Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  “Get out here!” the female yelled.

  I heard retreating steps, but I didn’t trust them enough to risk a peek. Silence fell but it felt wrong. Then, there was the sound of running steps. I fell back on the bed covering my face as the door was knocked in, wood splintering. I grabbed my other crutch and swung the handle at the man’s head. He uttered a curse as I struck him twice in the head and landed another glancing blow off his shoulder before he was able to lunge forward and grab me.

  I gasped for air as he wrapped his arm around my neck choking the breath out of me. I reached up blindly scratching at whatever exposed skin there was to no avail. He dragged me by the neck into the center of the main room. The half-shifted jaguar was waiting. Her upper lip quivered, exposing her fangs, as he dropped me at her feet.

  I coughed and gasped as my bruised throat ached under the pressure of drawing in air. A claw touched my cheek pricking lightly but not yet cutting my skin, and I glanced up to meet the jaguar’s golden gaze. A hint of a growl tinged her words as she spoke. “You defy Weard?”

  “I am hiding in an abandoned village in the highlands. Why else would I be here, hmm?” Meeting her gaze despite my rising panic, I added quietly, “I won’t be one of Weard’s pets.”

  “Weard would prefer for you to be brought in alive,” she countered, her ears perking, “however, since you have refused the generous offer, I think we’ll leave you for the traitor to find.” She cut my cheek and nodded to the male. “Take care of it.”

  I looked up at the man in time to see his incoming fist. Then, everything went dark.

  When I woke up, smoke filled the room. I coughed and squinted around. The remaining roof was on fire as was the far corner. It looked like a lantern had been broken over the table and chairs. My head throbbed and my throat ached, but I forced myself to move. I stayed low, beneath the billowing smoke, and crawled to the bedroom. I had to get the crutches and the go bag.

  I could hear the hunters’ laughter. They expected me to die in here. Or to stumble into their arms. I would take my chances against them. Anything was better than burning to death.

  By the time I reached the bedroom, I was coughing again. I found the crutches and my go bag. This was the first time I truly hated that there were no windows in the bedroom. The only way out was through the front door and straight into the arms of Weard’s hunters. I coughed harder, blinking away the sweat stinging my eyes. Better hunters than fire. I dug in my go bag and pulled out a grey shawl. Taking the shawl, I dropped it in the bowl of tepid water still on the stand. I pushed it down until it was completely soaked then wrapped it around my head and neck before covering my nose and mouth.

  I wriggled the go bag onto my back and grabbed my crutches. The smoke and heat were oppressive and the flames close. Water and sweat dripped into my eyes as I crawled across the floor dragging my left leg behind me. The fire crackled. I could see places where burning pieces of roof had fallen around me. Above the crackling roar of the fire, I could hear the redcap’s cackling and the laughter of the hunters.

  A hot ember grazed against my left leg just above my wrap and brace. I screamed and rolled away. When I looked back, I couldn’t see flames. I coughed and choked on smoke as I forced myself to keep crawling. The stone walls couldn’t burn, but the furniture and fixtures could . . . so did the blankets.

  The air grew hotter, parching my throat and my lungs even with the soaked shawl. It was hard to breathe and to keep crawling. I pushed myself further reaching for the door. A tearless sob escaped me as I tried to grasp the door handle before jerking my hand back as heat greeted my fingertips. It wasn’t a proper burn, but it was a near thing.

  The laughter on the other side of the door had stopped. I heard a big cat’s snarl. Then, a man screamed before it was strangled to silence. I yanked my sleeve down over my hand and lunged for the door handle blindly grasping through the smoke. I found the handle and yanked. The door didn’t budge.

  No. No, no, no!

  I tugged again. The door still didn’t budge. I peered through the smoke trying to see if the latch had been knocked into place. The smoke was too thick. I couldn’t see, but it was the only thing I could think of so I grabbed one of the crutches. I shoved it up, bouncing against the door, as I blindly tried to hit the latch so it bounced out of the cradle. Please . . . Please . . . Please!

  I felt the crutch connect with something and then give. Still holding the crutch, I reached up once more to grab the handle. This time it swung open a few inches. Smoke billowed out the crack as I scrambled to move the crutches out of the way so I could force the opening wider. It was only then that I heard another snarl from the jaguar shifter. As I dragged myself out of the cottage, I gasped for air and I heard a man’s panicked shout, “No! Don’t!”

  The shifter screamed and then I spotted her on her knees a little ways from me. She raised only one hand, blood covering her claws. She was panting, her eyes fixed on someone else. “Mercy,” she snarled.

  Lifting my head, I saw something that made my blood run cold. Mathias was bearing down on the shifter, a sabre whose blade was dark with blood in his hands. He never slowed as the shifter once again pleaded for mercy. His voice snapped through the air like ice crackling underfoot. “You have lost all hope of mercy, killer of innocents.”

  I saw the sabre streak downward and turned my face away. The jaguar’s defiant curse was cut off mid-word. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was bad. So very bad.

  A cough escaped me as I forced myself to stand. I had to get to Mathias before he did something worse. The number over his head flickered as though the 10 were encased in flames, but I ignored it. Just as I ignored the bodies. Mathias was standing with his back to me, bloodied sabre in his grasp. I tried to step toward him only for my legs to immediately give out, and I dropped to my hands and knees.

  Looking up, I saw Mathias. He was facing me now. A shudder ran through me as I met his gaze. There was nothing save for an icy assessment in his pale blue eyes. I tried to say his name, but another coughing fit enveloped me.

  * * *

  Mathias

  The shifter fell to the ground, her crimes paid for with her life. I stared at the body with cold indifference. Justice had demanded the price. I had fulfilled it. The icy wrath coursing through my veins sought any others who had guilt. A rough cough and the sound of a body falling brought me around to face another slight figure. Female, but her face and head was covered by a soaked shawl. She didn’t look ready to attack, but I brought my sword up even so.

  The cold pure lance of justice recognized her guilt. Not as strong as the other four but there nonetheless. And, justice demanded payment.

  I walked toward her, sword in hand. It would be swift and painless because she did not bear the mark of a killer of innocents. She sat up and my steps slowed as I met wide dark eyes. The cold guidance of my hand and purpose faltered as she rasped, “M-Mathias! Stop please!”

  The crackle of burning wood and the smell of smoke pulled my attention from her to the cottage. Memory began emerging from the icy call for justice and my hand dropped to my side. I had been coming back for . . . “Lauren.” The name slipped out in a whisper.

  The sword slipped from my hand as I remembered . . . terror. Hunters standing around the cottage watching the flames and smoke, laughing. The surge of icy rage when I realized they had left Lauren in there. And then . . .

  I shook my head, trying to focus my thoughts. My gaze caught on the crutches strewn on the frozen ground. The slight figure with a duffle bag, collapsed on her front. “Lauren,” I breathed. “Lauren?”

  I ran the short distance to her and dropped to my knees beside her. I yanked the damp shawl off her head exposing her dark hair and her soot streaked face. Tugging my gloves off, I pressed my fingers against her throat. She had a heartbeat, but her breathing came in ragged and raspy gasps. No. “Lauren? Lauren, can you hear me?”

  Looking around, I realized something else. I had cut down the hunters and the redcap,
driven by the cold flowing through my veins. God forgive me, I had almost turned on Lauren. Closing my eyes, I hung my head even as I gathered Lauren into my arms. I had claimed the hunters’ lives without thought for mercy or any room for tempering the coldest justice. My control had truly slipped, which meant . . . Lauren . . .

  I opened my eyes and gazed down at her still face. Taking her damp shawl, I used it to gently clean away the streaks left by soot, sweat, and water. Lauren didn’t stir, but I was grateful. It gave me more time to gather myself enough that I would be able to face her again. “I’m so sorry, Lauren.”

  There was no other choice to be had then. I needed to get Lauren away from me. She wasn’t safe around me anymore.

  I slipped her go bag off and gathered her into my arms. Carrying her further away from the burning cottage, I laid her down on a mossy section and covered her with my coat. Then, I went back to take care of the bodies. I could not bury them, but a pyre was an acceptable enough funeral. Only when they were taken care of did I gather Lauren’s go bag and crutches as well as my sword, cleaning its blade with a cloth I tossed into the fire.

  Returning to where I had left Lauren, I was torn between concern and relief that she was still unconscious. In my cowardice, I did not want to face her yet. Not so soon after I had . . . succumbed to the very cold I promised her I would resist. Whistling three light notes, I crouched next to Lauren as I waited. Artair and the other Fae ponies paced toward us tossing their heads as their nostrils flared in response to the fires but not shying away. I quickly caught Fife and tied Lauren’s go bag and crutches to his pack. When Ailsa snuffled my sleeve, I patted her neck. “She can’t ride you this time. Tomorrow.”

  Artair arched his neck as I slid the sword into the saddle sheath. At least, he didn’t sidle away when I picked Lauren’s limp form up. I positioned her on his back and then swung up behind her. The scent of smoke lingered in her clothes and hair, but I didn’t care. Holding her in my arms was almost enough to soothe my growing guilt.

  Cradling Lauren against my chest, I pressed a kiss to her hair. “Forgive me, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Lauren

  It was dark when I opened my eyes and then light swept over my face making me hiss as I squeezed my eyes shut. There was a touch against my cheek, and I flinched away. But, it wasn’t the taunting voice of one of the hunters that responded to this moment of weakness. Instead, an all too familiar British accent caressed my ears. “You’re all right, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

  I opened my eyes again, not quite believing what I was hearing. “M-Mathias?”

  The light no longer blinded me so I could make out Mathias leaning over me. He looked . . . distressed with worry lines carving his forehead and the corners of his mouth turning down. His hand was hovering close to my face. I forced myself to grab it, reassuring myself that this wasn’t a trick of the mind. I tried to talk only to dissolve into a coughing fit that racked my entire body.

  Mathias slipped his hand away and then offered me a canteen. I grabbed it with both hands, gulping down tepid water that still soothed my parched throat. Only after slaking my thirst, did I notice the change in scenery. We were next to a craggy hill and to the left was mist. I could smell the bog. A snort pulled my attention from the mist covered bog, and I rose up on my elbows craning my neck to see that the Fae ponies were grazing in the shadow of the hill. I also realized I was lying on the ground covered by a single blanket.

  “What happened?” I struggled to sit up. “Mathias, what happened?”

  “You weren’t safe there anymore,” came the quiet answer. A hand rested against my back helping me to sit up.

  When I looked at him again, memory of an icy gaze and bloodied sword struck me. I shook my head slightly. “She asked you for mercy.”

  Mathias dropped his gaze as he withdrew his hand. “Why do you think Myrmidons were so feared and hated that we brought down a purge on our heads? There is no mercy when the Biting Ice controls you. Mercy is a weakness and the cold seeks only justice, an end to a wrong. It is too late for apologies, I know, but I am sorry you had to witness it.”

  Part of me wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t even know what to say about this. Interacting with Mathias knowing what he had done, what he could do . . . It was scary. I glanced up at his number. A steady 10, blazing in the night, even after all that had happened the number didn’t even flicker lower. The coldness threatening to turn Mathias into a monster, perhaps?

  I let out a slow breath. “What do we do now?”

  “I will get you to Europe. I know of someone who can protect you on the rest of your journey until Weard’s management gives up the hunt for you.”

  I stared at him. “You want to split up?” I hesitated, biting back the protest driven by my feelings, and instead quietly asked, “Will that be safer?”

  Mathias looked away from me, staring out into the mist. “It is the only way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are not safe with me.”

  I started to argue, then I caught a whiff of stale smoke. I grimaced as I looked down at my grimy clothes. How lovely. “I can’t go anywhere around people smelling like this.” I looked around for my go bag. “Where’s my bag?”

  “Airing out.”

  A groan escaped me. “Smoke?”

  “You were in a burning building, Lauren,” came the terse statement. When I looked up at him, he was facing away from me and his hands were curled into fists at his sides. “I thought you had been killed. It was why I lost control.”

  “I don’t think they expected me to wake up in time to even try to escape,” I said softly. “Mathias, despite everything, I am very glad you came back because I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

  My voice cracked, and I stopped talking as I blinked back emotion. The memory of the fire and the near death escape sent tremors through me. I bowed my head as I clamped a hand over my mouth. Arms wrapped around me, pulling me against a solid chest. I turned my face into his sweater as my shoulders shook with dry sobs. Mathias didn’t say a word, just held me close. I felt his fingers combing through my hair and closed my eyes. In that moment, I forgot what had happened with the hunters and focused on the fact that he made me feel safe again.

  Eventually, I pulled back feeling a twinge of disappointment when he didn’t try to hold onto me. But I shoved the notion aside. Now was not the time to be sidetracked by my attraction to him. I took a shaky breath and cleared my throat. “I really need clean clothes.”

  “We’re on the edge of the Flow Country. You don’t want to bathe in a peat bog.”

  “I would settle for clothes that don’t stink,” I muttered.

  A duffle bag landed on the ground next to me and I blinked at it. Mathias crouched down and pulled out a sweater. Then, he frowned as he continued digging around in the bag. “I don’t have any trousers that will fit you. And, I didn’t pack for summer.”

  “You don’t have to . . .” I trailed off as Mathias silently handed me the sweater. “Thank you.”

  Mathias stood up. He gestured to his bag. “There’s wipes and dry wash in there. Use them if you want. I’m going to make sure we haven’t picked up any followers. I will be gone an hour.”

  “Thank you, Mathias,” I stated quietly. He didn’t need to leave, but I appreciated the gesture. Although I was a little concerned that perhaps he was making the gesture more out of his desire to avoid being around me than anything else. However, he was already striding away from me before I could come up with a good reason for him to stay close . . . that wouldn’t sound like I was trying to tempt him.

  I didn’t waste any time in limping over to the slight shelter near the Fae ponies, where my own bag had been set out. Not wanting to wear my filthy clothes again, I scrounged around in my bag for underthings and jeans. Fortunately, I had a few things in the bottom of the bag that didn’t smell of smoke. At least, not enough to be readily detectable. Cleaning off
the grime with wipes and dry wash didn’t have nearly the same amount of satisfaction and comfort as a hot shower, but it was better than nothing.

  Slipping on my fresh clothes with Mathias’ sweater, I felt more myself. The sweater smelled like Mathias and hung almost to my knees, but it wasn’t as baggy as the men’s sweaters I usually wore. If it hadn’t been so cold out on the moor, I might have been able to wear it as a dress. The only thing left was to put on my new wrap. I hobbled over to a mossy stone and sat down. I had just finished the wrap and slipped the brace back on when Mathias’ long lean frame appeared out of the darkness.

  As he came closer, his steps falter for a moment. I looked up to find him staring at me with an intensity that sent awareness through me. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking. Actually, I wanted us to stop being on the run and to be able to have a normal conversation about . . . us. Mathias’ gaze swept over me and I could feel my cheeks warming, then he spoke. “Do you think you can ride on Ailsa? Or do I need to carry you?”

  “We’re leaving now?”

  Mathias offered a curt nod. “We don’t have much time. We need to cross the Flow Country now. It’s part of the reason we came this way instead of backtracking. If we enter here, we’ll reach Forsinard in a day. It will be faster than going back to Altnabreac.”

  I nodded. Raising my hand, I let Mathias pull me to my feet. He stuck close as I limped over to Ailsa who seemed pleased to see me again as she nuzzled my shoulder. Or she just liked the smell of Mathias’ sweater too.

  Within fifteen minutes, we were heading down into the mist covered bog. The Fae ponies’ easy pace quickened as they followed a fae path. It seemed they were eager to put this venture behind them too. I kept my eyes fixed on Mathias. I would have at least another day or two to try to convince him not to part ways in Europe.