Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

NATALIE

Brigid brings me to a large hall that resembles nothing so much as a college cafeteria. Hand-carved wooden tables and chairs of various sizes are clustered in the middle, and along the walls are what look to be five different food stations. From afar, it seems like there's whatever the goblin equivalent of a salad bar is—I see lots of roots and mushrooms—and another station seems to have stew. I think there's a dessert bar, and I can't make out the others.

The tables are all unoccupied, but there's a goblin at each food station, manning the offerings. Each area appears to have sort of a grill built into the rock, with a low flame burning to cook the meals. The odd thing is, there's absolutely no aroma in the room. Not of food, not the dankness of the cavern, not smoke from the various torches. I glance up. The ceiling is pocked with holes, most likely tubes like the one that brought me here. Maybe they work as a sort of natural ventilation.

Brigid ushers me to a small table off to one side. "Sit here," she says.

While I wait, she bustles around, eventually returning with two bowls of stew and some crusty bread. When she sets my bowl in front of me, I give it a sniff to see what I can make out, but again, there's nothing.

"What kind of stew is this?" I ask.

"Root and herb stobhach."

I wait, but she doesn't elaborate, so I shrug and take a bite. Whatever it is, it's surprisingly flavorful. I can definitely sense carrots, potatoes, and rosemary, but the rest of the ingredients remain a mystery. Overall, though, it's not bad, especially with the bread.

"Thank you," I say between bites.

Brigid merely nods. I can't tell if she's inherently quiet or just choosing not to speak with me. I guess I can't blame her. My arrival was a bit like someone walking in your front door completely unannounced, and then before you've had time to process, having someone tell you to go make the stranger dinner.

"I'm sorry if I'm imposing on your day," I say. "You don't have to stay here with me if you don't want to."

Brigid merely raises an eyebrow and keeps chewing.

We eat in silence and I give our surroundings another look. The walls are bare except for torches—no art for these goblins. The two rooms I've been in have utilized carving techniques to make things out of the rock walls, but apparently the goblins have access to trees. How else could they have made this furniture?

Do they have jobs down here? And where does their food come from?

"Do you grow your own vegetables?" I ask.

Brigid just shrugs, and I sigh. Luckily, I'm saved from further awkward conversational efforts by Kill's sudden arrival. He strides into the dining hall and straight for us, a scowl on his face. He's clearly angry, and—this is annoying—is one of those males who makes anger look hot. He's all sharp cheekbones and clenched teeth, with a muscle ticking in his jaw in that sexy way guys have.

One look at him has me all tingly, and I shake my head. Why am I reacting to him like this? He's been nothing but brusque with me.

"I need you to come with me," he says, his voice gruff. He grabs my bicep and hauls me up, ignoring the fact that I still have a bit of food left. He gives Brigid a terse nod and then pulls me out of the room. I stumble alongside him as we weave through an elaborate tunnel system—what I imagine an anthill must look like if you're inside it. After a few moments, he somehow opens a door made in the rock wall and we enter a new room. A suite of small rooms, in fact. Clearly, these are living quarters, and this seems to be his living room. There's a low table and some chairs, again all carved by hand. Both chairs have plump cushions on them, which I'm betting are also handmade.

"What's going on?" I ask.

He sighs and runs a hand over his striking white hair. "I told you earlier, we keep our existence secret. It's one of our most important principles. Our governing council decided the only way to prevent you from sharing about us was to kill you."

Goosebumps immediately pop up all over my arms. "What?" I squeak. I glance around the room for weapons. Is he my assassin? Am I never leaving this room? Surely he wouldn't kill me in his own quarters, would he? Think of the mess.

"Relax," he says with a growl. "I'm not going to hurt you. I persuaded the council to take more time to think about it. In the meantime, I'm stuck with you." He points to one of the chairs. "Sit."

"Stuck with me?" Gee, thanks for making it sound like the worst job in the world. It's not like I asked to hang out with him. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you can't go home, at least not yet. You have to stay here with us. And as long as you're here, you stay with me. You don't leave my sight."

I blink at him and finally take my seat. When I do, he takes the other chair, watching me closely. On the one hand, I don't mind staying in his sight, because that means he stays in mine. And what a fine sight it is. On the other hand…

"You can't just kidnap me," I point out.

He tilts his head. "You sure about that?"

"It's against the law."

He chuckles darkly. "Do you see any human law enforcement around here? Did you tell people where you were going? Does anyone even know you're here? How could they? You fell into our settlement by accident."

Okay, those are valid points. Still, if I want to leave, there has to be a way. But in the meantime, maybe this is my chance to get what I came for. As long as I'm not in imminent danger, I should at least try.

"Fine. I'll stay with you. For now. In the meantime, tell me about yourself."

He frowns. "No."

"Why not?"

"Natalie. We take our privacy seriously. Remember the discussion we had two seconds ago, when I told you you can't leave? Part of the same thing. I'm not going to let you interview me about goblin culture."

I shrug. "Maybe not, but if I have to basically live with you for some indefinite period, I'm gonna learn stuff whether you want me to or not. Might as well help me, so I don't insult anyone or commit some horrible faux pas."

He exhales through his teeth, creating an exasperated hissing noise. But he must see my point, because he gives in. "You can ask me one question."

There are so many things I want to know. So many things I could ask. So I surprise both of us when the thing that pops out of my mouth is: "How is it you speak English?"

He frowns. "That's your question?"

I nod.

"How is it we speak English," he repeats. "The same reasons you do, presumably."

"What do you mean?"

"It's the primary language in the area, isn't it?"

I think about that. Once again, he has a point. "Okay, fair enough. I guess that makes sense, though I don't know how English could have spread down here to your private culture." I don't bother to keep the snark out of my voice. "I guess for some reason I was expecting you to speak some incomprehensible, guttural goblin language."

He shakes his head. "You don't know much about goblins, do you?"

I arch a brow at him and resist the urge to smack his forehead. "Well, duh. And whose fault is that? Remember our conversation five seconds ago when you said you keep yourselves a secret? I came here to learn, didn't I? You literally just told me that you wouldn't give me any information about your culture."

This time, a teeny, tiny, ever-so-slight smile breaks out across his lips, softening his hard features and making him look even more delectable. Apparently he finds sass amusing. "Touché."

"So, what are we supposed to do? If you won't talk about goblins and I can't go anywhere, how do we pass the time?" I ask.

"We're going to bed early," he says. "I have to go scouting very early in the morning, and you're coming with me. I'll go out later to inform the rest of the party and get the supplies we'll need. It might be dangerous, so we have to prepare carefully. In the meantime, we'll…sit here."

"Enjoying the silence? Ooh, fun."

He rolls his glowing eyes. "All right, fine. You can ask me questions. But I won't promise to answer all of them."

I grin. Yay. But then I think about what he just said, and my smile fades. "Well, obviously, my first question is about this thing we have to do tomorrow. What exactly is it? And what makes it dangerous?"

"Hobgoblins," he says with a grimace.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. "Okay, I'm gonna need more than that. For starters, what's a hobgoblin?"

His grimace deepens and he makes a sound low in his chest that sounds like a growl. "Technically, I suppose they're a subspecies of goblin, but they are very distantly related to us. I can't stress that enough. And they are more like animals than anything else. Small, vicious green things. All teeth and giant ears and huge eyes, all the better to see and hear in the dark and rend the flesh from anyone or anything stupid enough to wander into one of their nests."

He's basically describing my initial mental image of regular goblins, although his version is worse than anything my imagination conjured up. "Well, that seems extremely unpleasant. And you expect to run into them tomorrow?"

With a sigh, he slumps lower in his chair and runs a hand over his hair. "We're miners; it's why we live beneath the ground. Our entire existence depends on successful mining. And some of us have suspected for a while that our lode is nearly tapped out. It's in our best interest to find new places to mine, which means exploring new territory under the mountains. And the most unexplored territory is also where the hobgoblins tend to live. So, yeah, we probably will. You don't have to worry, though. I'll keep you safe."

I take a moment to surreptitiously look him over…again. He's tall and broad, well-muscled, which I now realize is from all the mining. There's just a sort of…toughness, I guess, to him. He exudes it even when he's sitting still. For as much as he's a stranger, I trust that he's fully capable of protecting me.

I nod. "Okay. If I have to go with you, I might as well help. Got a job I can do?"

"No. The men I'm bringing are capable scouts. We can handle the work. Your job is to stay close to me and let me know if you see or hear anything. Better to be overly cautious than ambushed."

"Cheers to that," I say.

"Any other questions?"

I think for a moment. "Sure, plenty. But what I really want to know…"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me about yourself?" I have an inexplicable craving to know everything about him.

He leans back and his face relaxes. Like talking about himself is easier than fielding questions about his species. "Like what?"

I shrug. "Anything. Your age, your best friend, your favorite color, your hobbies, your family. Whatever you're comfortable sharing."

He runs his hand over his hair again. I get the feeling it's something he does when he's gathering his thoughts. After a few seconds, he actually smiles at me.

"Okay, well, goblin lifespans are a little bit longer than human ones, but not by that much. In human terms, I guess I'm about 35 or so. My best friend is Flynn—you saw him briefly when you arrived. Big guy with purple hair? We grew up together. Uh, let's see. My parents live in their own quarters in a different part of our settlement. My favorite color is aquamarine. It's my favorite gemstone. It's just like your eyes."

My belly flutters at that.

I clear my throat and try to tamp down my attraction. "Did you and Flynn have a good childhood? Do you have siblings?"

His smile gets even bigger. "Yeah. Flynn and I got into a lot of trouble as kids, but that's to be expected. It's what goblin boys do. Running wild, stealing mead and getting drunk, getting in fights. The usual kid stuff. And yes, I have a sister named Maeve, but she married outside our settlement, so I don't see her as often as I might like."

"You know," I muse, "humans and goblins don't sound all that different. Similar family structures, fairly similar age spans. Rowdy kids who grow up into hardworking adults. Well, not in my case, but generally."

He furrows his brow. "Not in your case?"

"Yeah, I've kind of struggled with settling on a career. My family wants me to do one kind of thing, but I'd prefer to do something else. I've been trying things on for size to see what suits me, but they interpret that as lack of commitment. That I flit around and don't take things seriously. That's why I came here, you know."

"Your family doesn't take you seriously, so you decided to escape and vacation with goblins?" The corners of his mouth are turned up, so I know he's teasing me.

"Ha, no. Haven's Hollow, the human settlement above?" I point to the ceiling. "The economy is mostly based on tourism, and in recent years we've sort of made monsters and cryptids our niche. I got it in my head that if I could prove cryptids are real, our tourism trade would really start booming. And my family would finally see my value. Hence, goblin hunting."

He nods slowly. "I understand. But you know that isn't possible, right? At least not with us. We won't let you expose us."

"I get that now. There's nothing like a little threat of execution to change a girl's mind."

"For what it's worth, I don't think taking the time to find your calling is a waste. I think it's smart." He stands. "I need to go brief the others and prepare a few things. Can I trust you to stay here?"

I blink at him, still stuck on his last sentence. He thinks I'm smart? "Of course."

He narrows his eyes at me. "I'll be locking the door all the same, so there's no sense trying to escape. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll bring food."

He strides to the strange door in the rock and exits. As promised, I hear it click as the lock engages.

I glance around at his simple, spartan quarters. There's almost nothing here to tell me who he is. No art, no personal touches that I can see. Aside from this brief conversation, I don't know anything about him.

So why are my panties soaked from just talking to him?