Last Ride of the Umbra Fae

13. Ryder

13

Ryder

T he four of us reached Journey’s Cliff, standing on the rise as we walked our horses up its rocky terrain. From this vantage point, the Desert of Miera was a breathtaking sight that reminded me of what a bird might see soaring in the sky. Maybe for a moment, I was jealous of Raven as he stood off to the side, looking southeast, where a canopy of crimson trees dotted the crest of the mountains.

“On the other side lies Blightstone Hollow,” I confirmed. “And in the valley north of that”—I pointed further—“rests Crimson Valley.”

“The Serpent’s Path,” Vessa replied, sounding haunted as the words left her. They were strong enough to drift my way, sending a shiver down my spine. End’s Wrath tensed and looked away as Raven moved beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and gave a tight squeeze as if telling him, “I’m okay.”

Vessa saw the confusion on my face and came to stand beside me, releasing herself from Raven’s heavy palm. I was taken aback as she stood beneath my still-raised arm, our height difference prominent. She moved in front of me and held out her arm; the sudden brush of her protruding ass against my front nearly sent my heart hammering.

“See the path to Blightstone Hollow?” She pointed toward the distant trees that lined along the rivers. “Carved by the flood of fae.”

The expanse of the forest seemed to be spreading beyond its own borders. What the hell? I squinted. “There is a town north of that called the Scarlet Gallows,” I continued.

“Hell’s Mark,” Vessa finished.

“And that’s where it all began. End of story,” Raven interjected in a sharp tone as he stepped away from the cliffside.

End’s Wrath seemed to share the same sentiment as he clicked his tongue against his cheek a few times and guided his stallion down the narrow path. “If you’re as good of a guide as you say, Ryder , then that cave down there better be big enough to ensure we all aren’t up each other’s asses.” His warning coaxed me to grin in response.

“Trust me, old man, those caves run deep into the mountain, like the devil’s belly. Best you stick to the mouth of it or else you’ll get eaten. I need you alive to give me my next payment.”

Moments passed as he studied me with a hardened glare. He slammed one salt-and-pepper brow down so hard, to anyone else, it would have felt like a whip. He scratched the scruff of his short beard. “I’ll give you your next payment come sunrise. If you’re as dick-whipped by nara coins as I think you are, then it’ll be in your best interest to keep watch tonight.”

Grinning, I tilted my hat. “Sure thing, boss.”

We led our horses down the steep path on the side of the mountain. It was so gods-damn narrow, the thought of slipping had my balls tightening. End’s Wrath led the way with Vessa trailing him. I was next, then Raven walked the tail end. To my surprise, he remained in his fae form. I felt the tall stalker’s hostile stare on me the entire time.

When we reached the cave, nostalgia hit me all at once. This had been my home long ago, when I’d been no better than the bandits who roamed the desert. The cool air inside the stone walls instantly brought relief from the outside heat as faint gusts of wind blew from its depths. The same old musty smell and stale scent of water from the few hidden hot springs filled the air. Legend said this was the bathing chamber of the devil. I’d believed it for quite some time until I’d stayed long enough to find out the only devil that had resided here had been me.

As I unpacked my guitar, the three of them separated into their own corners within the expanse of this cave. Raven stood at the mouth, looking out into the horizon at the setting sun. As darkness began to settle across the terrain, tendrils of black shadow emanated off his body, as if the breeze itself were whisking him out. He dissipated into nothing but a dark onyx, emerging from the inky swells a raven. If I didn’t hate him, I would have said he was an ethereal-looking fucker. Never seen a shifter like that before.

Vessa stripped down to her thin, dark crimson, cut-off top and tight leather pants. She even exposed her right arm that exposed the scars. I’d thought she would have kept that sleeve on. A small victory to claim; maybe she was letting her guard down around me.

End’s Wrath started a fire, and the smell of burning wood filled my senses.

“He better bring us back enough kill to fill our bellies tonight,” Vessa murmured, as if she was already tasting the flavors of whatever carcass he was hunting.

I pulled out a few apples from my bag and a slate of stone the size of a plate, then sat by the fire. I removed my long coat and hat, ran a hand through my hair, and relished the easing tension and the diminishing headache that had been forming in the back of my skull. I could feel Vessa’s stare, knowing she could see every corded muscle on my arms.

I was a pretty bastard, that I knew.

I pulled the knife from its sheath and began slicing the apples. Judging by the juice that dripped down the blade, I knew they were good and ready to be eaten. The fire was at perfect distance for me to reach out and cook them. With a jab against the slate of stone, the sound reverberated down the cave. I speared a slice and held it up to the fire for a few minutes. Once it was hot enough, I set it back down and went for the next. Vessa watched with such a curious little stare, it had me grinning.

With a darkened brow raised, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Ever had a baked apple before?”

She looked as though I’d just insulted her. The bob in her throat was subtle and delicate, lickable, if she’d ever let me get that close.

“No.”

I dipped my chin and chuckled. “Would you like to try it?”

A smile curved her full lips as she came to sit beside me.

I heard End’s Wrath’s irritable sigh. From my peripheral, I saw him lean back onto his rolled-up wool blanket and cover half his face with his hat. My eyes must have lingered on Vessa’s lips for far too long, because she cleared her throat wryly, causing me to blink. Another chuckle escaped me as I shyly looked down. Damn the hells. What was she doing to me?

“Well, Desert Storm, my knife or yours?”

With a hooded gaze, she smiled as she took mine, a gentle brush along my skin strong enough to flutter up my arm. Every touch, even a subtle one, was fucking magic, and she had no idea.

She speared a slice of apple and tasted it. The moan that escaped her was pure ecstasy, and my heart nearly lurched when she unexpectedly snorted as a sliver of apple smudged around her mouth. I kept one arm resting on a bent knee. It took everything in me not to lean in and kiss her, wanting to take the other end of that slice. Her head tipped back, and with her tongue, she licked the remaining portion into her mouth. She laughed some more.

When her eyes found mine, her gaze softened. Her freckles reminded me of uncharted constellations I wanted to explore, shimmering and perfectly placed across her nose. In a gentle wisp, they fanned out beneath her eyes, ending at her hairline.

I nearly lost my breath, and possibly my life, just looking at her.

“Gods-damn, woman.” I exhaled.

“What?” She giggled. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

For the first time, she smiled, really smiled. So wide, I could feel that part of her she kept sealed away, open up.

“You make everything beautiful.”

Her chest sharply rose as her breathing hitched.

Something raw and tantalizing cracked between us, and suddenly, it was really hot.

She opened her mouth to speak but fell silent. She quickly closed it, lashes softly fluttering down as she gave the knife back. “Here.” She sighed, placing it in my hand.

There was no denying the moment we’d shared, but she was holding back, and maybe I was too. It wasn’t the ideal situation, given End’s Wrath was on the other side of this fire. She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. I speared another slice into my mouth.

“It tastes just like apple pie,” she finally said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had any of that.” There was a sadness to her, one that I could only surmise was because she was always on the run. I couldn’t understand how something so beautiful could be so devastating at the same time. And here she was, inches from me, not knowing the price so many would pay for her head while she sat and smiled at me. She reached down for another piece and popped it into her mouth. Another hum beneath her breath.

“Same here. I suppose that’s why I prefer to eat my apples this way,” was all I said. I could understand how she felt, how such a simple thing like this could bring so much joy and pain all at once, a reminder of what had been lost.

“Next man I see holding an apple pie, I’ll make sure I put a knife to his gut and take it,” she said, chuckling as she turned her head toward me.

“Well”—I leaned in a little closer—“I’ll keep my eyes peeled for you.” I winked.

“Such a violent man.” She hummed, grabbed a handful of the apple slices with a smirk, and stood. “Violent, violent man.” With a slight shake to her head, she wandered to the mouth of the cave, her ears and hands illuminated beneath the moonlight. As she stood there, eating the remaining pieces, a part of me wondered if she was waiting for Raven to return. I hung my head in irritation as I stood and pulled out my guitar—the only thing that had managed to survive longer than I had—disappearing into the depths of the cave to find a quiet place.