Chapter 20 Huntsman
HUNTSMAN
SAERIS
THERE WAS A crack in the wall.
A tiny one, only an inch long or so.
I stared at it until my eyes played tricks on me and the marbling in the obsidian walls began to melt. Five feet away, in front of the fire, Onyx was curled into a little ball, snoring loudly.
He didn’t have any trouble passing out, of course. Life was simple for him. His brain didn’t have countless questions and concerns bouncing around inside it.
An hour passed.
Another.
I was ready to sob when at last my restless exhaustion finally pulled me under.
Falling asleep didn’t feel the same as it used to, though. This was more like . . . consciously stepping from one room into another. One moment, I was sitting on the floor of my rooms, resting against a mountain of cushions, and the next, I was somewhere else.
It was snowing.
The light was waning—the same kind of half-muted dusk that washed the walls of Cahlish a pale gray right before evening fell.
The air was thick with pine and smoke, so cold that it stung the inside of my nostrils.
I found myself overlooking a narrow valley blanketed with snow.
A shallow stream cut through it, only a couple of feet wide, the water burbling and flowing swiftly.
On the hillside, halfway up the valley side in a clearing, stood a small cottage with white-painted walls and smoke trickling from its chimney.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
To the left of the house: a figure moving in a repetitive, jerking way.
Thwack.
It was Fisher. I knew it was him the moment I saw him.
I set off running without a second thought. The cold pierced my lungs and bit at my cheeks. I skidded in the snow, losing my footing again and again, but I scrambled up and kept running. I couldn’t breathe by the time I reached the pathway to the cottage.
Thwack.
Thwack.
He was there, up ahead. It was freezing, but my mate apparently wasn’t affected by the cold.
His black pants were slung low on his hips, his feet bare.
He was shirtless, too, black ink swirling across his sweat-slicked shoulder blades as he swung an ax around, one-handed, bringing it over his head and down onto a block of wood, splitting it into two.
Thwack!
His hair was damp—wavy and thick, brushing the tops of his broad shoulders as he kicked aside the split wood and collected another large piece from a stack next to the cottage.
Setting it down, I watched the muscles in his back shift and move as he brought the ax up and swung it around and down again, splitting that piece, too.
Thwack!
I spoke his name softly, inside my head rather than out loud. Fisher?
My mate stilled. His shoulders tensed, head angled slightly, tipped to one side, as if he were listening. Saeris?
I couldn’t help myself; I started to run again.
When he turned—tattooed chest heaving from his exertion, cheeks flushed, eyes bright—a glorious smile spread across his face.
But just as soon as it had appeared, it fell away again.
In a heartbeat, his cheeks lost their color.
He took a staggering step backward, the ax falling from his hand and thudding to the ground.
I stopped running. “Fisher? What . . . what is it?”
He seemed to draw himself upright, standing as tall as he could manage, and then he asked out loud, “Are you dead?”
“Why would you ask that?”
His hands closed into fists at his sides. “You look . . . so real,” he said. “I know I’m dreaming. I . . .”
I’m dreaming, Fisher. I just fell asleep, and here you were.”
“I’ve been here over an hour,” he said. “I cleared a fallen tree down by the river. I dragged it up here. I’ve been breaking it down for firewood ever since.”
“Well, we can’t both be dreaming. Not the same dream,” I said.
“We’ll figure that out in a moment, Osha,” he said quietly. “First, answer the question for me? Please?”
“What? Oh, no. No, I’m not dead. Not . . . officially,” I added awkwardly. “The whole beating heart thing—”
Fisher strode toward me and swept me into his arms. He crushed me to him so tight that I thought my ribs were about to crack. I could hear him breathing, the sound ragged, as if he were struggling to keep his composure.
“Thank the gods. I thought something must have happened to you. I’ve been waiting to see if this becomes a nightmare. I thought . . . Fuck!”
He squeezed me even harder. I tapped frantically on his shoulder. “Fisher? Fisher, I can’t breathe.”
He pulled away, cupping my face in his hands, the beautiful green of his eyes almost glowing in the waning light as he took me in.
“I’m sorry. Today’s just been . . .” He shook his head, sucking on his bottom lip.
“I fucking hate your city, Osha. I really can’t overstate how much I really, really hate it. Gods, it’s good to see you.”
This didn’t feel like a dream. I was too conscious.
The world around me was too crisp. Too sharp.
And this didn’t feel like a subconscious rendering of my mate.
His skin was warm to the touch. I could smell him.
The details of him were too in focus. He swallowed, and I watched the muscles in his throat move, and there they were: the twin marks that were slowly fading at the hollow of his neck where I had bitten him.
“This is real, isn’t it?” I whispered.
Fisher stepped back, releasing me. He turned sideways, eyes picking me apart as he paced around me, taking every bit of me in.
The snow came down harder, fat flakes dusting the dark waves of his hair and melting as they hit his shoulders and his chest. I never felt more seen than when he looked at me.
And like this, with his eyes devouring me, I could feel myself coming undone.
He stalked behind me and drew close. His body heat warmed my back, his breath skating over the back of my neck as he swept my hair over my shoulder, leaned into the crook of my neck, and smelled me.
“It’s as real as anything else I’ve ever felt,” he murmured. “You smell like you. You look like you.” Suddenly his hands were at my waist, his fingers digging lightly into my hips. “You . . . feel like you.”
We’d been apart for a little over a day, yet it felt like years had gone by. It was more than just missing him. I’d missed people before. I knew what that felt like. But the distance between us was a tangible tugging on my soul that made me panic.
“Witchcraft, perhaps?” he mused. His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he spoke, and a shiver ran up my body. He let out a suggestive rumble of laughter at that. “So responsive. I love how your body reacts to me, Little Osha. It lets me know that you’re mine.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
He ran his nose up, behind my ear, into my hair, breathing deep again as he inhaled me. “Oh, I don’t know. I had an interesting conversation with Carrion Swift before I passed out in his living room a little while ago. I thought for a moment I was going to have to fight him for you.”
I snorted at the mere thought of that. “Don’t hurt him, Fisher. You don’t have anything to worry about where Carrion is concerned.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “Mm. It’s okay. I think I know that now.”
I placed my hands lightly on top of his, enjoying the proximity of him, knowing that he was right behind me, but Fisher hissed, pulling back his right hand.
I turned in the circle of his arms, looking up at him, then down at his hand. It was horribly bruised, his knuckles crusted with dried blood. “Gods, what the hell happened?”
There was discomfort on his face, plain as day, but he still tried to downplay his injuries. “It’s nothing. My hand’s just a little broken. I had to punch a hole in a tower wall.”
“You had to do what?”
I shivered as he explained what had transpired since I had seen him last. He and Carrion had secured the silver we needed, but they’d come face-to-face with some kind of scorpion demon while they were at it.
They hadn’t seen Hayden yet, but they were going to find him in the morning.
By the time Fisher finished talking, the sweat had cooled on his body and my teeth were chattering.
“I want to know what’s been going on with you,” he said.
“But it looks like you’re about to freeze to death. Let’s get you inside.”
He tucked me into his side and led me toward the cottage. Kicking open the door, he guided me inside, and the savory smell of spiced meat hit the back of my nose. Apparently, Kingfisher had been cooking before I had shown up and infiltrated his dream. “What is this place?” I asked.
“The huntsman’s cottage at the boundaries of Cahlish. My father brought me here a few times when I was young. I haven’t thought about this place in . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. “Years?”
The cottage was small. The kitchen was a sink in the corner and a small counter, stacked with glass jars full of what looked like pickled items. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the thick beamed rafters.
The roof was low and stained with soot above the fireplace.
Wingback armchairs sat in front of the hearth, sagging from years of use.
A small white dog was stretched out in front of the crackling—
Hah! It wasn’t a dog.
It was Onyx.
He jumped to his feet when he saw me, letting out a squeal. I dropped to my knees just as he leaped into my arms, squiggling and squirming, licking my face.
“Oh, hi. Hi, hi, hi!” I’d been with him just minutes ago, and he was reacting like he’d been waiting for me to show up for years.
“How—” His tongue went into my ear. I pulled back, trying to block him with my shoulder, but he quickly skirted around it and did it again.
“Ahh! How is he here, too?” I laughed. Onyx bolted across the room and snatched something from the armchair by the window.
He shook his prize as if it were a squirrel he’d just caught, then deposited it into my lap: a length of green silk ribbon. A present, it seemed.