Verena #2
I'm thrown forward roughly by the abrupt stop, but I scramble up at once to reach for the handle of the carriage.
"No," Eris warns sharply. "It must be bandits targeting this caravan at last. They might have archers among them—and so fucking help me, if you step out that door and are shot through the heart with an arrow, I will never forgive you.
Wulf and the guards will take care of it. Stay inside, where it's safe."
As much as I crave feeling safe, and as much as his protectiveness is a turn on, I don't release the handle yet.
I hear another shout outside. This time, when I move the curtain aside to peek through the carriage window, my stomach flips.
Dark-dressed men in gleaming helmets race toward the halted caravan on horseback through a nearby field. It looks like there are two or three dozen of them, but I can't tell for sure thanks to the dimness of the falling night.
Just like Eris worried, some of the bandits are archers. Despite the speed of their horses, I tense when five or six men nock arrows before firing them at the Isenmerian caravan.
One guard is shot at once, falling off his own horse with a sharp cry. Another arrow cracks off the side of my carriage, which makes Eris swear. Isenmerian archers in the escort are already starting to fire back.
I spot Wulf on his horse, galloping toward the quickly approaching bandits with the Isenmerian knights flanking him.
He holds his bow in one hand. When an arrow whizzes just past his shoulder, my heart jumps violently into my throat—but the Huntsman nocks an arrow and fires it straight into the chest of a bandit.
I nearly turn the handle again, heart pounding. I know he's attacking them to protect the caravan like I told him to.
That makes it partially my fault if he gets hurt out there.
"Don't," Eris snaps, much closer now in the reflective paint inside the queen's carriage. "These thieves may be the sort who steal women. I don't want their slimy eyes anywhere near you. Please just stay in here and—"
A girl's scream cuts through the air, filling my veins with ice.
Snow.
I'm moving at once, ripping open the carriage door despite Eris shouting after me.
As I hike up my skirts and race toward the halted carriage behind the queen's, I'm expecting arrows to fly past me like bullet sprays in an action movie.
But the attackers are close enough now that arrows have stopped flying, replaced with the sounds of a battle that electrifies the temperate night air. Thuds of weapons against wooden shields, the clanging of swords, shouts and swears.
I'm sure the Isenmerian guards are doing their best to fend off the attackers, but there are way too many fucking bandits.
When a particularly loud man's scream cuts off far behind me, I risk a brief glance over my shoulder as I run. The carriage holding the Bellevyrs is halted as they, too, are attacked—
But clearly, they're in good hands.
Because Anika stands back to back with her former knight of a father, each wielding a sword expertly as they fight off several attackers' blades. It's already turning into a bloody fray, and I turn back around quickly just as Anika's sword plunges into a bandit's chest.
I skid to a stop at Snow White's carriage when the smell of cherry-juice-scented blood smacks me across the face.
Both her coachmen lie dead. One is slumped in his seat with an arrow through his neck. The other lies on the road, ruby red pooling around him.
My stomach clenches desperately, my pulse deafening—but I force myself to look away from the blood.
The carriage door is wide open. Two men stand beside it. One holds a flickering torch, and the other holds Ingrid back.
She's terrified, but struggling to break free as a third bandit leans into Snow White's carriage.
Snow White screams something about not telling them anything, but the intruder just calls out to the others, "Oi! Maybe he'll be happy if we bring this tasty little princess to him, instead."
"Don't be a fool," the torchbearer snaps before addressing Snow White himself. "Isenmerian royalty's supposed to ride in the last carriage, so where is she? Speak fast, or we'll take you, too."
However disoriented I was about this sudden attack, it transforms into fury at the idea of them laying a hand on that innocent girl.
That fury beats hard in my veins, mingling with the persistent thirst burning my throat. My teeth ache to sink into something.
"There you are," Malivant's voice whispers in my mind. "Such wrath could lure me anywhere."
Ignoring that fucker's voice, I let the anger and bloodlust take over as I rush toward the man leaning into the carriage.
He's holding a sword. I briefly see Eris's face flash in the blade, thanks to the glow of the nearby torch.
"Verena, don't—"
It's too late. I'm already tackling the man to the ground, knocking his helmet off. My teeth become fangs just as they slide into his neck.
His scream of alarm quickly melts into a moan of arousal—but he's the only one enjoying this, because his blood tastes like rotten papaya.
Still, it soothes the overwhelming burn long enough for me to think more clearly.
When he starts to writhe with pleasure, I grab the sword hilt from his hand and release his neck. Leaving him panting on the ground and humping his own hand through his breeches, I stand to glare at the other guards.
I have absolutely no fucking idea how to actually use the sword I just commandeered, but hopefully they think otherwise.
The torchbearer stares wide-eyed at the blood dripping from my mouth. So does Ingrid, who has stopped struggling to gawk.
But the man holding Ingrid quickly shoves her aside, motioning at the other man.
"Red hair, like he said. Grab her and let's get out of here. The others can't distract that northerner for much longer."
A chill passes over me. They intentionally distracted Wulf, just to…
"They're after you," Eris shouts from the sword, confirming my realization. "Run!"
Just as the man who released Ingrid lunges toward me, I drop the sword and run.
Nearly tripping on my skirts at first, I hike them up and tear through the meadow. A second later, I look over my shoulder to make sure they're after me.
The good news is, those bandits have no interest in Snow White or Ingrid anymore—but the bad news is that they really are after me, and they're fast.
Fuck.
Just like all those years ago, when I actually had to run for my life for the first time, I curse myself for not joining a track team or training for marathons. I'm not a runner, and apparently neither was the queen because my lungs are already burning.
"Oi! She's over there! Don't let her get away!" one of the men in pursuit shouts, drawing several other bandits' attention to me.
A hand makes a grab for me from one side. I manage to dodge it, still running like my ass is on fire.
I don't even realize where I've been running to until I hear another attacker shout something about the Loomdark.
Twisted trees tower in front of me, getting nearer with each impact of my feet against the ground. All at once, I've left the meadow, the warm southern air of Aurefeld dropping several degrees and filling with scents of earth and moss.
In the distance far behind me, I hear the Huntsman shouting my name—
Just before an arm scoops me up.
Suddenly, I'm facedown over a tall, galloping horse. Its saddle digs painfully into my ribcage.
The bandit who snatched me is already trying to wheel us around, intent on leaving the Loomdark and taking me wherever the fuck these creeps were going to.
At the thought of being kidnapped again, my blood runs cold. All I can think about is the sting of the tattoo gun and the drip of blood. Terror claws at me, but I can't afford to freeze up—not again.
Not like ten years ago.
Luckily, the rider's grip on me is loose. I shove away from the running horse as hard as I possibly can, hoping to get enough clearance that I'm not trampled by it.
"Oof," I grunt as I crash to the forest floor, rolling from the momentum.
Ouch.
Holy fuck, I had no idea falling off a horse would rattle my brain that much.
I'm so winded from the drop that I'm still trying to sit up as the bandit turns his horse around, riding back to me already.
My heart thrums painfully inside my chest, my breathing not recovered. I need to get up. I need to run again.
I need to...
I need to get my eyes checked.
Because in the deep darkness of this heavily canopied wood, it looks like some of the twisted tree branches are moving. Towards the rider. They slither quickly through the air, winding toward him and picking up speed.
The bandit is nearly right upon me now. He yanks his horse to a stop so hard that it rears back with a whinny, just as a branch behind his head suddenly sharpens.
Then it plunges straight through the back of his helmet, stabbing through his face.