CHAPTER 1

I woke to the uncaring kiss of a dagger at my throat. My eyes didn't need to open to confirm it, not when the familiar sting cut into my skin or the smell of a rusted blade teased my nose. It was strange, I would've never thought a dagger had a scent, but I supposed that having one in such close proximity unveiled such secrets.

"You've got him?" a rough voice asked, but the question wasn't for me.

"Shut it, you idiot!" Another, slightly deeper voice responded. "Let the bastard go, and you'll be paying with your own blood."

I risked opening my eyes, the only movement that wouldn't end with my blood spilled across my nightshirt and bedsheets. It was close to impossible to think straight, but I had to. There was no room for haste, not with my potential end a mere slice of a blade away.

It was still dark, and my room was without drapes, so it must still be the dead of night, or at least the hours surrounding it. My room was washed in a blanket of shadow, for the moon's glow gave only enough to focus on the looming shapes above me as my sight struggled to take in meaningful details.

It seemed, when in a life-threatening situation, one's mind calculated as many specifics as possible. And right now, my mind whirled as I put together what was happening.

The first speaker was a man, his voice rough from years dragging from the pipe, and his broad outline only confirmed his gender. If it was still night, it meant Father was hours into his night shift at the King's Head tavern in town. He wouldn't return until after dawn, which could be a handful of hours away.

I was alone with the assailants.

My dog, Winston, hadn't barked at their arrival. So, he was either dead or just shit at his job. I really hoped for the latter.

The second speaker was also a man, although his voice was lighter, as though someone had kicked him hard in the balls and they'd never returned to their normal seating. He was the one holding down my legs by my ankles as if I'd dare to kick out. I knew better than to act, now at least.

"I think he's looking at me," the first said again, a faint hint of panic in his voice. He put force behind the blade, and it bit harder into my skin. "I don't want him looking at me!"

The second's hands fumbled around my ankles before letting go, but the tightness of touch didn't release. No. He'd bound my legs. I watched him join his accomplice at my side, spying the rope he twisted in his hands.

"Then bag his head."

There was another scent to join the rusted blade. A sharp tang that I was all too familiar with. It smelled of Father, at least it was what clung to his worn clothing when I found him sleeping across the armchair in the mornings after a long shift at the tavern. Lush spice and hot flames. The signature dwindling kiss of whiskey. But this scent did not cling to the assailants' clothes but to their breaths. I would've turned my head away from them just to stop inhaling the wretched odour, but I stayed still, cautious of the blade at my throat.

"Nah, doesn't matter if he sees. Let him. His memory of us isn't going to help him where he is going to end up."

They both laughed at that. Deep, snorting cackles like pigs.

"As long as I get the coin promised," the first said again, leaning down over me. I felt the tickle of a touch against my shoulder. Straining my eyes confirmed it was his bulging, ale swollen stomach. "Got anything to say for yourself… Robin Vale ?"

I began to fish the face of the speaker from my rambling mind. His stout, broad form and husky, smoker-tickled tone invited the rosy-cheeked face of James Campbell into mind. If he knew my name, the likelihood that I knew his was high.

"James," I said, voice husky from sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your… late-night visit?"

"Shit," the second hissed, stepping back away from the bed.

I pouted, forcing a frown as the blade tickled fearfully close for my liking. "Usually, it's your son who provides me with company during such late hours. Did you hear good things and want to try me out for yourself?"

My focus was on his face, now clear as day as he brought it to hover inches from mine. A face bloated from the years of the drink he'd frequently downed at the King's Head. Even now, the stench of whiskey and dried pork crackling told me that he'd likely left the tavern recently.

"Keep him out your thoughts, filth," he hissed, flashing yellowed teeth and the gaps that surrounded them. "I suggest you think carefully about what you say next, or it may be the last thing you utter."

"I don't believe that a second. If you wanted to hurt me, you would've when I was sleeping," I replied, wagering a bet that I was, in fact, right. "Otherwise, that blunt little blade of yours would have already done its worst."

"Bag his head!" the second shouted. I couldn't place his voice to a face, but that didn't matter. What mattered was what they were both here for.

"Shut up," James snapped in reply. His calloused, short-fingered hand gripped me by the shoulder and squeezed. I tried everything not to show the discomfort it awarded me. "A little nick won't change the price we are promised for you."

My initial thought that coin was involved had just been confirmed. He had made that clear more than once. I knew it drove those desperate for it to interesting lengths, but this… this was a step too far. More like an immortal leap away from simply calling him desperate.

My mouth parted as yet another retort sprang to mind. But I was quickly silenced as his hand released my shoulder and slapped over my mouth.

"Gobby little shit, think you're better than us even now. Even with my blunt little blade to your throat." He mocked my voice, softening his own and rounding the hard edges of his tone as he mimicked me. "Bounty has racked up for the likes of you, boy. I'd be a fool to ignore it. Anyone would. So, for the sake of a little spilt blood, what you are going to do is listen and do as we say."

"Yeah," the other chorused, still hiding in the shadows.

James pressed his weight down on me, causing the bed to groan. "If we get this over with soon, we may even have time to return to the tavern and buy your father a drink with the coin we get for you. Hell, it will be enough to buy everyone in that tavern a drink all fucking winter long."

I didn't blink, not as I took in the man's wide, unblinking dark stare. Even in the gloomy room, I could recognise the feral spark looming far within his eyes, as though he was starved and looked down upon a hulking mass of cooked meat.

It was a miracle when he didn't start drooling over me.

With the hand still pressed on my mouth, I couldn't laugh aloud, but in my head, it was all I could hear. If there was any moment to fight back, it was now.

Hard, I bit down on his palm until he spluttered a cry. Warm blood filled my mouth, causing copper to explode across my tongue and inside my cheeks. The taste was vile, but it did what I needed. James released his hold, enough for me to force myself upwards, thrusting my forehead into his with a sickening crack.

The sound was beautiful. Painful but delightful in equal measures. It filled the room as though the thin panes of my windows had shattered. My head hardly throbbed beneath the impact. Father had taught me well, ensuring I knew how to do as little damage to myself as possible when dealing the most to others.

The pressure of the dagger at my throat lessened, likely with the tumbling fool of a man who stumbled backwards with his face in his hands. I didn't wait to be reintroduced to it as I reached for the rope at my ankles and pulled.

Whatever knot they'd rushed together fell away in seconds. Sloppy, which was fitting, considering how this was all going so far. James had clearly drunk a lot, because he wobbled like a fawn on ice. Kicking my legs over the bed, I stood before the two men had a chance to regain their composure.

"What now then?" I asked, shaking my hands at my sides before clenching them into fists. I'd never been so ready to hit someone before in my life. First, they'd woken me from a dreamless sleep – which was rare for me. Secondly, they were in my home, uninvited. And that fact alone stoked the embers of aggression inside of me. "Perhaps you want to rethink your plans this evening before you both end up, well, accosted."

"Accosted?" the softer voice asked, honestly confused. If I could see his features clearly, I would've likely seen a peaked brow.

James stepped forward, his thick body blocking most of the moonlight from the window behind him. "We haven't come this far for you to ruin it, boy. You can either come with us breathing, or we risk ruining our winnings by providing you dead. The choice is yours."

Oh, I wonder what I'll pick.

This was probably the moment to ask who exactly was willing to trade coin for me. But there was no time for questions as James raised the dagger before him, pointing the tip right at me.

"Did no one warn you not to play with sharp things?" I rested my weight on my hip, voice dripping with Father's inherited sarcasm. "Especially not in such… intimate quarters."

My room was small. It was the only room in our ramshackle house that had its own door. Up in the alcoves of the building, there was hardly room to walk, let alone knock two drunkenly stupid men off their feet. But I supposed if there was a will, there was a way.

"I've had enough of your talk."

"Told you to bag his head!" James added before settling hateful eyes on me. "If you want to play games, then let's play."

I smiled, feigning confidence. "If I'm honest, I've never been one for games."

"Good," James muttered. "Nor have I."

I dodged to the side as James lunged towards me with the dagger outstretched, his footing awkward and rushed. Adjusting my stance, I spun, stepping around the man until I was directly behind him. Foot raised, I kicked into his lower back with all my strength until he staggered forward with arms spinning like a pinwheel.

A hand gripped my shoulder, turning my attention before I could watch James falling onto the bed. Instead, I revelled in his cry of surprise before the wooden frame broke beneath his unwanted weight with a snap.

"Pretty bracelet," the second man said. "Will be a waste where you are going. I'll look after it for you, promise."

Long slender fingers reached for my wrist. I panicked. Throwing my arm back, I tried to get some space between me and the man. Seeing him up close still didn't bring a name to mind. But his demeanour was more… put together than James's. I noted strands of thin, blond hair that haloed his thin face, trying to puzzle the details of him into a picture that I'd recognise. He stood straight, his soft hands telling me that he was no fighter.

"Don't fucking touch it," I snarled. The iron looped bracelet was plain and likely worthless to sell, but to me, it was everything, the most precious item I owned. To hell if this man thought he was taking it.

"Now, now. I promise to treasure it. Until I reach the nearest pawn merchant that is."

I punched him, knuckles connecting perfectly with the soft skin of his exposed throat. The man's eyes bulged in his head, mouth open as he gasped for breath. Not wasting another moment, I threw another fist into his gut, doubling the tall man over. His face then greeted my knee with one sharp knock upwards.

He hit the ground like a sack of shit.

I didn't wait for him to get up. Not as the strong urge to run overwhelmed me, and I moved for the door.

"One more try, lad, and I will cut you from innards to fucking ear!" James was already waiting for me, his thick body blocking me from reaching my only way out. His shout shook the very rafters of the house. And as it settled, I heard another noise. The faint crunching of feet over the stone gravel beyond the front door.

Someone was outside.

Father.

I would've screamed for him to help, but I wasn't one to cry out for such a thing. If I couldn't deal with two crazed drunkards alone, I'd only face the disappointment on Father's face.

So I changed my stance, bending my knees, which clicked from the movement. I tensed the minimal muscles in my stomach and arms, focusing on the man before me. He wobbled slightly, brandishing the dagger as though it was a sword ten times the length. Behind him was the open door, and beyond that, the narrow stairs which led down to the ground floor. I prayed to whichever god would listen that Winston was still sleeping. Alive. Useless, but alive.

Stretching my neck from left to right, I narrowed my focus on him. "Unfortunately, it would seem you'll be short on coin for ale this winter. I do apologise."

James opened his mouth, spit linking rotten teeth. But before he could utter a word, I ran.

With my body lowered, I rammed my shoulder into his protruding stomach, taking the brunt of the impact first. Down we both went, like falling dominos. I was lucky for his size as it cushioned the fall. I lost my bearings as we tumbled. Closing my eyes, all I heard where his agonised cries, audible over the banging as we fell down the darkened stairwell. Now this hurt. As my body smashed into the narrow walls and connected with the sharp edges of the steps, I could only hope the heavy man beneath me took the majority of the impact.

It took seconds, long, painful seconds, to register that we'd come to a stop. My head was spinning violently. I opened my eyes and could hardly focus. An ache sang above my eyebrow. I lifted a finger to the sensitive spot, only to find they came back red and wet.

"Ugh… fuck," I hissed, arms screaming as I pushed myself from the ground.

"James!" the second man shouted from atop the stairs. I looked up at him and saw double. "Are you alright?"

"Get… him," James drawled, moaning as he wriggled on the floor beside me. The thundering footsteps of the second, as he raced down the stairs, encouraged me to get moving. I used my hands to fumble my way in the direction of the front door. I could hardly focus on my footing, only that I needed to get outside.

Whoever was there – my father, a neighbour or passing local – would help me.

My vision doubled as I trudged forward. My shoulder connected with the hallway's wall, knocking a picture from its hook. Bare feet scraped over shattered glass, but on I fought.

Get out. Get out .

Blood pooled over my eye, blinding me. I wiped it away, only smudging it more.

"Get off me, you fool! Get him now!"

"Don't worry. He won't get far."

I glanced back over my shoulder and spied both men fumbling over one another. The thinner man tried to pull James from the ground, but he swatted away all attempts. It was almost comical, if I wasn't bleeding from my head wound. But even through my haze, I wondered why they didn't follow.

I could hardly register how strange that was. Not as pain vibrated around my skull.

The world began to still as I reached the brass handle of the door. And still, their footsteps of chase did not begin. Turning the knob, I pushed my weight against the door and threw it open. I cringed as it banged against the outer wall, half expecting a scolding shout from Father. Even at my twenty-four years of age, he still had control over my childish fear.

The cold rush of nightly breeze dusted over me, cooling the cut above my brow. Winter was most definitely coming, as it always made the later autumn nights sharp with the first inhale.

I stumbled out into the darkness, ready to force my legs into a run. If I left the door open, Winston would surely follow. And the King's Head was not far to reach.

James was right. I didn't get far.

I slammed into a body of darkness. In the dark, it was impossible to see where the hard mass began and ended. I stumbled backwards, stopped only by an arm that reached from the shadows and gripped me.

"What do we have here?" a voice drawled from the shadows.

Squinting, I tried to make sense of what was happening. Then material shifted, a hood lowered, and a face glowered at me with piercing verdant eyes.

The difference between this man and the two others inside was as stark as night and day. He sparked fear inside of me with a single look. There wasn't a need for a dagger to make me stop in my tracks.

It was not the very shadows he wore but armour woven from the blackest leather and cotton. His cloak swished freely in the late autumn winds as though it wanted to show off the silver threading and intricate detailing, the type of fashion we village folk could not dream of owning.

I caught the flash of metal at his waist, distracting me. Behind me, James and his helper were laughing – greedily.

It made sense why they didn't follow me. Because they didn't need to. And the noise I had heard from beyond the window of my room was not Father arriving, but this mysterious figure who had me held in his iron-clad grip.

I tried to pull away, to fight free, but his hold only intensified. Then his voice came again, full of precision and class. He spoke so calmly that, for a moment, I thought I was safe in his hold.

"What's your rush? Do you have somewhere more important to be? Fey scum ."

A shudder sent waves of scratching discomfort beneath my skin as a black-gloved fist came out of nowhere and was thrown towards my face. Before his fist connected, I pinched my eyes closed, as if that would help. A burst of light exploded behind my eyelids, snatching me away from reality in an instant. Those final two words echoed through my mind as I fell into the painless darkness.

Fey scum.