20. Let Me Go
20
LET ME GO
GAbrIEL
T he Given is still in the booth, staring up at me. Her violet gaze is sharp, even in the dim tavern, and it feels like she’s waiting for something to happen. I have no idea what it is, nor do I really care. She can’t delay the inevitable.
I’ve wasted enough time on this hunt. We need to leave.
“Come on.” Frustration edges my tone, even as I work to keep my voice low. I want to get out of Mora as quickly as possible because Mist is waiting for me on the other side of the city walls.
Eventually, with a jerk of her chin and an irritated huff, Wren stands. She balls her fists at her sides, and I can’t help but smile when I notice them. Her anger at being caught is almost adorable.
I’m not sure why she’s so against serving the gods, but it’s not my place to pry. Maybe she’s an atheist, or maybe she doesn’t want to live a life of servitude. Unfortunately for her, the Mark on her forehead means she doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
There’s a part of me that feels bad for her. After all, I understand the binds one’s societal position can place on them more than most. However, I can’t let those feelings get in the way of my job. The thrumming connection I have with my panther is a reminder of exactly why we need to leave.
I’m coming, Mist. I send the message through the bond.
A burst of calm comes through the connection a moment later, and I relax. Mist is okay, and we will be reunited shortly. I’ll get my promotion, and this hunt and the awful nightmares will soon be nothing but distant memories.
The little bird’s violet eyes are hatred-filled daggers stabbing into me. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man right now. But they can’t, so I take the opportunity to study her in return.
It’s not a hardship. She’s gorgeous, with her captivating curls that I’d love to twist around my finger, and curves that seem to go on forever. The tavern’s dim candlelight accentuates her ample, luscious curves and her beautiful full body.
Had we met under any other circumstance, I would’ve found great enjoyment in spending the night with her before going our separate ways. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined what bedding her would be like when I first woke before I realized who she was.
But then, like now, I had to put a stop to those thoughts.
Wren and I aren’t two random people. I’m a Hunter, and not only is she gods-blessed, but she’s an outlaw. The very person I’m obligated to chase.
No matter how drawn I am to her or how attractive I find her, we are naturally at odds. It’s more than just a bad idea. Getting involved with her is forbidden.
I told her the truth earlier. It’s not uncommon for those I’m hunting to throw themselves at me as a bargaining chip.
Getting propositioned by our prey is practically a rite of passage for a Hunter. Unlike some of my less-savory brethren, I’ve never taken advantage of the ones I’ve hunted.
No. I can’t have her like that, no matter how good she looks or how I once desired to taste her lips.
The thought further sours my mood, and I reach out, taking her arm. She stiffens beneath my touch, cursing under her breath as I tug her out of the booth. Something drops on the ground as she grabs her bag. She clutches it to her chest as if it contains her entire world.
“Don’t do this,” she whispers, her voice cracking as she comes to stand next to me.
The plea in her voice has me sucking in a breath, and for a moment, I think about doing as she asks and letting her go.
Turning my back and forgetting I found her. Leaving Mora without her.
My chest tightens, and memories of my nightmares flash through my mind. The pain of losing my bond. The emptiness. The absolute agony of having my soul ripped in two, night after night. Premonition, warning, or bad dream, it doesn’t matter. Not really.
Mist is under my protection, and I can’t let harm come to her. Even my promotion pales in comparison to that.
I can’t do as she asks.
“I’m sorry, but I’m bringing you back.” Gripping Wren’s arm, I start leading her through the tavern.
A few tables down, a man with glassy eyes stands on wobbly legs and lifts his tankard in the air.
“To the Given!” he yells.
“May the gods bless Myreth this giving season!” a woman adds.
“Here, here!”
“To the Given!”
“Praise Esyn!”
Cheers fill the air, masking the curse Wren hisses under her breath as we finally reach the door. Between the smoke and the loudness of the tavern, my head is starting to pound. I can’t wait to get outside.
Shoving open the door, I step into the night, pulling my prey behind me. Cool air slams into me, a brisk wind carrying hints of impending frost. A reminder that soon, the giving season will be over, and winter will be here. By that time, this hunt will be a memory, and I’ll be back in Rosebridge.
The door slams shut behind me. A heartbeat later, a foot connects with the back of my leg. It’s little more than an inconvenience, but a part of me can’t believe she actually kicked me.
“Let me go, you bastard!” Wren tries to yank her hand out of mine.
The breath is knocked from my lungs at the curse, and I stumble before I can stop myself.
She takes advantage of my slip-up, kicking me twice more. Now , it’s annoying. I regain my composure, grunting as I glare at her over my shoulder.
Her eyes are wide beneath her hood, a faint blue glow emanating from her swirl. There’s a fierceness beneath her fear that calls to me, even now.
I know she meant what she said earlier—she won’t go willingly. That’s fine. I meant what I said, too. I will enjoy every single second of bringing her to heel.
“No,” I snarl, tightening my grip on her wrist.
She kicks me again, but even though there’s some weight behind the attack, a few bruises won’t stop me from doing my job.
I hold her wrists tightly and reorient myself. To our right are residential streets that, if my memory serves me correctly, lead to the gardens. To the left are several other taverns and businesses, all with people pouring out of them. Either direction should take us to the gates, but my gut feeling is that the left would take longer.
Right it is, then.
Mind made up, I start down the road. Or at least, I try to. In reality, I take two steps and groan. Wren has stopped kicking, but rather than coming along nicely, she’s hanging limply from my arm. I try to move again, but her dead weight pulls down on me. Her hood is covering her head, so I can’t see her eyes.
“That’s how you want to play this?” I ask, trying to tug her back to her feet. “You want me to drag you out of the city?”
Her head rears up, giving me a glimpse of her Mark before her hood settles over it again.
“No, I want you to release me,” she snaps.
This woman. Her fire is as intriguing as it is frustrating.
“Not going to happen.”
She groans, her body weight getting even heavier.
Huffing, I pull her upright. The pounding in my head intensifies, making this annoying situation worse. I drag her closer, until her face is inches away from mine. Her chest is heaving, and her wide eyes meet mine.
My breath catches, and for a long moment, her stubborn glare ensnares me. This woman is beautiful and fierce, and something stirs deep within me as we share the same air.
It’s strange. Time is dragging on, but I can’t look away. Her violet gaze is a whirlpool, drawing me closer. There’s a stirring in my soul, a depth that I don’t quite understand, and it grows stronger with every passing second.
She opens her mouth, and my eyes drop to her lips. Lush and plump, they call to me. Her tongue darts out, wetting them.
Gods save me, but heat rushes through me at the sight. Of all the women in Myreth, why am I attracted to the one I can’t have?
The space between us feels like far too much and not nearly enough. I want to draw her close. I want to push her away. The desires are warring within me, fighting for my attention.
The little bird is my prey, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to kiss her or wondering what she tastes like.
She steps even closer, and my heart pounds.
“Let me go, Gabriel,” she whispers, my name sounding far too good on her tongue. “I saved your life. Can’t you do this for me?”
I can hear the hope in her voice. The desperation. She’d run if I let her, there’s no doubt in my mind. Between her map and her tenacity, she might even make it out of the kingdom.
Before I can give her request more than a moment’s consideration, the king’s voice echoes in my mind, a memory from those haunting nightmares.
“You failed, Hunter Moreau.”
Sometimes, in those nightmares that feel like warnings from the king, he decides that splitting my soul in two isn’t enough punishment. After severing my bond, he drags me out to the whipping yard.
On those days, I wake with tears streaming down my face, and my back aching with phantom pains. On those days, the ghost of the crimson barbs that decorate the tip of the king’s favorite whip haunt me long after I wake.
Wren must see something on my face, because desperation and sadness flood her gaze. Her eyelids shutter. “You won’t, will you?”
“No, I won’t.” I can’t.
My heart aches at her devastation. I’m filled with an irrational need to soothe her pain, which is ridiculous, since I’m causing it.
Her shoulders fall, and she seems to wilt like a flower during an early snow. Her gaze drops to where I’m still holding her wrist. The longest moment passes before she drags her eyes back up to mine. She scans my features, again seeming to search for something, before sighing. The sound echoes deep in my soul.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” It’s a question, but she already knows the answer. We both do.
“No.”
“Never?” She tugs on her arm, trying to get free. The effort has less force behind it than before.
My grip tightens. “No.”
Turning her in will protect my bond with Mist and give me the promotion I long for. I can already see the ceremony where the king honors me in front of all my brethren. A twisted part of my soul delights in the fact that, for once, the king will have to show me honor. For once, he will have to be kind to me in front of the court.
I need this , I remind myself, hardening my heart. I can’t let Wren get to me—I have a job to do.
With that thought in mind, I start moving again. Wren follows, her gaze still sweeping over mine as if she’s looking for something.
“See something you like, little bird?”
She huffs, but her eyes remain on me. “No, I was just wondering how you’re feeling.”
What a gods-damned strange question.
“I feel fine,” I tell her, although that’s a lie. My head is still pounding, and it feels like it’s getting worse.
“Pity,” she grumbles. She continues to curse me under her breath for several blocks, but she’s no longer kicking me.
I’m not entirely sure what brought on the change in her demeanor, but the shift is so sudden that it puts me on edge. I keep glancing down at Wren, but other than the way her eyes sweep over me every so often, she doesn’t interact with me.
It’s almost as if she’s… waiting for something. But what?
Our surroundings slowly shift as we move through Mora. The loud tavern district gives way to the sleeping city. The moons shine above us, lighting our path. There are fewer Watchers out now as the world slips off to sleep. However, even in the stillness of the night, echoes of life remain.
We pass a couple standing outside their home, screaming profanities at each other. They don’t even look our way. The next street down, a young man is leaning against the balcony railing of his second-story bedroom, bouncing a wailing baby on his hip.
Interspersed with all that are moans floating through open windows as lovers indulge in the secrecy provided by the late hour. Two women laugh as they stumble past us, their hands roaming beneath clothing as they slip through an open doorway. A little further down the block, we pass a home where flickering candlelight casts shadows on the wall of three intimately entangled people.
No one looks twice at Wren and me as we walk down the street, and for that, I’m grateful. This damned headache seems to be getting worse, not better. My brain has become a mallet, hammering against my skull.
By the time we pass the gardens, my mind has taken on a pulse of its own. It’s a throbbing mass. I wince with each step as the pain worsens. Every so often, Wren yanks on her wrist, and keeping my grip firm is increasingly difficult.
What’s happening to me?
Lanterns light up the city gates, a beacon in the night. Usually, I’d find them comforting. Now, the bright lights cause my headache to worsen.
“Fuck,” I breathe, stumbling down the streets.
Wren hitches a breath, and for what feels like the hundredth time since we left the tavern, her eyes search mine. Is that a flicker of excitement in her gaze? I try to focus on it, but I can’t. I can’t focus on anything.
Something’s wrong. My heart is a galloping horse, racing to escape my chest. Sweat is dripping down my back, and my vision has grown steadily blurrier since we left the tavern.
Everything feels strange. Even my bond with Mist doesn’t feel entirely right. I poke at it, wondering what’s going on.
This isn’t just the effects of a second mug of ale. I’ve been drunk enough times in my life to know the difference between the hurt brought on by too much alcohol and this.
Is this why Wren stopped fighting me? Did she do something to me?
The last question flits through my mind, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by my headache. Thank the gods, we’ve reached the gates. The soldiers on duty recognize me, and they allow us through without question.
Getting to the other side of the city walls does nothing for my headache. If anything, I’m feeling worse than before.
This morning, the distance between Mora and the forest felt so short, but now, it feels like we’ll never reach the woods. The trees swim in my vision as I drag Wren towards them. No matter how many times I blink, my eyes don’t focus.
What’s going on? Thinking is the most laborious of tasks. Putting one foot in front of the other takes all my concentration, and sweat pours down my face within minutes.
We’re halfway to the forest when a shooting pain erupts in my abdomen.
It starts in my stomach, a blaze devouring me from the inside out. Within seconds, it’s spread until my entire body feels like it’s on fire.
My steps falter, and my grip on the little bird loosens. She tugs her wrist again, and this time, I’m unable to stop her.
I fall to my knees. The damp grass is cold beneath my palms as I grapple for something to hold on to to lessen the pain, but nothing’s working.
Bricks are being dropped inside my skull. My lungs refuse to draw breath. My heart slams against my ribs. And the fire?
It burns . Once, when I was a young boy, I ran my finger through the flame of a candle to see what it felt like. That hurt, but it was nothing like this. Even my abusive father’s punishments never brought on such all-consuming pain.
Fabric rustles in front of me, and I look up. The Marked One is crouched in front of me, her violet eyes wide as she stares at me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Sorry?
It takes a moment for her words to register. Fucking suns. This is her doing. I don’t know how, but she did this to me. Now I know why she went with me so easily, why she was looking at me, why she asked how I was feeling.
She was just waiting for this to happen.
A flicker of respect flutters to life in my stomach, but it’s doused by the fire in my gut.
She continues. “But I told you, I can’t go back. I refuse to die.”
A crease forms between my brows, and I open my mouth to ask what in the Mother’s holy name she’s talking about.
Die? She’s gods-blessed—a life of serving wherever the gods see fit is all that awaits her.
Unfortunately, I can’t form a single word, let alone a coherent sentence.
Panic floods my chest, and not all of it is mine. I can feel Mist trying to figure out what’s happening. I reach for our connection, but that rope that binds us keeps slipping through my fingers as though it’s coated in oil.
Everything is on fire.
I lift my hand, thinking I’ll see flames licking my skin, but it appears normal.
But this isn’t normal. None of this is.
And then, my world flips. One moment, I’m on my knees. The next, I collapse on my side on the cold, damp ground.
The soldiers patrolling the city walls are nothing but dots against the midnight sky, and the only one around is the little bird. We’re alone, and for the first time since I picked up the mantle of Hunter, I don’t feel in control.
Fear pulses through me, and everything hurts. Is this what my prey feels the entire time I’m chasing them?
I would ask, but the pain is paralyzing.
Fire sweeps through me, and visions of the past flash through my mind with dizzying clarity. Tea with Grandmother. My first punishment at Father’s hands. Running from him, even though I was never fast enough. Laughing with the few friends I had as a child, hiding from the guards. My first hunt.
More, more, more, until past and present blend.
Then, I look up. Wren’s violet eyes hold mine. It’s like she’s trying to decipher the secrets of the universe in my gaze.
Endless seconds pass, and the fire worsens, but neither of us looks away.
How ironic is it that she’s the one to do this to me? The little bird has been the most captivating of all my hunts, and in another life, I would’ve loved to explore the connection between us.
But here, we’re enemies. Pure and simple.
Lines stand between us, barriers that can never be breached. I’m a Hunter, and she’s my prey.
What could have been never will be.
My heart breaks, and it’s not just because of the flames coursing through me. I stare helplessly as Wren stands and runs her hands down her cloak.
Wait ! I try to beg her to help me, but all that comes out of my mouth is an incoherent moan.
Oh, gods. I’m going to die here. Panic squeezes my heart.
Even if Mist manages to find me, my familiar can’t save me from whatever is causing this. My blood is lava, bubbling and churning as it courses through my veins.
Black spots fill my vision, and I start shaking uncontrollably. Adros, the god of the Underworld, is calling my name. Soon, I’ll join him.
The Given takes one last look at me, and then she steps back. A gurgling moan escapes my throat, and wetness dampens my cheeks.
The tears are for me. For the boy who thought being a Hunter would bring him freedom. For Mist, who will feel my death alongside me. And for the future I’ll never get to live.
Death has come for me.