Chapter 20

Whatever alcohol they're serving from the rustic barrels is cheap and poor quality. I grimace as the warm, amber liquid slides down my throat and burns my chest, its bitter aftertaste souring my mouth.

"This is putrid," Zorina says, choking down the remainder of her drink.

I smack my lips, then shoot down the rest. If I'm to bear witness to the activities present here tonight, I'm going to need it. I shrug my shoulders. "It's free."

I don't know what business Sin could possibly have to attend to this far south, or at this hour, but he disappeared as promised. Something tells me this many transcendents gathered together, let alone engaging in primal acts, makes the Black Art uncomfortable. Good.

Women scantily dressed, or some not dressed at all, sway their hips in circular motions in time with the beating drums. They dance through the clearing, taking in the admiring glances from onlookers, as they look for a suitable mate for the evening.

I remarked to Sin that it wouldn't surprise me if he bedded a woman here tonight that he planned on waging war against tomorrow, but I didn't actually believe my words. Sin isn't decent by any means, but I don't peg him as that kind of monster. And perhaps that is why he took off, so he wouldn't be approached by a horde of women interested in lying with him tonight. He would have no trouble finding many partners. At least not with his normal appearance, but not even Cassius's potion could disguise the sheer confidence that drips from Sin like rain from swollen clouds.

The Black Art is gorgeous and he knows it.

An image of Sin with a pair of women's legs wrapped around his bare hips flashes in my mind, and a blush creeps into my cheeks again. I blow out a breath. Why am I thinking about this? I hate the man. But the thought of him bedding another woman in these woods, pinning her between a tree and the sheer mass of his body, continues to plague my mind.

It must be the cheap whiskey.

Zorina and I make way through the mob of drunken, stumbling party-goers. My eyes sweep across the large group gathered at a log throwing station, half expecting—and hoping—to see Eldridge there. Chucking heavy pieces of wood around like they weigh no more than winter's decrepit leaves is one of his favorite activities, and my face falls slightly when I don't spy the giant, red-headed male in the group. A quick look tells me he's not amongst the group of men wrestling each other either, though I spy Theon going round and round with another large male around his size.

Ahead of us, teams line up on either side of a giant rope used for tug-of-war. Whichever team is pulled off their feet will find themselves spiraling into the cold mud. We stop and watch two teams of six try yanking the rope to their respective sides—

A symphony of howls jerks my attention to the right. Lining up along the perimeter of the clearing, their heads held high in triumph, are the transcendents that have shifted into their alternate forms for the night. Some black, others brown, and even a few sport white and sandy colored coats. A few of their heads resemble a wolf's, others more like a bear, and a few appear more feline than anything. Despite their varied head shapes, each possesses a set of lethal, pointed teeth, vivid glowing eyes, and stands as tall as a small horse.

"You can go ahead and shift," I tell Zorina, noticing she's started fidgeting since laying eyes on the pack.

She looks at me apologetically, despite having nothing to apologize for.

"I mean it, go on," I urge her. "I'll be fine. Maybe I'll go chuck a log or beat my fists against my chest. Who knows what trouble I'll get into—the options are endless." I wink at her and jerk my chin towards the transcendents at the perimeter of the clearing. Each year, those that wish to participate in the annual hunt line up along the edge of the woods, stretching their limbs and shaking out their coats as they wait for the boars to be released. "Go eat a pig or something."

She rolls her rounded eyes but begins unfastening the buttons of her sage tunic, and with a final glance in my direction to ensure I'm truly okay with us parting ways, she jogs towards the others. Leaving me alone. Minus the hundreds of too-large, sweating men and scantily clad women running their hands over the curves of their bodies as they embrace their peak femininity.

In transcendent culture, it is normal for the women to seek out a mate first. And I would be thick in the head to not recognize that is likely why Eldridge has only ever hinted at the feelings he may harbor towards me. Because I haven't told him how I feel first, and in his culture, that means I'm not interested.

But I'm not a transcendent. And I don't even know how I feel about him.

The only thing I'm certain about right now is that I need another drink.

I pour myself another two knuckles of the bad spirit and throw it down my gullet. And another.

A dense fog invades my mind, and my sour mood begins to sweeten as I join a group of dancing women. I make eye contact with a few of them that offer encouraging smiles, and I lean my head back, exposing my neck to the gods above and relishing in the faint mist now spritzing from the nighttime sky. My hips sway on their own, as if they think for themselves now, the cheap alcohol having severed the tie between my ability to think rationally and the need for something to fill the sudden emptiness between my thighs. Liquor always did leave me riddled with desire.

It was a bad idea to drink alone, but fuck it. Who knows how many days I have left in this life, and I refuse to spend them all chained to Sin with his stupid, invisible tether, and through the not so invisible heart inked on my hip.

My hand reaches up and caresses the spot he bit, the skin there now fully healed. I should have done a lot worse than slap him. Arrogant bastard.Who goes around biting people, honestly?

A bare-chested man with a head of golden hair and large brown eyes catches my attention from his perch next to the nearby fire pit. He watches me with approval, and judging by his tented pants, that glaze in his eyes is pure lust. Not really my type, but if Eldridge is off somewhere in those woods, tongue dee—

I refuse to finish the thought. I do not care where Eldridge is, or who he's with. Just as he shouldn't care that I'm now directing my full attention on the blonde man whose hand now openly rubs the crotch of his tightening pants while not breaking eye contact. Modesty has no place at the Rut. I suck in my bottom lip and bat my eyelashes in his direction—come and get it, mister beastly man.

An arm wraps around my waist and pulls me against a hard mass, shattering the drunken moment I was sharing with the less than handsome stranger. I whip towards the bearer of the mystery arm, ready to bark an obscenity, but the warning flashing in his stark green eyes halts the words deep in my throat.

"We need to go," Sin says to me. His tone is restrained, but the tightness of his jaw tells me he's holding back the urge to throw me over his shoulder and haul me out of here.

And being the drunken, stubborn ass that I am, I untangle myself from his arm and plant my feet. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I'm not asking, Wren." Angrier now.

"And I'm not leaving. In fact, you rudely interrupted me as I was about to approach that handsome gentleman over there and ask if he wanted to dance," I say matter-of-factly, lazily pointing in his direction.

Sin's eyes dart to the blonde man now staring at both of us for a brief second before dropping back to mine and narrowing. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough," I say and then double over as laughter shakes my entire body.

I think I hear him swear under his breath, but I can't make it out over my chuckling.

He sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. He's so sexy when he does that. Gah, stop it, Wren. Definitely too much to drink.

"Now that I know you went and got yourself inebriated, we really need to get out of here."

"Why, so you can bite me some more? You sick fuck—is that why you ran off? So you could rub your cock while you thought about carving your initials into my forehead or something?"

I'm never drinking again. Especially not liquor meant for transcendents on their rowdiest night of the year. Sin arches an eyebrow, and for a second, I think I actually left him too stunned to speak before the reality of whatever situation we're apparently experiencing sinks back in and his usual scowl settles on his face. He reaches for my hand, but I yank it out of reach at the last second. I think I utter something about him being too slow, but then suddenly, my arm is being squeezed in his too-large hand, my reflexes severely hindered by the drink.

"Walk with me, or I'm carrying you out of here like a child," he warns, his voice low and threatening.

Before I can make some remark daring him to try it, a slow clapping behind me draws my attention. A man with a scruffy beard and a matching head of dark brown hair approaches, a woman with a long braid at his side. Wait.

I know her.

My eyes narrow into slits, and my fingernails dig into my palms.

Margalo.

I'd recognize that nasty woman anywhere, though she looks slightly different when she's not jerking me around by a collar. They won't recognize me or Sin thanks to Cassius's potion, which I am now hoping more than ever holds up. The clapping comes from the man at her side, and a small group of the transcendents who were partying just moments ago begin to close in on us. My eyes zero in on the Legion emblem pinned to his leather tunic, and by the pair's growing audience, the others noticed too.

He stops clapping and spreads his arms out in front of him, gesturing to the celebration.

"Quite the turn-out this year, friends." He smiles widely, and Margalo mirrors him, but her grin doesn't meet her wicked eyes.

"Legion are no friend of ours," a woman behind me spits in their direction.

The man's mouth falls open in an exaggerated "o," and he clasps his hands together in front of him. "Hey, hey, hey, we don't want any trouble, folks. We're simply here to burn off some steam like the rest of you. I'm Marcus—and this is Margalo." The edge to his words suggests trouble is exactly what they're looking for.

Legion may be supplemented with a large number of transcendents in their army, but they don't speak for the race as a whole. Most shifters despise Legion—believing they are to blame for the kingdom's growing prejudices against their kind. And they're probably not wrong to think that. Ephraim may have started the fight with shifter-kind, but Legion's response certainly escalated it. I have a never-ending list of choice words to label Legion as, but cowardly is not one of them. They are bold to show their faces at the Rut.

Or just plain stupid.

Sin's hand drops to my waist as if holding me in place at his side. This is why he wanted us out of here. He must have seen Legion approach from wherever he was off hiding. They couldn't have been here for very long given they're just now being noticed by the attendees, which means Sin must have had eyes on this place the entire time.

Eyes on me.

"Don't tell me you don't have room for a few more. Me and my friends back there," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder to the woods behind him, "would love to have a little fun tonight."

Maybe it's the alcohol in my system, or maybe it's the unbridled rage of knowing they have my sister that compels my feet forward, but I take a step in their direction, crossing my arms over my chest. "Sorry, we don't mingle with abductors and rapists here. The only way either of you are having any fun tonight is if both of you go fuck yourselves." I squint my eyes in a smile that's all teeth.

Sin is at my side instantly, his hand on my back again, and this time, his fingers curl around my waist, pinning me in place. He squeezes my side in warning, reminding me we both have parts to play tonight.

Marcus's eyes drop to mine, his attention now wholly fixed on my altered face. And at this point, I don't even care if the illusion magic fails. I'd gladly let him see my face before I rip his to shreds.

"I see the Rut's affecting us all in stride this year," he says, licking his bottom lip as he drags his gaze down my neck and over my feminine curves. I swear I hear a faint growl from Sin's chest, but I tune him out, my attention solely on the Legion scum in front of me.

I slap my hand to my chest as I lean forward with laughter. "Or maybe I just don't like you."

Margalo squares her shoulders to mine, but a flicker of amusement flashes on the male's face. He thinks I'm challenging him.

"Oh, I bet we can change that by morning," Marcus says, his eyes dropping to my mouth for a moment before burning into my own again.

I feign a yawn as if the conversation now bores me. "I prefer to watch the stars without the company of pigs, thank you."

"Spend the night with me, and I'll have you seeing more than stars, honey."

My hand flies out in front of me, my index finger pointed at his leather clad chest, but I don't have time to spew my remark before Sin pushes me behind him, putting himself between me and Marcus.

"She's claimed," Sin growls the word, and I swear the temperature around us drops a few degrees.

No one claims me, but I can nearly feel the wrath emanating from the Black Art and decide to keep my mouth shut. Now is not the time to dispute him. Not in front of them.

Marcus takes a step towards him. Sin doesn't give an inch, but his hand curls into a fist at his side. He won't use magic here, not with his fa?ade in place, but I don't doubt his hands are any less dangerous. I crane my neck to see around Sin's body. All trace of amusement has vanished from Marcus's face, and Margalo fixes Sin with the permanent scowl on her face.

Marcus licks his lips then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why don't we let the girl decide what she wants?"

"She is a lady, and you will treat her as such. And I think she's made it more than clear she's not interested in—"

"A lady? Is that what we're calling the whores now? I'll let you in on a secret, bud. Whores don't care who they're choking on so long as there's coin on the ta—"

Sin's fist connects with his face, an audible crunch, and Marcus's hand flies to cover his mouth and chin. When he lowers it, blood spritzes from his now crooked nose.

My mouth goes dry, desire blooming on my tongue, my eyes tracking the crimson rivulets dripping over his lips. I sink my feet into the ground, holding myself in place and biting back the urge to bury my teeth in Marcus's now red-stained neck.

Sin wraps a bronzed hand around his throat, and Margalo tries inserting herself between them, shouting threats at Sin and pushing against him, but it's useless. She might as well be chucking flower petals at Sin for all the harm she's doing to him. The others around us crowd in farther, preparing to fight should any of their Legion friends be watching from the trees.

I watch as Sin's grip tightens on his throat, almost lifting him off the ground, his next words laced with fury. "The only thing my lady will be choking on are your innards when I feed them to her."

He lets go of Marcus and takes a few steps back, shaking the blood from the hand he hit him with. Marcus presses his hand to his nose and pulls it away, noting the blood now coating his fingertips. Margalo clings to her friend, trying to force him to look at her, but he shoves her out of the way as he unknowingly approaches the Black Art. Never taking his eyes off them, Sin reaches behind himself and pushes me farther back. But unlike how Marcus thrusted Margalo away from him to get her out of his path, Sin shoves me to put distance between myself and the fight about to commence.

Thunder claps around us.

Except… it's not thunder. Eldridge, barreling through the crowd, tackles Marcus, taking them both to the ground. Margalo bares her teeth and pounds her small fists into Eldridge's back, inciting the other shifters to join in. One restrains Margalo with ease, while a few others work to separate Eldridge and the Legion fuckhead.

Blood sprays onto the grass, painting the tips the color of murder, and I wet my lips in instinct. The glamour may alter my appearance, but I don't know if it does anything to stop my faux blue irises from glowing as the sweet smell of their juices beckons for my darkness to come out and play.

Too focused on quelling the sudden thirst in my throat, I don't see as Sin turns and returns to my side until his lips are brushing the top of my ear through my hair. "Time to go, little witch."

The others are still struggling to pry Eldridge off Marcus, whose face now appears as if he devoured a rhubarb pie with his hands bound behind his back. Eldridge can hold his own with ease, but my eyes dart to the darkened woods in the distance. The same forest Zorina disappeared into.

"I can't leave my sister. Not if there's a chance there's Legion soldiers out there."

"There's not. He only said that to prevent that from happening," Sin nods towards the pummeling taking place behind me.

"You're just saying that so I leave with y—Put. Me. Down."

Sin sweeps my legs out from under me and heaves me over his shoulder as if I was no more than a bag of flour.

I am not a bag of flour.

I smash my fists against his back like hammers, willing my magic to singe his skin, forcing him to drop me, but he continues walking, unphased. And then I feel it. The slight hum buzzing around him—he shrouded himself with a protective ward the second he picked me off the ground.

"I swear to the gods, you put me down right now or I am frying your ass the second you let me go."

Sin ignores my protests and acts as if my fists now wailing into his back are no more than drops of rain hitting his shirt, but I know that's not true. I may not be a large woman, but being punched repeatedly in the same spot has to hurt.

When we're back at the horses, he sets me on my feet and immediately holds up his hand as if to caution me from sending my fist flying into his face.

"There was blood being shed. I couldn't risk you losing control and giving away who you are. I needed to get you out of there."

My face twists into a scowl. "You listen to me. You don't know a damn thing about me or what I can and cannot control. I don't need you rushing in every time someone gets a damn papercut, and I certainly don't need you fighting my battles for me. That's not the first time a man has made a crude remark in my direction, and it won't be the last. But it will be the last time you ever stand between me and them like some godsdamned savior."

He throws his hand through his hair, sending it rippling out behind him and falling in uneven layers.

I take a step towards him and jab my finger into his stupid, hard chest. "And whatever nonsense you were spewing about claiming me, you can forget that too."

Sin grabs my hand and lowers it to my side, gently but with enough force I can't resist. "Whether you care to admit it to yourself or not, the second I put that heart on your pretty hip, you became mine. And I do not take kindly to others touching my things."

"I am not a thing, Singard."

"You are what I say you are," he spits, heat now flaring in his irises.

The sudden shift in his tone unsettles me, and I instantly forget whatever I was about to say. Tears burn in my eyes, and I look away. They're not tears of sadness, and I don't want him thinking his words have that effect on me. No. They're tears of rage. And as one leaps from my eye, I vow to myself that I will find a path to freedom. Never again will I be reduced to what someone else labels me as.

I untether my horse from the post and heave my leg over her as I settle into the saddle. Forcing myself to look back at Sin, I shake my head, and in a tone that could bring death to her knees, I say, "Wren. My name is Wren."

And with that, I urge my mare into a gallop, and we storm back up the hill.

He doesn't follow.