2. Ten Years Later

The scent of petrichor and blood filled my nose. Pain burst through my abdomen, and I let out a slow groan, my limp form swaying like a pendulum, suspended.

"Wake the fuck up!" a deep, hostile voice said in Elvish. "Or I'll keep using you as my personal punching bag."

My dry lips split open as I winced, a coppery tang with a bitter aftertaste cloying my tongue. Acidic with a telltale note of sickly sweetness.

Shadowfern.

My heartbeat raged in my ears.

I had been drugged.

When distilled, Shadowfern extract made for a powerful, inodorous narcotic, at first flavorless upon consumption. I myself had used it on others, had seen it work.

How ironic I found myself on the receiving end now.

My memory was a hazy blur, the pieces of truth shimmering and shifting as if viewed through a broken kaleidoscope.

I recalled the dim back room of a dockside tavern, a portly old man in gaudy silk robes sitting across from me with four guards towering at his sides, aiming their crossbows at me. He'd bared brown teeth as he smiled, offering me a drink. I'd taken the damn glass, and chugged the whole thing. Whatever was in it seemed the better, less immediately deadly option than a volley of bolts to the skull.

I grit my teeth.

So much for cutting a deal with Malachar Nihalyth.

The Council of Eight ruled Zeridia, but this lawless town of violence and debauchery belonged to him. His will governed the streets of Hedonfel. His whims decided whose blood stained the ground and who got to live another miserable day. He controlled the drug trade, the casinos, and the brothels, extorting money from merchants and businesses for supposed protection.

Our bargain was meant to be simple. Too simple. A few flasks of my special poisons, paralytics, and healing poultices in exchange for information.

When I was told to come alone, I knew something about the offer stunk to the high heavens. But it had been my first proper lead in years. All others were dead ends, and I wouldn't have forgiven myself for passing on this chance.

There was no price too high, no sacrifice too precious to find Cynthian and Elias. And refusing Malachar would've ended with my skull in a separate location from my body either way. Enough others had served as examples, their heads found impaled on pikes by the town gates, ravens picking at their dull sockets.

My eyes opened, yet I saw only black.

Blindfolded.

I began feeling my limbs again, a wave of agony greeting me. My arms were stretched out above my head, bearing my entire weight. Metal chafed my wrists and ankles, the tips of my toes barely touching the slick ground. My joints ached as if I had been in this position for hours.

I had been stripped to my panties, and while I held no shame about my bareness, I woefully missed the reassuring weight of bow and quiver across my back. They'd taken my shoes too, and with them, my last line of defense: a small, poison-coated dagger I always carried, its sheath tucked away in the shaft of my left boot.

"Shit, I thought you were a goner," the stranger said, shrill laughter ending his speech. "By the Creators, that would've been boring! The last one died way too fast … but not you. You're a fighter, I can tell."

He giggled, calloused fingers patting my cheek, following my face as I turned away, hissing. A sliver of metal pressed against my waist, and I shuddered. Dirt crunched beneath his steps as he dragged the iron across my skin, circling me, and I bit my lip, bracing for the searing sting of parting flesh. But he didn't cut.

"I knew someone with hair like yours once," he mused. "Soft waves of red like the molten river Kaltarys in the Hells, they say—or some other poetic garbage."

"What do you want from me?" I yelled, my shackles rattling.

The male grabbed my chin from behind, my jaw aching beneath the pressure of his fingers.

"Keep it together, bitch. I'll tell you what we're gonna do," he whispered, his coppery breath slithering along the length of my ear, and a shiver rippled along my spine. "You'll be my good little prey and follow my instructions. Got it?"

"Y-yes," I stuttered, his rough grip making it difficult to speak.

Better to play along for now.

He let go, and the rattling of a key ring sounded at my back. "Here's what's gonna happen," he said, tugging at the shackles binding my feet. With a quiet click, they fell away. "I will—"

I kicked blindly. The impact of my heel was accompanied by a crack.

"Fuck, I think you broke my nose!" the man shouted, cackling. "I like it! A little foreplay gets the blood pumping!"

My stomach contracted into a tight ball.

I had broken his nose, and he found it funny.

He enjoyed it.

He pressed his nose against the side of my face, bone crunching. I whimpered as he licked over my cheek, the wetness of his tongue interrupted by a flash of metal.

A piercing?

He snickered as he wrapped an arm around my waist, hitching my dangling form flush to his muscled body. Even strung up as I was, he stood much taller than me. The smell of leather and citrus enveloped me, but even they couldn't mask the scent of blood.

His rigid, thick dick twitched on my abdomen as he rubbed himself against me, his roughspun clothing sliding over my bare nipples, making them harden. A blaze of unwanted excitement seared my mind, spilling from my lips as a gasp.

"You already make such delicious noises for me, little prey, and we haven't even started. I can't wait until I'm buried inside you, your tight cunt squeezing my cock while I gut you," he whispered.

My cheeks flamed.

No, this wasn't hot.

"But even then, you'll still want more," he said, the tip of his nose against mine, his breath on my lips. "You will beg me to tear you apart. You will scream for me to kill you. And you will still come for me."

His soft mouth brushed mine, and I recoiled, ignoring a deviant pulse of need in my core. He let go, the sound of his steps moving behind me once more.

"When I unlock these shackles, you're gonna run," he said, his voice cheery, quivering with anticipation. "Don't even think of trying to attack me right here. Run or I will make you regret the day you drew your first breath. Death will look like a fucking gift compared to what I'll do to you if you don't give me a good chase, alright?"

"Fuck you," I rasped, trying to kick him again, but my foot hit air.

"I'll take that as an enthusiastic yes." He laughed. "Love that fire you got—it'll be my pleasure to snuff it out."

Then the lock clicked, and I fell.

My knees met stone; a cry of pain trapped behind my pinched lips. I scrambled to my feet, slipping, stumbling backward, and tore the blindfold off.

The curiously bright, sallow moon beamed down on a foreign village square, fog curling around decrepit buildings with boarded up doors and windows. Tall gallows stood anchored to the ground in the center of the plaza, shackles in place of a noose. Littered at its base, strewn over cobblestone shining with rain and thin rivulets of blood, were the fresh pieces of what must have been the previous victim.

Arms and legs had been severed, the skin flayed to lay bare raw muscle and pink sinew. My stomach turned as I gaped at the mangled torso, cords of intestine spreading over the ground. Despite the gore, no blood seeped from the cuts and the flesh was pale, as if each part had been exsanguinated, any drop spilled an accident.

And next to the morbid display, I spied my captor. My heart squeezed.

He was formidable—and dreadful.

His shoulders were broad and his stance wide, demonstrating adamant confidence. He wore slim, black leather trousers and a dark tunic, layered with a short cape, its large hood drawn into his face. Only his mouth was visible, a ring piercing both sides of his bottom lip. A shimmer of metal flickered at his neck, too, encircling it like a collar or tight jewelry.

Rolled up at the left side of his belt hung a white whip, but it was neither rope nor leather. It was bone, vertebrae strung up on a flexible tendon. Even without the spear-like tip, its sharp edges would cause gaping wounds with a single hit.

My executioner flashed a cruel grin, exposing sharp, elongated canines, and a shiver passed through me.

A monster.

He wasn't a man, but a monster. Brutality wrapped in the guise of a mortal.

"Like my toy?" he asked, patting the weapon as another bout of frenzied giggles shook him. "Me too, but I keep things versatile."

He raised his other hand to show off a butcher's cleaver, the sight of its blood-encrusted, chipped blade stopping my lungs.

"Different tools for different kinds of fun, little prey. And I promise I'll use them both on you."

I shuffled back, tongue-tied.

"What's the problem? Oh, this guy?"

His laughter stopped abruptly, and he approached the corpse, rearing his arm back. He brought the cleaver down onto its neck, severing the head. Smirking, he tossed it high into the air and caught it by the stump.

"Don't worry, I'll treat you better than him. Another special promise from me to you" He nodded as if his words were supposed to calm me. "You're worth it. This useless pile of meat was worth shit. Whining mess. No fun. The fucker didn't even make it out of the square." He kicked the torso, sending it flying across the plaza.

My brows rose. He wasn't only entirely unhinged, but extraordinarily strong, too. An unpredictable enemy.

A sharp whistle sounded as he tossed the head at my feet. "Hey, you'll do better. Right, little prey?"

Matted brown hair tickled my toes, but I didn't let my disgust show. After his judgment of my predecessor, displaying weakness would've been a fatal mistake. I gathered every crumb of my courage and gave a decisive nod.

"Speaking of which," he said, waving the cleaver at me. "Didn't I tell you to fucking run?"