8. A Glowing Beacon
8
A GLOWING BEACON
WREN
M y brain stalls, and it’s like I forget how to speak, let alone move. Taking this man in and helping him seemed like a good idea at the time, but he’d been unconscious then, and I’d been exhausted.
I’m afraid that the tiredness may have slightly clouded my judgment because now that he’s awake and looking right at me, I’m realizing just how bad an idea this was.
On the outside, my face is blank, but inside, I’m panicking. I knew this was risky. Why didn’t I leave with the panther? What in the gods’ names possessed me to stay?
I reach up and tug my hood, making sure my Mark is covered as I hold the handsome stranger’s gaze. I probably should’ve planned for this, but I didn’t. Not really.
What do I say? What should I do? I should probably be calm, right?
That seems like a good idea. I should pretend that everything is normal. Like I’m normal. The problem is that I’m so acutely aware of how not normal I am that I’m not sure I could ever pretend to be otherwise.
My palms grow slick as anxiety twists around my heart, squeezing tightly. Not for the first time since I snuck into Esyn’s temple and witnessed my best friend’s gruesome murder, I realize how completely unprepared for life I am.
It’s probably too late to just back away, right? This man, whoever he is, would probably find that suspicious, and raising suspicion is the last thing I want to do.
Since running is out of the question, I breathe deeply and try to remain calm.
You can do this , I tell myself. Just remember, you’re relaxed, normal, and not on the run for your life.
The words don’t do much to calm me.
“Hi.” The monosyllabic word is the first that comes to mind, and wow. That’s delightfully inarticulate.
Rocking back on my heels, I force myself to keep my face calm, even though internally, I’m slapping myself for being such an awkward mess. I pulled this man out of a bush and healed him, and the first thing I can think to say is, Hi ?
Suns save me from myself.
Those emerald eyes stare at me for another long moment before the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile. If he was ruggedly handsome before, now he’s downright captivating. My stomach flutters at the sight, which is a wholly inappropriate reaction since the man was on the brink of death a short while ago.
Add that to my list of problems, I suppose. Not only am I awkward, but I keep having inappropriate thoughts about the man I saved in the woods, of all people.
“Hi,” he rasps in a baritone voice.
Something deep within me twists at the sound, and if I weren’t in a dire situation, I’d probably take the time to appreciate the way it makes me feel. Like warmth and sunshine and something… more. Like I’m drawn to him in a way that I haven’t been drawn to anyone before.
But how in the gods’ names could one word make me feel like that? I don’t understand. We just met.
My patient tries to sit up, hissing and grabbing at his stomach.
“Careful.” I reach out on instinct, gently pushing his shoulder back to the shale.
I definitely don’t pay attention to how well-built he is, nor do I notice that even though I’ve always been on the curvier side of things, he’s so tall that he makes me feel small. Noticing these types of things would be inappropriate, considering our circumstances.
Reminding myself that I’m supposed to be acting normal, I add, “You were badly hurt, and you shouldn’t be moving right now.”
“What?” His eyes widen, and his chest heaves as he tries to sit up again. Gods, did this man not know how to listen? He was a much better patient when he was asleep. “What happened?”
His panic is palpable, and I can’t help but feel bad for him.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I found you beneath a bush, and it looks like you were beaten up.”
“I… I don’t remember.” His brows come together, and anxiety leaks into his voice. “What woods are we in?”
Well, that’s a very good question, isn’t it? I’m not entirely sure of the answer, but I’m guessing that I unfortunately haven’t gone too far from home yet, so I take a guess and say, “River Bend Forest.”
Named for the enormous river that runs through the province, the forest spans most of Eskana. Since I haven’t made it that far, it would make sense that this is where we are.
My patient exhales. The name must bring him some comfort because some of his panic subsides. “Okay. Thank you. That makes sense, even though I still don’t remember.”
My heart twists at the pain in his words. Even with the horrible turn my life has taken, I’ve never lost my memories. I can’t imagine how frightening it would be to wake up and not know that something has happened to you.
There’s a strange need within me that I don’t fully understand. It wants me to comfort him, help him feel better, and assure him that he’ll be okay. His pain feels like my pain in a way that I’m not entirely clear on. I’ve never felt like this for any of my patients before. To be fair, they were animals and not humans, but still.
This is different.
“No, I figured you might not. You had a bad laceration on your forehead.” I indicate the spot on my own head—above my hood, of course—but drop my hand as he tries to speak but breaks out into a cough instead. “Suns, I’m sorry. You must be parched.”
He nods, and I reach behind me, grab the canteen, and offer him a drink. After he dips his head, I unscrew the lid and bring the vessel to his lips. He opens his mouth, and I pour the liquid in as slowly as I can. This time, every drop makes it in.
My patient swallows, and I definitely don’t notice the way his throat bobs, nor do I notice the way his emerald eyes track my movements. That would be ridiculous.
“Thank you,” he says when I pull the water away. His voice sounds better, and there’s a sincerity about him that makes me feel comfortable. Or maybe that’s the loneliness talking.
Is it possible to go insane from being alone for a few days? I’m not entirely sure, but based on the way I’ve been dealing with my newfound status as an outlaw, it seems plausible.
“You’re welcome.” I bite my lip and shuffle backwards.
I should leave; I know that. Carrying on a conversation with this man is stupid for a plethora of reasons. For one, I don’t know him. For another, as previously mentioned, I’m an outlaw.
These are all great points, but I can’t make myself move. The same part of me that ached at the thought of his pain doesn’t want to leave. It’s urging me to stay, to talk with him, and form a connection. It wants me to do something that I don’t quite understand.
Besides, getting up and leaving mid-conversation would raise alarm bells, which is the last thing I want to do.
“You saved my life,” he says before I can figure out how to get away without being suspicious.
“I couldn’t leave you to die.” No one with a heart could do that. “I brought you back and used some blessed salve on you. It seems to have worked.”
Obviously. I barely contain my groan, and my cheeks heat. Gods above. Maybe my normal is just being awkward as hell. It certainly feels that way as I stumble through this conversation.
He either doesn’t notice my awkwardness, or he’s too polite to point it out. Either way, he tilts his head, his hair falling over his eyes in an attractive way that makes it difficult to concentrate on his words. “Queen Lucille’s salve?”
I nod, unwilling to speak again in case my tongue continues to betray me. I can’t risk saying something even more awkward and embarrassing.
Intrigue sparks in the man’s gaze, and I try not to shiver as he studies me. My Mark is hidden. I can feel the brim of my hood above my eyes, assuring me it hasn’t shifted. Even so, my fingers itch to make sure the swirl is covered. I don’t move, though, because I don’t want to draw attention to it.
“Then I suppose I’m in your debt…” His voice trails off, clearly waiting for my name.
Seeing that I still possess a modicum of sense, even though I’m still sitting here, I don’t give him my name. I drop my eyes to my lap and twist my fingers together. “I just did what anyone would do.”
Who could leave someone in pain? Even in my current predicament, I can’t imagine being so cold and unfeeling. For the same reason that I’ve never been able to leave a wounded animal behind, I had to help him.
“Still, you have my thanks.” He pushes himself up into a sitting position, even though he winces, resting his back against the shale.
I want to tell him that moving so much is probably a bad idea since he’s been recently healed, but I keep the words inside. The sooner this conversation is over, the better. I really need to get going. Every second I’m here is another where my secret can be revealed.
I’m sweeping my eyes over the forest, trying to think of a way out of this, when he holds his hand out between us. “My name’s Gabriel.”
Gods, that’s a nice name. It fits him—he’s big and strong and sturdy, just like the moniker suggests.
He wiggles his fingers in my direction, clearly waiting for me to put my hand in his and shake it. Damn it. Refusing to do this will arouse suspicion, but something within me is warning me that shaking his hand is a bad idea.
I don’t know why, exactly, only that everything within me is urging me to run in the opposite direction. I can’t pinpoint the reason, since Gabriel doesn’t seem all that threatening.
Sure, he’s bigger than me and clearly has an exercise regime that would probably have me crying on the floor within five minutes, but his scabbard is empty, and he doesn’t have a bow.
He certainly looks less dangerous than the Watchers that patrol Grenbloom on a regular basis. Not to mention the way I’m drawn to him. Why would I be drawn to someone who could hurt me?
Gabriel clears his throat. Oh, gods, he’s still waiting for me. So much for not being awkward. Before I can continue overthinking things and potentially make them worse, I slip my hand into his, bad ideas be damned.
Except… oh, suns. The moment his warm hand envelops mine, my stomach flutters. Sparks seem to jump between us, and every part of me wants this moment to continue forever. My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes fly up to his.
It’s like the lightning from yesterday’s storm has been bottled up and infused into this brief contact. Every part of me yearns to get closer to him, the feeling much stronger than before.
I don’t understand how all of this is coming from a simple touch. Every rough callous on his hands feels amazing against my smooth skin.
Does he notice the sparks, too? I’m afraid to ask because it’s probably just in my head. A side-effect of everyone keeping their distance from me for years. That’s it. I’m starved for touch, unused to getting attention. There’s absolutely nothing else happening here.
Gabriel shakes my hand, and I exhale. Okay. That wasn’t so bad. Now, I can go.
When the appropriate time for a handshake comes and goes, I try to pull my hand from his. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gabriel.”
Instead of letting me go, those calloused fingers tighten around mine. My treacherous heart jumps as I glance down to where he’s touching me.
“Wait,” Gabriel says, the word echoing around the clearing as his thumb rubs the back of my hand. He’s still touching me, and this is… unexpected.
I’m not sure whether it’s good or bad, but I can’t deny that holding his hand is nice. That’s a strange thought to have about a man I barely know, but it is what it is.
I lift my gaze back to his. “Yes?”
“I gave you my name, but I still don’t know yours.” Gabriel raises a brow and smirks, his thumb continuing its trail down the back of my hand.
For a moment, I’m taken aback by the way the expression transforms his face. Before, he was handsome, but now, it’s like he’s a statue that’s been chiseled by the gods. I could stare at him for hours and not get bored.
He continues. “How can I owe you a debt if I don’t know what to call you?”
My stomach drops, and if I’d eaten anything more than jerky recently, it would’ve risen in my throat. My tongue grows heavy, and the fingers of my free hand twitch at my sides.
This .
This is exactly why I should’ve left the moment he opened his eyes and stared at me. Awkwardness be damned, it would’ve been better than this current situation.
Panic twists my heart, and I barely avoid gasping for breath. Burning suns, I’ve been so stupid. Who cares if his stupid hand feels nice holding mine? I can’t give him my name. I might not know much about being an outlaw, but I do know that my name is unique.
Why couldn’t my parents have picked a simpler name for me, one that wouldn’t stand out? It’s not like the swirl on my forehead makes blending in easy, but by naming me Wren, they made it practically impossible.
Even if this man has no idea who I am—and suns, I’m praying that’s the case—I don’t want him to know my real name. There are too many ways that that could go wrong.
Instead, I tell him the first thing that comes to mind. “Most people call me Birdie.”
According to Mother, James was the one who came up with the nickname when I was a baby. It caught on quickly, and my entire family called me that before I could walk. It was even Violet’s first word.
A pang of sadness lances through me at the thought of the family I’ve left behind, and I send a quick prayer to Esyn for their safety.
I ran away all on my own, I remind the gods, in case they’re listening. It’s doubtful, but I need to try. They didn’t have anything to do with it .
Unaware of my inner turmoil, Gabriel smiles. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Birdie.”
He doesn’t seem to question the unusual name, and I exhale. Okay. This is going… not terribly. My Mark is hidden, and I’m carrying on a normal conversation with this handsome, kind man. My shoulders relax an increment, and I settle more deeply into a sitting position.
I can do this.
“How are you feeling?” I ask in an effort to maintain the normalcy of our conversation even though he’s still holding my hand. I should be yanking my fingers back, but I don’t.
I could say it’s because I want a moment where things are normal, but I’m not sure that’s true. His fingers are much longer than mine, and there’s something comforting about his touch and the way he’s looking at me. I don’t hate being the object of his attention at all.
Besides, it’s just hand-holding. How bad could it be?
“I’ve been better,” he replies, arching a brow. “But I have a feeling that I would be in much worse shape without you. You’re a good caretaker.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I chew on the inside of my lip as I drop my gaze to my lap. “It’s easy to take care of someone when they’re such a good patient.”
“Oh?”
I look back up and nod. “You didn’t try to bite me once, which I’m eternally grateful for.”
Gabriel’s lips twitch, and gods, it’s a handsome sight. Part of me wants to reach up and trace the smile, but I don’t because I haven’t lost all my senses.
He asks, “Have you been bitten by your patients often?”
I laugh . The sound takes me by surprise, and for a moment, I can’t even believe it. How can I be laughing when my best friend was just murdered? My smile slips as I recall the way her head slammed against the altar.
Keep it together .
“It’s only happened once,” I tell him. “But it was enough.”
Last year, I was walking down the path behind our home when I heard a low moan from beneath a pile of fallen leaves. The sound had tugged on my heart, and when I moved the brush aside, I discovered a small raccoon with a bleeding paw. I promptly named him Sir Hardwell and brought him home to help him heal.
The problem was that unlike most of my other patients, Sir Hardwell hated being cared for. He let me hold him, but every time I tried to look at his paw, he attempted to remove a chunk of my hand with his teeth. When Mother found out about Sir Hardwell’s carnivorous tendencies, she banished him to the small shed out back, where he resided until he healed.
“Well, rest assured, I don’t bite.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkle, and he leans in conspiratorially. He releases my hand and inches closer, waggling his brows. “Unless you want me to.”
My eyes widen at his suggestive tone, and my mind is more than happy to supply me with plenty of mental images of what he means. The two of us with far fewer clothes, tangled together, close in the most timeless of ways.
My core heats at the thought, and a wave of warmth passes through me, taking me by surprise. I’ve never experienced this kind of reaction before. It’s not that I haven’t been around men, but the boys from my village were just that—boys.
All my romantic and sexual experiences, including losing my virginity, were brief. They didn’t inspire much emotion in me beyond feeling normal for a few minutes. Certainly, none of them ever brought me close to feeling like this. Who is this man that he inspires such a strong reaction in me?
“I… uh… maybe later.” My cheeks heat, and I fight the urge to hide my face in my hands.
Oh, my gods. Did I just tell him he could bite me? What in Esyn’s name is wrong with me?
It’s Gabriel’s turn to chuckle, and the deep sound has my core tightening once more. Gods, this is good. Easy .
Maybe I was worried for nothing. Maybe I might be able to survive as an outlaw, after all. It doesn’t seem that difficult. All I need to do is keep my hood on for the foreseeable future, use a new name, get new clothes, and leave the country.
I can do this .
In fact, not only can I do this, but I must do this. If I’m going to live, I need to get used to talking to people without each interaction being a lesson in awkwardness.
With that thought in mind, I reach into my satchel and pull out the pack of dried jerky. Just over half the rations remain. I take a piece for myself, handing another to Gabriel.
Gratitude shines in his green eyes as he takes it, his fingers sweeping over mine again. Am I imagining things, or did his fingers rest over mine for a moment too long? I can’t help but wonder if he feels the same urge to close the distance between us.
“Thank you, Birdie.”
The sound of my nickname coming from this stranger’s mouth is a jolt to my system, a reminder that even though this man is ridiculously rugged and handsome, I’m still an outlaw. I need to be careful.
I dip my head, trying to get a grip on my emotions. “You’re welcome.”
I take a bite of jerky, trying not to frown at the taste. The flavor hasn’t improved, but food is food, and I’m grateful for anything right now.
Relaxing further against the stone, I nibble on my meal. “So, Gabriel.” He glances at me. “Where did you come from? I assume you don’t spend all your time in the middle of a forest getting attacked.”
That would make for a rather awful existence.
A guffaw bursts out of him. “No, you’re right. I come from Rosebridge.”
I lower my jerky and stare at him, wide-eyed. “The kingdom’s capital city?” Even Father, well-traveled though he is, has never been to Rosebridge. “That’s so far.”
Gabriel smiles, and a hint of emotion flashes through his eyes. “It is, but distance isn’t always a bad thing.”
It sounds like there’s a story there.
“What’s it like?” I ask, taking another nibble.
“Have you never been?”
I shake my head, my cheeks flushing. “Never.”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat and shifts, seeming to get more comfortable.
“Rosebridge is enormous,” he says after a moment. “There are people everywhere. The royal family lives there, of course, and most noble families have a residence in the city.” He gestures to our surroundings. “Imagine the forest, but instead of trees, there are hundreds of buildings.”
My eyes move from Gabriel to the trees, then back.
“There must be hundreds of thousands of people there,” I breathe. I can’t even picture that many people in my mind.
He agrees. “It can be a lot, if you don’t like people.”
“And do you?”
“Hmm?”
“Like people.”
His brows bend, and he takes another bite, seeming to ponder the question. “Not usually,” he admits after a moment. “My family life is… difficult.”
His words echo with a deep pain that has an insane part of me wanting to ignore the fact that we’ve basically just met and hug him.
That doesn’t seem like something a normal person would do, though, so instead, I say, “I’m sorry.”
He dips his chin. “Me, too.”
Silence stretches between us, but it isn’t uncomfortable. There’s a familiarity between us that feels like we’ve known each other for years, not less than a day. Several minutes pass, and I finish my jerky.
“So, what brings you to the area, Gabriel? You’re a long way from the capital.”
He smiles, and whatever pain had been on his face before is gone. “I’m working.”
Well, I suppose that makes sense. Marked Ones don’t have jobs, for obvious reasons, but it stands to reason that Gabriel is gainfully employed.
I eye him. He definitely does something with his body—maybe he’s a blacksmith or a farmer? Part of me wants to pry and find out more, but it feels like it would open up a topic of conversation I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with. If I ask him too many questions, he might do the same. What if he wants to know something I’m not comfortable sharing? I have a world of secrets to protect.
“Do you enjoy your work?” I ask instead, taking a sip of my water.
Not everyone likes what they do, but there’s a sparkle in Gabriel’s eye that intrigues me and makes it feel like a safe topic of conversation.
“Yes.” He smiles, leaning in closer to me. “There are certain aspects that aren’t, but for the most part, I enjoy it immensely. Being out in the woods, traveling throughout Myreth, meeting people.” He gestures to me when he says the last part. “It’s all enjoyable.”
The relaxed look on his face reminds me of Father when he talks about the butcher shop. The corner of my lips tilts up, and I imagine that one day, I’m going to find something that gives me as much joy when I talk about it.
“That must be nice.”
“It is.” Gabriel finishes his jerky, and I pass him the canteen of water without thinking. Our fingers brush once again, and another spark of awareness runs through me.
A niggling voice inside my mind tells me I should probably question why I feel so comfortable with Gabriel, but I shove it aside. These are the first true moments of peace I’ve experienced since Amelia’s murder, and I don’t want to lose them.
There will be time for questions later.
He brings the water to his lips, and I unashamedly watch as he swallows. For someone so big, he moves with so much ease. Like the panther from earlier, there’s a grace to his movements.
When he’s done drinking, he hands the canteen back to me with a thanks. His stomach grumbles loudly, and my cheeks burn. Gods, he must be starving. Whatever he does for work must be physical, and I’m sure he has to eat a lot to maintain a physique like his.
I hold out the bag of dried meat. “Want another? I don’t particularly enjoy these.”
He grins as though I’ve offered him a feast. “I’d love that.”
He eats the next piece in record time, as if it’s the last meal he’ll ever enjoy. It’s not like I’ve never witnessed a man eat at incredible speeds—I do have two older brothers, after all—but there’s something different about Gabriel that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I… smile. Not a twitch of my lips, but a full smile. Like the laugh from earlier, it feels so strange that I can barely believe it.
Earlier, I was feeling so depleted, but now, things are looking up.
I hand Gabriel another piece of jerky, and while he munches on it, I wiggle my toes experimentally. My smile widens when I discover that instead of throbbing pain, there’s a mere hum in my feet. The pain is still there, but it’s manageable. I slip my dried stockings over the bandages, studying the forest while I do so.
The rain has turned into a drizzle, and shards of sunlight are breaking through the clouds. One such sliver of light falls on the forest, illuminating a small cluster of white mushrooms growing at the base of a tree not far into the woods.
The mushrooms are small, about two inches tall, and their stems look to be the size of my pinky finger. I think I recognize them, but I’m not certain.
But Gabriel…
“You’ve spent a lot of time in these woods, right?” I ask, turning to the rugged man.
He nods, and my smile widens. It’s practically a grin at this point, which feels… odd.
I point to the fungi. “Do you see those?”
“The mushrooms?”
“Mm-hmm.” I glance back at him. “Do you recognize them?”
His eyes narrow for a moment before he dips his chin. “They look like blossom mushrooms. Why do you ask?”
My stomach growls in response before I can tell him, and he chuckles. “Ah. You’re hungry.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees as he studies the cluster from here. “I think they’re safe to eat. You should make sure there isn’t a red mark on them, though. Blossom mushrooms can sometimes be mistaken for their cousin, butterfly mushrooms. Those aren’t for eating unless you plan on dying a painful death.”
“Dying is the last thing I want to do.” My words ring with truth as I wiggle my feet back into my boots. They’re tighter than before, between the bandages and the stockings, but I get them on.
Gabriel goes back to chewing on his jerky as I gingerly stand. My feet are still sore, but the pain isn’t awful, and I take a few trial steps. Since I don’t feel like screaming or crying, I will count this as a victory.
My smile remains as I pick my way across the forest floor, careful not to trip on the plethora of roots sticking up out of the ground. The last thing I need right now is a twisted ankle. It would make an already bad situation even worse.
The ground squelches as I move, the spongy earth shifting as I put my weight on it. I avoid puddles, and soon, I reach the cluster of fungi.
Blossom mushrooms. Up close, I can see where they get their names from. They look like upside-down flowers in bloom. They have a round bulb and white petals that fan out underneath.
I crouch, picking one and turning it over carefully as I study it. I don’t see any discoloration, and it looks safe enough.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I mutter before tossing the entire mushroom into my mouth.
It’s chewy and has a definitive earthy flavor, but it tastes significantly better than the jerky. I swallow and wait, several moments passing in silence. Since I don’t drop dead, have a splitting headache, or feel a sudden onset of sharp pain, I decide the blossom mushrooms are safe to eat.
Gathering as many as I can carry, I cradle them against my chest and stand. Keeping my head down, I navigate my way across the forest floor, cautious of the roots. The last thing I want to do is scatter my food all over the ground and let it go to waste.
“Do you like mushrooms?” I ask, carefully maneuvering over the stones. “These are a little earthy, but they’re tasty. At least, I think so…”
My voice trails off as I lift my head and meet Gabriel’s gaze. An angry growl rumbles through his chest, and he’s shifted into a crouch. His hands are balled at his sides, his eyes are wide, and he’s staring at me as though he’s seen a ghost.
I freeze, one foot on the shale and the other mid-air. Is there an animal behind me? Oh, gods. Did the panther come back? Or is it a bear? Or maybe a pack of wolves?
“Um, what…” I ask, at the same time that he angrily rasps, “You’re Marked to be Given.”
Fuck.
My smile plummets, and my arms fall open. The mushrooms tumble to the ground, plunking as they hit the shale, and I stare at Gabriel.
Sweat gathers at the back of my neck, and I can’t breathe.
Suns save me. I reach for my hood with trembling fingers, only to realize that it’s slipped back. It must have moved when I climbed the rock.
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.
My mouth dries, and my stomach churns. The mushroom I just ate threatens to come up as Amelia’s lifeless body flashes before my eyes. My throat is closing in on itself, and a fist is compressing my lungs. They burn as I try and fail to draw breath.
The air thickens as those damned green eyes drill into mine. I wish I could move, but I’m frozen in place.
He’s seen my Mark. It’s a fucking glowing beacon, telling the world, This gods-blessed is twenty and ready to be Given.
I’m not sure what I hate more right now—the blue Mark on my forehead or my fucking compassionate heart. If I had left well enough alone, I wouldn’t be standing in front of an angry man who knows I’m gods-blessed.
Gabriel rises to his feet, his movements shockingly steady for a man who was on the brink of death not long ago. His gaze is unwavering as he steps towards me, and my stomach swoops.
“You’re Marked to be Given,” he repeats.
A dark gleam enters his eyes, and a hardness takes over his face. My stomach twists into a tight knot, and every part of me is crying out for me to get out of here.
But it’s too late to flee. It’s too late to do anything.
Before I can think of a single thing to say, he growls, “It’s you.”
There’s a knowing in his words that has me screaming inside. I take a trembling step back, squishing a mushroom beneath my foot.
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore. Maybe it never did.
“What?” I whisper hoarsely, my lungs still struggling to work. Why didn’t I run when I had the chance? “No.”
I don’t even know what exactly I’m refuting, only that it’s imperative that I deny whatever he’s claiming. I stumble back, trying to create space between us, but Gabriel doesn’t let me.
For every step I take, he moves, as well.
His green eyes sharpen, studying me with an assessing gaze that seems far too perceptive. “What did you say your name was again?”
A whooshing fills my ears, and my lungs tighten, tighten, tighten. Black spots appear in my vision. In my mind, I can hear Mistress Fyona reminding me to breathe, but I can’t.
What fucking good will breathing do now?
Gabriel has seen my Mark, and he knows . I don’t know how he does, but it’s reflected in his eyes.
“Tell me your name,” he barks.
His voice is so loud, and his command is so powerful that my mouth automatically opens. “Birdie.”
He snarls, the predatory sound causing my flesh to prickle, as he stands to his full height. Suns have mercy on my soul. How could I have ever thought that he didn’t look threatening? Clearly, I’ve been a gods-damned fool.
Gabriel stands almost a foot taller than my nearly six feet, and an aura of violence radiates off him. A lethal sense of power flows around him as if it cannot be contained in his body. I’ve been in the presence of dangerous men before, but Gabriel…
Something about him makes my soul quake in terror. I’ve never felt fear like what is currently coursing through my veins.
I take another trembling step back.
He advances with deadly grace.
I move to the left.
He mirrors my actions.
Gabriel is a predator, and somehow, I know I’m his prey. Esyn save me. I’d been so worried about the creatures that call the forest their home, yet I unknowingly saved the most dangerous one of them all.
“No,” he growls, the deep tenor of his voice sending tremors running through me. “Your real name.”
My heart is racing so fast, I’m afraid it’s going to erupt out of my chest.
“My name is Birdie,” I insist, even as the lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I don’t like lying. I never have. But it’s better to lie and live than tell the truth and die. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
He shakes his head and laughs. The cruel sound fills the air, and shivers cascade down my spine.
“It’s Wren, isn’t it?” He reaches inside his cloak, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. A red emblem is stamped on the back, and blood drains from my face.
An eagle and two suns. The king’s sigil. It’s different from the other times I’ve seen it, though. A sword is in front of the eagle, the tip pointing down. I should probably know what that means, but I can’t remember. My stomach still churns at the sight, though, and it can’t be good.
“Wren Nightingale,” he reads, his voice devoid of the warmth and charm that had been present earlier.
I hate the way he says my name in that deep voice of his. I hate the way his lips form the words. I even hate the way his stupid, unmarked hands clutch the parchment.
I hate it all.
He continues. “Twenty years old. Marked to be Given on the fifteenth day of the eleventh month.”
“It’s not?—”
He flashes me a withering glare and continues, speaking the words that make me wish I was anywhere else.
“Fled the morning of her Giving Ceremony.”
My fingers inch towards the knife sheathed at my hip. What are the chances I can stab him and get away? I don’t know, but right now, I’m willing to try anything.
“Don’t,” he snarls, looking up from the note.
As if I’m going to listen to him. Self-preservation is the only thing on my mind as I ignore his warning and grab the blade. I pull it out of the sheath, keeping the knife between us.
“Who are you?” I demand.
Father’s blade looks laughably small compared to Gabriel’s size, but I can’t help but feel a bit better having something between me and him.
A stupidly handsome brow lifts. “You know who I am.”
I stare at him, my mind putting together the pieces that I suspected but haven’t been ready to acknowledge. The sealed note. The knowing in his eyes. The fucking fact that he was in the woods in the first place.
I should’ve realized who he was from the moment I first laid eyes on him.
My mouth dries, and I stumble back. The black spots in my vision get worse. The knife trembles in my grip. My head is light, and it takes everything I have not to be sick.
I know who he is. What he is. But to say it out loud… to admit it…
I’m not sure I can.
“You’re a… a…”
“Say it,” Gabriel growls, stepping towards me.
My heartbeats are like butterfly wings, flapping wildly in my chest.
He’s right. I know exactly who he is, which is how I can now say with certainty that the gods have never favored me. They’ve never cared for me. I’m the only one looking out for me, and clearly, I haven’t done a great job.
I’m unable to keep fear from leaking into my voice as I whisper, “You’re a Hunter.”
The king employs four types of soldiers: Watchers, Enforcers, Protectors, and… Hunters.
Whenever Mistress Fyona spoke about the Hunters, her voice would be tinged with a sense of awe. They’re revered, she always said. Special soldiers whose only task is to track down outlaws and ensure they meet justice.
And I’m standing in front of one.
He jerks his chin. “I am.”
My fingers spasm around my knife, and I rasp, “Fuck.”
What else can I say?
“Yeah.” His nostrils flare, and his hands flex at his sides. “Fuck.”