides her family and the I.D., who else knew Faith was the Harbinger? The Court did. Their guards did. Other Elves probably did, if they heard the rumors. No matter which way she looked at it, things did not look good. The Elves were probably too pretty to trust. With what happened with the Ageless Blade, and now this—Faith didn’t know who she could trust, besides her pack of men.
Someone wanted her dead, which meant they also wanted the Dread King to have all the power his heart desired. Faith found herself growing more and more irate the longer she thought about it, for what had she done besides try her best? Had other Harbingers been greeted similarly, or was she special because she was a girl?
Faith felt a hand on hers, and she was slow to grip it back. Light had to know what she was thinking. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to start pointing fingers here when there was only one place to point it to. There were certain Elves, one in particular, who seemed to loathe the idea of a young, female Harbinger more than the rest.
Frey.
Guards entered the room, spears in their hands, Jag shortly behind them. They brought small balls of light with them, hovering and floating near their backs, illuminating the entire room though they were only the size of a quarter. The Elves’ eyes adjusted quickly; Faith had to turn away for a few moments before hers did. She watched as one of the guards went to the still body on the floor, and that’s when she saw it.
The attacker’s neck, crushed in a display of brute strength, half its normal size and utterly pulverized. The skin was red with bruising. He wore a sheer black outfit, his big, wide eyes still open, pupils dilated. His shoes did not have soles; they were simply pads. It looked fake, though Faith knew it was real, that it was a corpse. It looked like some cheesy Halloween decoration, with neck proportions that were off a bit to be comical.
But it wasn’t. It was real, and Cam had done it in a matter of seconds.
Faith’s eyes flicked to Cam, who stood in the corner, far from the Elven guards. He met her gaze but quickly looked away as he always did. His expression was one of shame. He had his arms glued to his side, like he wanted to bend into himself and disappear.
“Why were you not guarding the door?” Light asked the nearest guard, who gave him a quick once-over before replying.
“Court said we didn’t need to. She isn’t a guest here anymore,” the guard spoke of Faith, gesturing to her beneath his light, silver armor. “She’s here to stay. We don’t guard every citizen’s door.”
Light exchanged glances with Faith. It was clear he, too, thought it odd.
On the bed, Finn held out his hand. “Let me see the weapon.” After Light handed it to him, he studied it. The dagger itself was curved, its metal having numerous jagged points. Something like that would hurt coming out just as badly as it did going in, meant to tear apart flesh and muscle and veins alike. “This is some next level shit,” he muttered.
That’s when Faith realized he sat there, near her, wearing nothing but pants. A few red hairs on his chest, but mostly just skin and muscle. So much muscle.
“You know,” she said as the guard reached for the dagger. Finn handed it over, meeting her stare. “You are perfectly capable of tripping and coming in here—and generally being no help—while wearing a shirt.”
Finn smiled smugly, as if he thought she’d been checking him out. And she so didn’t. Yes, she might’ve looked—glanced—at his abdomen, at the chiseled six pack there, but she didn’t ogle him. At least, she didn’t think she did. Did she? Maybe she did, a little. “At least,” he said, “I put pants on.”
She had to look away from his jade stare, wondering why he felt the need to tell her that he slept in the nude. Did he plan on stripping down every night while they were on their journey to Springstone? Seemed a little stupid, considering things tended to try and kill her in the middle of the night.
Ophelia swept in the room, wearing a see-through shawl around herself, as if it covered everything. It didn’t, and Faith found herself with hardly anywhere safe to look in the room. Maybe it was because she had the memories of past male Harbingers, but Ophelia was drop dead gorgeous, especially beneath that shawl. Faith shot quick glances at the others; she seemed to be the only one flustered at her near-nakedness.
Bending near the attacker, Ophelia’s ball of light bobbed with her. Her hair was up in a mess of pins, but even though she was not put together, she was still prettier than any model on Earth, even without curves and a chest that was no bigger than Faith’s was when she was ten.
“An Elf,” she spoke softly, slowly standing as she extended her hand to the guard holding the dagger. She stared down at it, drawing a delicate finger along its cold metal, avoiding the sharp points on the steel.
“I can’t tell the make of it,” the guard told her.
“I can,” Ophelia said. “I have not seen a weapon like this since the age of the Orcs. They were always fans of brutality.”
“The Orcs are gone,” t
he guard said.
“They are, but their craft remains.” Ophelia was ready to say more, but another Court Elf walked in the room. This one was glowering and clothed in a velvet robe. The one Elf that Faith suspected.
Frey’s entourage of guards stood tall behind him as he surveyed the room. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, hands behind his back until Ophelia swept to his side and showed him the blade, which he hesitantly took. “Orc-made.”
“I don’t think so,” Ophelia said. “The hilt looks Elven.”
“It would seem,” Frey spoke slowly, flicking his eyes to Faith, “that you are not as easy to kill as I believed you would be.” Just as Faith started to wonder if that was some kind of threat or admission of guilt, he added, “Perhaps you will succeed in your quest after all.” He gave the dagger back to Ophelia, who walked to Faith.
“Bul’ara could not come?” Ophelia spoke over her shoulder.
“She is indisposed.”
Ophelia strained a smile. “Ah, I see.” Her beautiful gaze commanded Faith’s. “While you are away, we will investigate this matter thoroughly. After your return, hopefully we will have caught the mastermind behind it. For now—” She gestured to the guards. “—you will have supervision, in case of their return.”
“You really have no idea who it could be?” As Faith asked her, she spotted Frey looking bored.
“Not without investigation. Worry not, Faith,” Ophelia spoke, holding the dagger in one hand as she reached for Faith’s hair, sweeping it off her shoulder. She had to force herself not to stare at the chest that was level with her face. She was not a fan of boobs, not like her grandma, no matter what partial memories were in her head. “We will find them.”
Yeah, just like they found the culprits of the kidnapping and almost-sacrificing. Elves were not a race that concerned themselves with worry, even if the situation called for it. And this situation definitely called for it.
“For now, try to rest. You have a long journey ahead of you.” Ophelia bent, placing a single kiss on her cheek. Her skin tingled where her thin lips touched, as if it happened before. It probably had to other Harbingers.
The Fellowship: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 2) Page 9
