Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

What I’d felt the last time I’d seen him surged through me.

A warning.

A reckoning.

A promise of what was to come.

I hadn’t understood what that meant then and I still didn’t, but it was him.

Shock held me immobile. I couldn’t believe it even though I’d always known I’d see him again. I’d expected, practically waited for his return, but I still wasn’t prepared to find myself standing above him.

Suddenly I thought of the premonition. He’s coming. I’d been wrong. It had nothing to do with the Commander of the Iron Knights.

It had been about him.

A high-pitched giggle parted my lips, shocking me. I smacked my hand over my mouth, body tensing.

He didn’t move.

Suddenly I wondered if this moment was why I’d felt what I had all those years ago in Union City. That maybe it had been a warning that one day our paths would cross, and he would need my help.

Like he had helped Grady and me that night.

I owed him.

But he was a Hyhborn lord— a Deminyen— and all I could think of was that damn garter snake.

Returning to the table, I swallowed. “Please . . . please don’t hurt me.”

I gripped the top of the lunea spike, gasping. The stone was warm. Hot. I closed my eyes, then pulled. The spike didn’t budge.

“Oh, come on,” I muttered, prying open an eye. I placed my hand on his chest, beside the wound. His skin . . . it was unnaturally hard, but I felt and heard nothing. I didn’t know if that was because of what he was or because my thoughts were just too chaotic for my senses to kick in, but there was a far bigger concern than potentially discovering whether I could read a Hyhborn like I could a mortal or if they would be like a caelestia.

What if I couldn’t get the stakes out?

Taking another breath, I closed my eyes and yanked again. The wet sound of the lunea slipping, tearing back through his flesh, turned my stomach. I choked on a gag as it came free. Dropping the stake to the straw-strewn floor below, I opened one eye and then the other. The jagged skin of the hole in his chest . . . smoked.

All right, I wasn’t going to think about that. My hand shook as I reached for the spike in his left thigh.

A thud from somewhere outside the stall jerked my head around. My stomach dropped. Shit. Making sure the hood of my cloak was still up, I crept back to the edge of the stall and waited for another sound. When I didn’t hear anything, I stepped into the aisle. The barn doors remained closed. The sound had likely been an animal running about. Probably a rat. A large one. I’d seen some the size of small dogs.

Shuddering, I started to step back—

A rush of air stirred the edges of my cloak. I went completely still, holding my breath. Shivery awareness broke out across the nape of my neck. Tiny hairs rose there and along my arms. The atmosphere of the barn shifted, thickened. Slowly, I turned.

Four lunea spikes remained, glistening with bright red blood, embedded deep in the table— the otherwise empty table.

The gas lamp went out, plunging the stall and the barn into utter, absolute darkness.

Instinct, that fickle bitch that had led me here, was telling me something else now. To move. To get the hell out. To run.

I made it a step before a body crashed into mine, taking me down. Air punched out of my lungs as I hit the hay-strewn floor hard. What Grady had shown me about how to defend myself over the years— what I’d had to learn the hard way— propelled my body into action. My fingers scraped against the floor as I lifted my hips, attempting to throw the heavy weight off me.

The Hyhborn lord pressed me into the dust and dirt as the sound rumbling out of him, and simultaneously through me, turned my blood cold. The growl was something akin to that of an animal— a very angry, very wild animal. Every muscle in my body locked up. In those brief seconds, I realized he might not be able to recognize me— or be able to even see me in the condition that he was in.

“Leaving so soon?” he snarled. “Just . . . as the fun begins? I don’t think so.”

He moved so fast— everything happened so fast, giving me no time to react. He jerked me off the floor. I stumbled, hitting the edge of the table. Buckets rattled, tipping over. I jumped away from the falling buckets. My booted feet slipped out from underneath me. I went down again, cracking my knees off the floor— the blood-covered floor— and it . . . oh no, it was still warm. I could feel it soaking my knees, coating my palms. I gasped, starting to push up.

“You wanted . . . my blood so badly,” he seethed, his voice gravelly and nothing like I’d remembered it sounding. “Now you . . . you will drown in it.”

My startled cry was ended by the hand that clamped down on my throat, allowing only the thinnest breath to pass. He hauled me to the side like I was nothing more than a rag doll. Panic exploded from deep within as I grabbed his hand and shoved my elbow back into his stomach. Pain exploded along my arm as I met hard, unyielding flesh. I tried to pry his fingers loose, but they didn’t budge as he dragged me across the floor. Straw dug into my hip as my arm banged into one of the still-standing buckets. Horror sank its claws into me. He fully intended to do as he threatened— drown me in his blood.

Tiny bursts of white exploded behind my eyes. There wasn’t enough air. My chest hurt as I beat on his arm, getting nowhere. I dug at his grip, legs thrashing as I struggled to free myself, able to force only one word free. “Please.”

The Hyhborn lord halted, his fingers still pressing into my throat. Then I was suddenly yanked to my feet. Pressure suddenly left my throat. Air poured in, and I gulped it, choking and gagging as my legs gave out.

I didn’t hit the ground this time.

The Hyhborn caught me at the waist, his arm tightening. He went completely still against me.

“Please,” I repeated, my heart thundering out of control. “I came to help you.”

“You’re . . . claiming you had . . . nothing to do with this?” he demanded.

“I . . . I didn’t.”

“Bullshit.” That one word brushed up against my cheek.

“I overheard . . . what was done being talked about.” I pushed against his chest, needing space— needing more air and light. He didn’t budge. Not even an inch. Whatever basic methods of defending myself I knew wouldn’t help against a Hyhborn. He held me like I was nothing more than a flailing kitten. “I was . . . I was trying to help.” I swallowed, wincing at the rawness as I lifted my hands from his chest. They shook as I held them in the small space between us. “I . . . I swear. They . . . they put Fool’s Parsley in something given to you— ”

Another growl rumbled out of him.

“I swear. I only came to help,” I whispered while my pulse thundered out of control. I no longer felt his breath against my cheek. Another moment passed and then the gas lamp flicked on, causing me to flinch. The dim glow sliced through the unnatural darkness. I blinked until my surroundings came into view.

I was staring at the Hyhborn’s chest— at the ragged hole that seeped blood and still smoked. . . .

He grabbed the back of my hood with his other hand, ripping it down. Hunks of damp hair shielded his face as he stared down at me.

Did he recognize me? That seemed improbable given that I looked nothing like I had more than a decade ago.

The Lord suddenly swayed. In the next heartbeat, he went down on his knees, taking me with him, except I landed on my ass before him. The gas lamp sputtered weakly, before staying on.

I started to scoot back, but stopped as he fell forward, onto his fists. Only the curve of his chin and one side of his lips were visible. His shoulders were moving now with rapid breaths.

“Why?” Each breath he took sounded pained. “Why would . . . you . . . help me?”

“I don’t know.” I pulled my legs away from him. “I just didn’t think what they were doing was right, and I needed to help.”

He said something too low for me to really hear. My gaze swept over what I could see of his bent body. He was breathing too hard, too fast. Concern rippled through me. “I didn’t know what condition you’d be in when I came to help.” I glanced at the red, seeping wound along his arm. He had . . . he’d pulled his limbs free from the spikes. “I removed the spike from your chest.”

There was no response.

“My lord?” I whispered, the concern growing into full-blown anxiety.

Silence.

“Are you all right?” I cringed the moment the question left my mouth. Of course he wasn’t all right. He’d just been drugged, beaten, and impaled to a table.

Biting down on my lip, I leaned forward as I lifted my hands. Carefully, I brushed the hair back from his face—

I gasped, jerking in horror. The striking lines of his face were contorted in pain. His eyes were open— at least that was what I thought, but I couldn’t be sure, because what I saw was just pink, raw, and seeping flesh where eyes should be.

“They took them,” he breathed.

A frayed sort of sound choked me as I stared at him, unable to comprehend how that could be done to anyone. How someone could inflict such damage, such pain. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my own eyes stinging. “I’m so sorry— ”

“Stop,” he grunted, rocking back, out of my reach. “You have . . . nothing to apologize for if you . . . didn’t do this.”

A hole opened up in my own chest. “I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be. They’re already growing back.” Another shudder went through him. “Regenerating.”

I lowered my hands to my lap. “That’s . . . that’s reassuring.” I swallowed, wincing at the dull ache in my throat. “I think.”

He made a sound I thought might be a laugh, but then fell silent, his breathing slowing.

I glanced at the opening to the stall. “We should— ”

“Are you hurt?” he barked.

I gave a little jump. “W-What?”

That deep, skin-chilling sound rumbled from him again. “Did I hurt you? When I grabbed you?”

“No,” I whispered.

His head tilted up, and a few strands of hair fell to the side, revealing just the height of one sharp cheekbone and one eye that no longer looked as raw and mangled. “You lie.”

“N-No, I don’t.”

“You’re rubbing your throat. The same throat I was just seconds away from crushing.”

My fingers stilled. His reminder was unnecessary, but could he see now? I dropped my hand.

Several more moments passed. Neither of us moved or spoke, and I needed to get moving. So did he. I peeked at the door again.

“I’m sorry.”

A jolt ran through me as my gaze flew back to him.

“When I came to, I . . . just reacted,” he continued gruffly, his hands falling to his thighs. “I wasn’t in my right mind. Thought . . . you had . . . something to do with this.”

I stared at him, intuition silent, as it normally was when it came to Hyhborn, but his apology sounded genuine.

The creak of rusty hinges came from the front of the barn, jerking my attention to the opening. My stomach lurched. That was likely not a rat. Dread surged through me. No one could see me here, with him.

“Stay here,” I whispered, pushing off the floor as the Lord slowly turned at the waist, to the opening of the stall.

As I hurried past him, I didn’t know what I was going to do or say if someone had entered, but as powerful as any Hyhborn lord was, he was gravely wounded. He was likely going to be of little help.

I stepped into the center aisle, my hands trembling. One barn door was half open. I saw nothing as I crept forward, lifting my hood. Wind could’ve picked up outside, blowing the door open. That was completely possible. I neared the two front stalls, muscles beginning to relax. It had to be—

The shadow darted out of the left stall. I lurched back, but wasn’t quick enough. A hand clamped down on my arm, giving it a painful jerk.

“What are you doing in here?”

The gasp of pain turned to one of recognition as I reached back, grabbing his arm. I knew this voice. It was Weber, one of the bakery workers in town, who always flirted with the paramours when he brought fresh pastries that Claude loved— ones he swore no one else could make as well. He was a large man— burly, knuckles bruised, always swollen from the boxing matches held in one of the gambling dens by the wharf.

His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. “Tell me.”

“You’re hurting me,” I rasped.

“Girl, I’m gonna do worse than that if you don’t answer me.” Weber dragged me farther into the stall, angling me away from the entrance as he folded his other arm around my neck. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

The smell of sweat and cane sugar swamped me as I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I . . . I was out for a walk— ”

“Come on now.” Spittle sprayed my cheek as Weber bent his head. “You’re going to have to— Wait. Is that blood on you?”

“I fell,” I said in a rush. “That’s why— ”

“Bullshit. What did you do in here?” he hissed, suddenly going still behind me.

“I— ”

“Quiet.” His head jerked to the side.

I felt what he heard. The sudden unnatural stillness of the barn— of the air thickening and charging. Then I heard it. The soft, nearly silent footfall. My entire body went rigid. Weber spun us around. The aisle was empty. Of course it was. The Lord could barely stand, had nearly been drained of all his blood, and was possibly still missing at least one eye.

“Is that Hyhborn blood on you?” Weber demanded, taking a step back. “Did you free that thing?”

Before I could answer, he yanked down my hood and cursed. “For fuck’s sake, you’re one of the Baron’s bitches.”

“I’m— Oh, fuck it.” Giving up on lying, I slammed my arm back. This time I didn’t hit hard flesh as I shoved my elbow into Weber’s stomach with enough force that his arms loosened with a curse of pain. Spinning around, I thrust my knee up, into his groin.

“Bitch,” Weber gasped, doubling over.

I darted around him, but Weber lurched forward. He caught the back of my cloak, throwing me to the floor like I was nothing more than a sack of trash. I landed on my knees for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Stay there,” he spat, reaching around to his back. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

In the streak of moonlight, I saw the flash of a milky-white blade— a lunea dagger held in his hand. I rose as Weber started for the aisle, snapping forward and grabbing the sleeve of the arm wielding the blade.

The baker cocked his arm, catching me in the face. Pain burst along my nose as I staggered sideways, falling into the wall. Wood groaned under the impact as I lifted my hand to my nose. Wet warmth coated my fingers.

Blood.

My blood.

Tiny hairs rose all over my body as my gaze locked on to his. My thoughts quieted, and it . . . it happened. I connected with him, and my intuition came alive, showing me the future— the excruciating crack of bone in my right arm, then my left. The phantom pain traveled to my throat. I felt it all.

His death.

And I . . . I smiled.

“Stupid bitch, you stay there and stay quiet. You’ve already got a steep price to pay. Don’t make it— ” His words ended in a choked gasp.

And my breath stalled in my chest.

The Hyhborn lord stood there, moonlight slicing over his bowed head and bloodied chest. He looked like an avenging spirit conjured from the depths of nightmares as he held the baker by the throat with one hand and the wrist with another.

“Attempting to capture . . . me was a bad choice to . . . make.” His voice was so soft yet so cold, it sent a chill of dread down my spine. “But striking her?”

My blood-tinged lips parted as the Lord lifted the mortal off the floor, unperturbed as Weber beat at the arm holding him up.

“That was a fatal mistake,” the Hyhborn snarled.

Weber sputtered, eyes bulging.

The Hyhborn’s head tilted, sending several strands of hair sliding back. The moonlight cut over his profile, glancing over his mouth. His smile was as bloody as mine had been. He twisted Weber’s arm sharply.

The crack of the baker’s bone was like thunder. The dagger landed with a thud. His wheezy whimper gave way to a smothered, keening wail.

“I . . . remember you.” The Lord’s head straightened. “You were the one . . . who jumped me outside the tavern.” He reached across, grasping Weber’s other arm. “You’re the one . . . who put a spike . . . in my chest.”

I pressed back against the wall at the snap of the second bone, my hand falling from my bloodied nose.

“And you laughed while doing it.” The Lord suddenly jerked his hand back—

I turned away but I still heard the sickening crunch— still saw the glossy blue-white of cartilage of Weber’s windpipe. I tried not to see even though I already had, seconds ago.

“And that will not be a sound you make again.” The Lord tossed the clump of ruined tissue and flesh aside. He dropped the baker.

Bile climbing up my throat, I turned and looked to where Weber lay, a twitching, spasming heap of man. I’d seen my fair share of death. In the streets and in the orphanages as a kid, even long before my Hyhborn lord had come to Union City. I’d seen death so many times, in my mind and before me— those who passed due to ailments that had festered and grown inside them, and those who passed due to the evils that had grown inside of others. I’d seen so much death that I would think I’d have grown used to it by now, and maybe in a little way I had, because I wasn’t screaming or shaking. But it was still a shock. A loss, even if Weber had it coming, but I . . .

I had never smiled at it before.

“Your intervention . . . was unnecessary,” the Lord said, drawing my gaze to him. Kneeling, he wiped the gore from his hand on Weber’s shirt. He turned his head toward me, and I thought I could see the beginning of an actual eye in the right socket. “You should’ve . . . stayed back.”

It took me a moment to find words. “You were injured. You’re still injured.” And he was. His chest was moving in short, shallow pants. Even in the moonlight, I could see that his skin had lost a lot of its color. The violence had cost him.

“And you are . . . a mortal barely able to defend yourself . . . or another.” He rose, his movements shaky. “But you’re brave— braver than . . . many stronger than you.”

A laugh rattled out of me. “I’m not brave.”

“Then what . . . do you call your actions tonight?”

“Foolish.”

“Well, there is such a thing as foolish bravery,” he said, sighing as he moved toward me. “He . . . struck you.”

I inched to the side, away from him. “I’m fine.”

The Hyhborn lord halted.

“My nose isn’t even bleeding anymore,” I rambled. “It was barely a hit.”

A moment of silence passed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His shoulders tensed. “I . . . I won’t hurt you again.”

At least he had the self-awareness to realize that he had, even if his actions had been accidental.

“You knew . . . the man?” He dragged a hand up his face, through his hair.

“Yes. He worked at the bakery.”

“He was . . . waiting around outside when I left the tavern. He was with . . . two others. The one . . . at the tavern . . . and another who was there drinking.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. He was speaking of Porter and likely Mickie.

“They’ve done this before,” he continued, voice becoming hoarse.

I shuddered. For them to know what Fool’s Parsley would do to a Hyhborn and to have the lunea blades, they’d probably done this more than once.

He then looked down at himself, pressing his finger just below the wound on his chest.

“Does it hurt?” I blurted out yet another incredibly pointless question.

His head lifted, and now all I saw was the straight line of his nose. “It feels like a . . . hole was carved . . . through my chest cavity.”

Bile rose. “I’m sorry.”

The Lord went still again. “You do that a lot? Apologizing . . . for something you’ve had nothing to do with.”

“I’m empathizing,” I told him. “You didn’t do anything to deserve that, right? You were just at the tavern, for . . . for whatever reason. That is all. No one deserves what was done to you.”

“Including a Hyhborn?”

“Yes.”

He made a noise that sounded like a dry laugh.

I took a small breath. “I need to leave. So do you. The others involved in this will come back.”

“And they will die too.” He turned, swaying.

My heart lurched with alarm. “My lord?”

“I need . . . your help. Again.” A ragged breath left him. “I need to clean up. The lunea— it contaminates the body. It’s in my blood and sweat, and the Fool’s Parsley . . . is making it hard to . . . flush it out. I need to bathe. I need water. If not, I won’t be able to heal completely. I’ll pass out again.”

I looked around. There was no water here, surely not enough to bathe him or for him to actually ingest.

Tension poured into my muscles as I stared at him. The logical part of my brain was demanding I tell him that I could be of no more help, that I wished him well, and then get as far away as I could. But the other part, the one that I was born with and that always, always won over anything my mind was telling me, demanded I do the exact opposite of what was smart and reasonable.

But it was more than my intuition. It was also because it was him. My Hyhborn lord— no, he wasn’t mine. I needed to stop with that.

I looked to the door and then to Weber, hands closing at my sides. “Can you walk?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. “Yes.”

“Good,” I whispered, taking a step toward him. I spotted the milky-white blade in the moonlight. Bending, I picked it up and glanced beyond him, to the darkened aisle. “Stay here. For real this time.”

The Lord didn’t answer as I inched past him and hurried back to the stall he’d been held in. The gas lamp was still on. I walked forward, hand tightening around the lunea blade as I kicked over the buckets of blood.