by Denali Day
She shook her head.
If she was going to make use of this man, she’d have to keep him alive. To do that, she needed to get him somewhere safe and wait for the toxin to run its course. She glanced around until she spotted a darkened mound about halfway down the hill.
Could it be?
Perhaps fortune was tossing her a bone. After the day she’d had, she was overdue. Colette strutted around the sleeping man’s body and cocked her head. Smirking, she wedged a boot against his ribs.
“Barbarian, this is going to hurt you far more than it hurts me.”
3
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Sven turned toward the tinny sound and groaned against the stinging in his head. His eyes scraped open over bits of dry dust. He was lying in the shadows on a cold, dirt-covered floor. The air around him was dank and musty. A cave? No. A den. Sven’s arms flexed as he went to touch the low hanging ceiling above him. A tug of resistance made him pause. He reached again. His arms remained rigid against his sides.
He was bound.
Sven gasped for air and twisted against his restraints, willing his eyes to focus so that he could see what had been used to tie him. Strips of dampened cloth lashed his wrists and ankles together. His knees, too, were joined, and his elbows secured to his sides. His coat had been removed as had his fur chaps, leaving him in his hide pants and wool tunic.
Something rustled at the other side of the darkened den. An amber light glowed, illuminating a woman’s wolfish gaze.
His bride.
She sat crouched against the far wall. Her elbows were slumped casually over her propped knees. A puff of vapor whirled up, obscuring her lovely features. The sweet, heavy odor of pipe smoke wafted through the air. Sven’s mind reeled as the confounding woman tucked a flint and steel into the pocket of her riding coat.
A corner of her full mouth flicked upward. “Sleep well?”
Sven swallowed. Gods, what have I gotten myself into?
Colette took a long drag from her pipe, relaxing at the comforting taste. The barbarian had gone still, no longer struggling against the strips of cloth she’d torn from one of her petticoats. He was staring at her, his dark eyes narrowed. She enjoyed watching his mind arrange the fragments of his memories back into place, and was especially thrilled when his face slackened with incredulity.
That’s right. You’re mine now, savage. How does it feel?
“Where have you taken me?” His deep voice was dry and thickly accented.
“You brought us to the Twist. I hauled your sorry ass down here for the time being. You’re damn lucky there was a den at the bottom of the hill. More so that I was willing to kick you down to it. No thanks necessary.”
He turned his head to the ceiling and rolled his broad shoulders in a circle. “That explains the pain.”
“Oh,”—Colette flipped her freshly formed braid over her shoulder—“that’s probably just the wound I gave you.” After ensuring the den was empty and rolling him inside, Colette had tended to the barbarian’s cut. A thread from her kerchief and a spare dress pin were handy enough. “Don’t worry, I stitched it up, though I admit my needlework leaves something to be desired. I’d apologize for the scar it’s going to leave but—” Colette paused, dropping the flippant edge from her voice. “I hardly think you’ll notice.”
Huddled over his sleeping body, she’d barely pulled the hem of his tunic up before gasping in shock. His torso, neck to navel, was completely covered in sweeping patterns of rune-like scars. Her mouth had dropped at the exotic sight; it was at once alarming and mesmerizing.
The barbarian surprised her with an impish grin across his bearded face. “Stripped me down, did you?”
“I’ve seen more of you than I would have liked, yes.”
That was a lie. Colette had seen precisely as much as she wanted, which was to say she’d seen all of him, brazenly following the path of his scars across his arms and legs as well as shamelessly satisfying years of maidenly curiosity. She couldn’t have asked for a finer study. No regrets.
“Shame I was asleep.”
Colette ignored the urge to crack a smile. She had to admit, she’d expected a touch more fear from this man. He was impressively confident for a prisoner, particularly one whose jailer was a young woman. He could probably stand to be brought down a peg. Or three. She blew a puff of smoke in his direction. “I liked you better that way.”
“Sharp tongue. Sharp claws. Is there any part of you that’s soft?”
Colette raised an imperious brow. “You’ll never find out, savage.”
“My name is Sven the Collector.”
“Collector of what? Women minding their own business?”
He grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “Among other things.”
Snide bastard. “What did you mean to do with me?”
“Untie me, and I’ll tell you.”
“Are women that stupid where you come from?”
He cocked his head, an odd-looking gesture while lying in the dirt. “What are you worried about? That I’ll punish you for defending yourself?”
“More like you’ll try to abduct me again.”
His tone took on a serious edge. “So why didn’t you run?”
Leaning forward, she smirked. “Because you’re going to get me out of these woods.”
“Gladly.” He wiggled around, glancing pointedly down at his bindings and back up at her.
Her lips thinned. “Let’s make a few things understood between us. First, you’re not going to call your beast back.”
His dark brows drew together. “Strange. I could have sworn to the Sky Father that you just asked me to get you out of these woods.”
“I did, and you are. On foot.”
He regarded her for a long moment, his mouth a hard line. “You want to hike through the Twist?”
She stared him down, unflinching.
The barbarian scoffed. “Are you insane?”
The words had barely left his mouth when she lunged for him. Startled, he tried to rise, but she swung a leg over his chest, knocking him back down. His entire body was taut as he struggled to right himself, but Colette’s weight and her deft knots were enough to keep him supine.
She unsheathed the same dagger she’d used to cut him before and shoved the tip just beneath his bearded chin. “You tell me.”
He arched his neck, trying to get away from the steel point. “Gods, I’ve got good taste!”
Colette watched his nervous smile with silent fascination. All things considered, he was remarkably calm, but he couldn’t hide his speeding heartbeat. She felt it thrumming through his chest beneath her skirts. Her lips peeled back in triumph. “Swear an oath to your gods, to your ‘Sky Father’, that you won’t call your beast down.”
Though he glared at her, his dark eyes flickered with uncertainty. “You’re going to be the death of me, Woman.”
He wasn’t taking her seriously. Colette could remedy that. She moved the knife up and pressed the tip into the swell of his bottom lip. With her free hand, she scooped up a nearby stone and shoved it against the closed corner of his mouth.
“You’ll swear to me, or I swear to you that I’ll open your mouth and use my knife to make sure you can’t call anyone ever again.”
Sven met her gaze. Colette sat still as a stone, refusing to back down from the challenge.
He spoke, careless of the knife piercing his skin. “As mad as you are beautiful.”
That caught her off guard. He thought her beautiful? In and of itself, it wasn’t especially shocking. She’d been called beautiful countless times, and not only by her father. But, like this? With blood dried into her clothes, and her knife held against his flesh? She supposed she might be beautiful in the same way a she-wolf looked beautiful tearing into a stag. How strangely suitable… A sneaky flash of delight made her belly tighten. She reminded herself not to blink.
His breath was strained and thready despite all other appearances of ease. “Just to
be clear, you trust me not to call my gegatu but not enough to let me fly you out of this death trap?”
Was he the type of man who kept his word? She could only hope. In the meantime, she’d prepare for his betrayal. Better to manage it here than in the sky. Whatever else happened, she couldn’t allow that beast of his back into play.
“Trust has nothing to do with it. If you break your vow and call your mount, I’ll have time to sink my blade into your gut. But if I let you call your mount and then you decide to betray me…” She cocked her head. “What’s my recourse?”
“Would it appease you if I let you hold your little dagger to my belly as we flew?”
Her eyes sparked. “No dragons.”
“Wyverns.”
“What?”
“My mount is a wyvern. Not a dragon.”
She frowned, irritated she had no witty response to that. Why was he so calm? So smug? She ground the point of her blade down until a single prick of blood swelled onto his lip. It wouldn’t be enough to poison him again. Probably.
He groaned, and Colette felt the vibration in his chest rise up along her inner thighs. Somewhere low in her belly, the strangest sensation came to life, warm and pleasing. Startled, she pressed harder on the knife.
“I’m about three seconds from slicing out your tongue, Savage.”
“Oh, I think you’d regret that in the long term.”
When she started to wedge the rock against his teeth, the savage thrust his head away into the dirt.
“Okay. Okay. I swear to Regna I won’t call my mount.”
“Swear you’ll bring me safely through the Twist or die trying.”
Nodding, he shrugged. “Probably just die, though.”
“Swear it!”
“I swear it. Now kindly get your knife out of my face.” He glanced down at her legs. “You can keep your thighs wrapped around me if you want.”
Colette huffed and climbed off. The initial thrill of victory dissipated like a morning mist. Silence stretched between them as she wrestled with what needed to come next. Spine straightening, she began to untie his bindings. His eyes bore into her, making her doubt her actions. There was nothing for it. He was no good to her trussed up like a pheasant. He remained perfectly still as she loosened the last of the ties.
Meeting his gaze, Colette eased away from him. She wouldn’t have him thinking she was afraid.
Rubbing his unbound wrists, Sven sat up. Even on the ground, his head almost brushed against the dirt ceiling of the tiny den. The man was easily three times her weight, though there seemed to be no spare flesh around his well-toned muscles. Colette was grateful she’d had enough cloth to tie him in the first place. She’d have been no match against him otherwise.
“What’s your name?” he asked, the timbre of his voice light.
“Colette.”
Releasing his wrists, he nodded thoughtfully. He gave her a long, lingering look from head to toe. Her skin prickled, and she inclined her chin.
“Give me your knife, Colette.”
She scoffed. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m going to take it from you if you don’t. But don’t worry, you’ll get it back.”
“Oh? In my heart, perhaps?”
His lips curled. “I wouldn’t ruin your pretty breasts.”
The arrogance! Who did this man think he was? And why in the hells was she cracking a smile? With effort, Colette turned it into a sneer. “What do you want with it?”
Without warning, the barbarian shot forward on his knees. Colette jerked back even as she took a swing at him with her dagger. He caught her wrist in an iron grip that seemed to span half her forearm. It was obvious he’d been prepared for that move, especially when his next sent the air rushing out of her lungs. She gasped, too stunned to fight back until he’d already settled the length of his body snugly against hers, as well as pinned her wrists over her head with a single hand. He used the other to pluck the dagger from her clenched fist.
A shudder wracked through Colette’s limbs. She was at this hulking man’s mercy. She didn’t dare struggle. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she gritted her teeth. “How dare you?”
He pressed his chest into hers. “Easily. Now, let’s make a few more things understood between us. When we find water to clean this little blade with, it’s all yours. In the meantime, I think I’ll hold on to it.”
Colette’s mind fired, trying to think about what she could do. All thoughts came to a screeching halt as Sven’s free hand reached down and grasped at her skirt. Slowly, deliberately, he began to draw it upward. Colette gasped, and her whole body jerked when she felt his fingertips grazing her bare calf. To her horror, a whimper of fear rose in her throat.
His eyes locked on hers, and Colette held her breath.
Suddenly, he was off her. A current of cool air hit, replacing the warmth of his chest. She shot up. What had just happened? Why was he stopping? And, by the gods, why did she feel excited? Without thinking, her hands flew to her leg, covering the place where he’d touched her. The flesh there burned as if branded. It was a sweet, lingering heat.
Sitting on his knees, Sven raised a hand. In it, he held her longer hunting knife. She’d exchanged its place with her poisoned dagger, hoping to keep its existence a secret. He flipped it smoothly around so that the handle was extended in her direction. “You can keep this one.”
“How did you…”
He grinned, capturing every bit of the smugness she’d cast at him earlier. Damn, it looked good on him. She cursed the rising flush of her cheeks.
“You’ve got courage, woman. I’ll give you that. And no small amount of wit. But you’re not a fighter. Unless you obey me, you’re probably going to die out here and so will I, trying to keep your willful ass safe. I have a hundred better things to do than wandering through a deadly wilderness but, that’s the position you’ve put us in. So we’re going to do things my way. Do you understand?”
The nerve of this savage. No one, not even her father, had ever spoken to her this way. A baffling sense of division tore her senses in two—fascination and utter fury.
She leaned forward. “You have no right!”
“Oh, little she-devil, I’m Na Dokiri. I have every right.”
4
A narrow path of afternoon sunlight lit the bottom of the rocky ravine. All around it, gray shadows seemed to drench the area in oppressive doubt. Even the air smelled cold. Barren. Colette turned to Sven, ignoring her unease. He’d started up the slope.
“Where are you going?”
“Stay here,” he ordered over his shoulder.
Huffing, Colette followed. Ahead of her, Sven glanced toward the sky and shook his head, though he said nothing. The glint of light reflected on steel lying at the top of the hill. There, on the ground, was a large double-bitted axe she hadn’t noticed before. Sven went directly to it and snapped it up, inspecting it for damage.
“Where’s your bow?”
Colette nodded at the ground where her useless bow lay. The broken string was still tied to either nock. Sven stuffed a hand into his coat and withdrew a fresh cord in the same way her brother Gareth would withdraw sweets from his pocket. Like Gareth, as soon as she grabbed for it, he snatched it up and away from her.
She glared at him.
“You only have three arrows. Try to conserve them,” he said.
“Thank the gods I have you here to advise me.”
He tossed the string at her.
Colette caught it easily and immediately set to restringing her bow.
“We’ll head north and make our way downhill until we find water. A stream should lead us to the forest’s edge.”
She frowned. “The river lets out of the Twist thirty miles west from my father’s lands. We should just focus on going north.”
“We won’t save any time if we get lost in the forest, and neither of us knows this terrain. We’ll follow the water.”
“And if it dead-en
ds us into a lake?”
Sven shrugged and swung his axe around as if testing the balance. “I didn’t see any lakes from the sky. But, if it does, then it’s back to your plan.”
His axe was adorned with rings of claws and teeth from at least a dozen different creatures, none of them natural. The end of his braid, too, was secured by the vertebrae of some fallen creature that she didn’t recognize. Charming.
Colette leaned away, her gaze flickering to him. “Why are you called ‘The Collector’?”
They started back down the hill. “My father named me after I completed the veligneshi.”
“What’s that?”
“A rite of passage. The men of my clan must kill a fiend from beneath our mountain to be considered Na Dokiri. Most riders kill one. I brought back the heads of a dozen.”
“Are you a show-off, then? Or do you have something to prove?”
Without slowing, he spat on the ground. “Yes.”
What to make of this man? She licked her lips. “Why do your people bother with the killing?”
“To protect all the lands below us from the evil that resides in our mountain.”
They reached the bottom of the hill.
“Lands like mine?”
He nodded.
“How charitable of you.”
Sven’s face was turned away from her, his eyes peering into the shadow of the dense treeline. His expression was tight and calculating as he took the first step into the darkness. He held an assisting hand back to her. “It’s not charity.”
Ignoring his hand, Colette followed him into the forest, then immediately wished she’d accepted his offer, if only to feel the presence of another living being. The forest was cold and still, the screeching of predatory birds the only sign of life. The stink of mold and carrion wormed through the thickness of the air, invading her nostrils. Colette shifted when something scratched at her legs. Already, the layers of her skirts had been invaded by blood-hungry brambles. Swiving hells. Even the leaf-bare trees seemed sinister. Their gnarled branches choked the sun from the sky, plunging the land into eternal twilight.
