1. Mari

Chapter one

Mari

T here are times during that long stretch of blackness when images and sensations come to the forefront. Sometimes, it ' s a pine forest or the sound of rushing water. What I remember most is complete serenity—a calm I won ' t likely feel again for a long while.

The first feeling I remember is gentle swaying—when I'm back in my body. It is a lulling, comforting motion that rocks me in and out of that black space for what seems like days.

Surrounded by softness and warmed by the sun's rays dancing in and out of the overcast trees. It is so peaceful.

A hard jostling is the first thing that coaxes my heavy lids open. Then, the buzzing of an insect hovering near my face—that noise. I tense up at that sound, my body going rigid. I remember that sound.

I reach and reach, searching for the memories, looking for an explanation for my body's visceral reaction. But I come up short.

Nothing but blank spaces where experiences used to be. Like an imprint.

My eyes flutter.

Wake up . Wake up, I yell to myself, willing my eyes to break open from the haze.

Open, please.

Blurry outlines and harsh white light have me blinking back against the intrusion.

Once I've adjusted, my surroundings look like a warm summer day: sunlight filtered through dark green leaves and the sound of wheels rolling over a dirt path.

The clouds move against the blue sky, and I turn my head, only to realize a soft brown-gray fabric surrounds me, like a field mouse tucked into a nest of wool scraps.

What the fuck is this?I run the course material through my fingers. It's scratchy and soft all at once.

I touch the textured cloth again, allowing the sensation it creates on the pads of my fingers to anchor me, bring me back into my body.

But is this body truly mine? I stretch and flex my tight muscles, but they don't respond as usual. I feel slower, somehow weak, lethargic.

"Woah, now. Easy, beasts," I hear a low, gravelly voice call. A voice that sounds like it's smoked too many cigars and drank too much whiskey.

I rise, bending at the waist, and my vision goes blurry. My head swims like I haven't sat up in days .

My eyes focus just enough to see a form in front of me, seated on a bench and guiding two massive…oxen. Who the hell still uses oxen?

Who is this? How did I get here? What am I going to do? So many questions roll relentlessly through my mind, like the steady battering of a freight train. Think, think, think.

Drugs. The most obvious answer is that I'm drugged. It would explain the black, dreamless sleep and muscle fatigue. The cloud in my thoughts that still seems to hover over me.

He must be the reason for it. Some backwoods creep who drugged all of us, looking for new women to dilute the bloodline. They do some crazy shit in Eastern Oregon.

Where is everyone else? That question frightens me more than the rest. If I'm here, where are my friends? And what's happening to them?

A distant impulse dances in the back of my mind to call out for them. For Yera and Ava. But I choke it back. If I am truly in the situation I think I am, every move needs to be calculated.

Now, a new sensation takes over, surging through my system like a beating drum. Anger.

With each new question, each new revelation, my fists ball, my eyebrows drop, my heartbeat thrums in my veins. Who the fuck is this guy, and what has he done with my friends?

I close my eyes again, fighting back thepurerage that craves violence. That wants to jump this guy and gouge his eyes out. The rage that begs to string him up and torture him for days for drugging us. For kidnapping us. I guess it's adult-napping.

Oh, shut up, Mari, focus.

My only option, currently is getting the drop on this fucker.

He's facing forward, toward a dirt path stretching along the rolling river. This old-ass, rickety cart is noisy enough to muffle sound.

Okay, that's good.

How am I going to take this guy down? I scan the cart. It's just full of what looks like wool. Okay, maybe I can use that.

I gather a small pile of fabric and twist it together to make a small rope. Discreetly, I stretch and bind the cloth into three long, thin strands. When that's finished, I tie the ends to create an anchor for a braid. All the while, I monitor my abductor.

Once I have a long, braided cord, I wrap it around my neck, checking for length, then pull on it as hard as I can, testing for strength.

It slips in my grasp when I pull too hard. The wool has an oily, raw feel. Shit, he'll be able to slip out if I can't take him down before he can fight back.

My heart pounds in a chorus in my chest. I've fought before. Drawn blood. It's not something I seek out, but when necessary to defend myself or my friends, I have no problem with it.

But the stakes have never felt this high.

Analyzing my captor, I take in his sizable stature, broad shoulders, weathered skin, and that voice. The voice of someone hardened, someone savvy. I can't make any mistakes with him.

I creep closer. The rocking of the cart and the soft wool under my feet absorb the sound.

I'm right behind him now, close enough to touch, close enough to maim if I had a knife. If only I had a knife.

The braid sits so tightly in my grasp that my fingernails cut crescents into my palms. I position myself right behind him, lifting the makeshift rope and wrapping it around my hands several times to avoid slipping.

My arms snap down and back, taking the man off-guard.

I pull his head back, close enough to whisper, "I'm going to pop you like a zit, motherfucker."

He's surprised, and I use that to my advantage, watching the flesh on his neck give way to my rope.

"Oh, what the spirits?" His words come out strangled, garbled through the pressure my makeshift rope has on his neck. His arms flail momentarily, but he reaches for the reins and yanks them back, stopping the oxen in their tracks.

The force of it sends me flying over the cart, the bench seat, and onto the ground with a hard thump .

Fuck. I lay on my back, the sun still winking through the trees. I try to breathe in, but the fall has knocked the air out of my lungs. My breath comes in a choked gasp.A line of liquid from my eyes trails down my temple, cutting through the dust stuck to my skin.

Get up, Mari, get the fuck up! I breathe deep, this time filling my lungs with precious air.

Defend yourself.

I spring to my feet, whipping my head in either direction. Where is he?

Footsteps, soft and tentative, move from behind the carriage. I turn to face him. If I'm going to die today, I will die fighting.

He rounds into my vision, hands held up to tame me. Now, I can genuinely take him in—weather-warn everywhere, from the tips of his boots to the end of his nose.

Then there are the ears. I didn't notice them in my haste to strangle the guy, but his earlobes go well past his jacket collar. Did I get those caught in my rope and not notice them? How did I manage that? Foc us, Mari, get out of your head.

I ball my fists at my side and tighten my muscles, a predator ready to strike. He takes another step in my direction, still holding his palms out.

"I mean you no harm, girl," he calls over to me .

"Bullshit. Why was I drugged in the back of your fucking cart?" I scoff at him, taking an intimidating step in his direction.

"I don't know about the drugs; I just know that you landed in my cart three nights ago and have been asleep ever since." He thinks for a moment, then continues. "If I were going to hurt ya, you'd think I would have done it by now."

"How do I know you haven't? As you said, I've been asleep for three days."

He huffs out an exasperated breath."Not to sound crude, but if that were the case—why would I have bothered undressing then re-dressing you?" He has a point there. My black leggings cling to my sweaty skin. But negotiating the ins and outs of my possible sexual assault isn't something I'm willing to indulge in.

He just wants to get me back so he can tie me up. Maybe he likes a screamer; he likes a challenge. Fury burns through my veins.

I'm going to enjoy taking this fucker out.

"Where are my friends?" I say, stepping to the left, forcing him to turn and watch me.

"I have no idea; you just landed in my cart." He holds his hands out in compliance, palms facing me.Yellowed from callouses.

I round again. "Admit it, you sick fuck. You have them tied up somewhere, and that's where you were taking me. You fucking Eastern Oregon men's rights activist creep." I step toward him, and he flinches back. I wasn't expecting that reaction.

"Look, I don't understand any of that last sentence. I have done nothing to you and do not know where your friends are. Like I said, you landed on my cart and have been passed out ever since. I don't know what else to tell you. That's the truth."

"What did you mean by ‘landed?' You keep using that word, as if I fell from the sky," I ask, frustrated and confused, remembering that he used that word. Not "picked up" or "found."

"You fell from…spirits knows where and crashed into the back of my cart… like the sky spit you out," he says with a tinge of aggravation.

"And you didn't think to wake me up?" I ask incredulously. This story is beyond crazy.

"I tried many times, but The Black had you. The only cure for it is time."

What the fuck is "The Black?" This guy makes no sense; none of this makes sense.

There it is again, a haze that dances over my vision, the side effects of the drugs he gave me still working their way through my system. This is too confusing. I let instinct take over.

I back up slowly, lengthening the distance between us. I'm still in my hiking clothes, spandex clinging to my skin—a good escape outfit. He is in bulky boots, thick pants, and a heavy brown jacket. It's not the optimal clothing for a chase, so I have the advantage.

I've added about ten more feet between us, deciding now is as good a time as any.

I bolt, flinging my body into the trees lining the trail. My feet beat hard on the rocky ground, and trees and shrubs pass by me like I'm moving at light speed.

My long, athletic build cuts through the woods like Diana herself, and a sense of power runs through me. I duck and dodge over boulders and under branches. I won. He won't get me, won't touch me.There is no fucking way he keeps up.

A wave of reassurance rushes over me. It reminds me how capable I truly am—how strong, how fast, how— Oh, shit. I can't move.