Chapter 7
Iclung to the back of the busted up, rusted and put back together jeep for a couple of hours, as we headed northwest. No giant at least.
My irritation with Veyyr trying to leave me behind faded as I replayed everything in my mind.
The mare had been given a chance because we’d both been there. And for whatever reason, Veyyr had been there and had helped. He wasn’t all bad, maybe he was just cranky. Like the gryphons. The truth was, this world was not kind, and those who were kind were often punished the hardest.
Like Red. Dakota. And Helayne. I couldn’t blame Veyyr for leaving me behind. Or trying to leave me behind. To be sure, I had a feeling he would be right pissed when he saw I hitched a ride without him knowing.
I grinned and got a good mouthful of dirt.
“Get gone, bird!” He yelled, his voice loud even over the too loud engine. There was a gust of wind, and Sorrow was pushed off the back of the jeep, wings wide on the air current created by Veyyr. He swooped down and plunked himself on my knees, tucking his head under my chin, clucking softly.
“Turd man.”
I chuckled but didn’t open my mouth—I didn’t need more dirt for dinner.
Between my weapons and the bird, it was not the most comfortable position I’d ever been in, and while my legs were cramping, and my back protested the rattling ride, I refused to let go.
I wasn’t letting Veyyr get away from me until I had some answers. He knew me, and he didn’t want me to know that he knew me.
Fucking bastard.
The light was shifting from day to night before the jeep began to slow. Did I ride in with him, to wherever he was going?
No, that was not a good move. I waited until the rusted-out jeep began to cough and hack like an old man, slowing more and more, and only then did I force my legs to get under me. Sorrow decided to let me carry him—lazy bird.
Crouching, I walked in behind the jeep as it rolled to a stop, peering out over the top.
Veyyr had pulled up to a cluster of small cabins—far more permanent than the tents of Dakota and Red’s group.
But on closer inspection the cabins were in shit condition, as if they were just way stations.
The siding of the one closest to me had a ton of small holes—like termites had a field day with it—and the foliage had grown up through the middle and taken out the center of the roof.
The others scattered about were not much better.
The biggest structure was in the best condition and the door to it flung open, a massive man barely squeezing his way out, his shoulders so broad he had to go sideways and duck to get through.
Check that, not a man.
Ogre. A fucking ogre with piercings in his nose, eyebrows and ears—marks of his fighting skills if my shoddy memory was correct. An ogre could look at another and based on their piercings deduce what skills they did or didn’t have. And no, they didn’t do their own piercings.
The hair on his head was a deep violet, to the point of being nearly black, and tied back not unlike Veyyr’s in braids that hung past his shoulders, the sides of his head shaved, showing off the tops of his ears.
His deep purple skin was mostly covered, but it was the bright yellow t-shirt with the black spray paint writing that had me staring, the clash of his skin color and the shirt making my eyes water.
And then the slogan on the shirt…there was no way he hadn’t painted it himself.
“I swing both ways: fists and hips.”
Sorrow took that moment to ruffle his feathers and leap into the air, up onto the jeep and express himself as he stared at Veyyr. “Turd man!”
“Boss…did that bird call you a turd?”
“Fucking bird.” Veyyr snapped. “I’m just going to kill it—”
He was not killing my bird. I stayed in my crouch and stepped to the side of the jeep so I could see him lift his hand, that left hand that held his magic. I had my bow and arrow notched before I so much as felt my heart take another beat.
I sighted down the arrow, dead-center on the scar in his palm. The part of me that still clung to reason whispered this was a bad idea.
But another part — colder, and far more certain — whispered back: He’ll heal. Just like me.
How the fuck did I know that? No time to question myself even. I either trusted the truth in my skull, or I didn’t.
As the magic gathered—the blues and silvers, white wisps and crackling energy—I let loose the arrow. Again, maybe not the best way to get the man to speak to me, but he had to learn his place. And killing my Sorrow was not going to gain him anything.
The arrow pierced his palm, and he just stared at it, and then those icy blue eyes found me. Hatred had nothing on the energy crackling between us as the air visibly cooled.
I slowly locked eyes with Veyyr, lifting a single brow along with the corner of my mouth. His jaw ticked as if he were struggling not to explode.
“Apologies. You had a bullseye on your palm. It called to me.”
The ogre’s eyes—which were a good foot above Veyyr’s—widened. “Holy fucking shit bags of rice and beans. She. I mean. Wow. That’s ah…balls and bangers, I don’t know what to say.”
“Good shot?” I offered.
The ogre’s jaw tightened, and it looked like he was trying his best not to laugh, his whole face crinkling as if his best was not going to be good enough.
“You’ll heal fast,” I said. “Correct?”
“Yeah, he will, but he’s going to be pissed, girlie.” The ogre said.
Like I didn’t know that.
Veyyr still hadn’t moved, his hand still held as if he were casting a spell, but of course he wasn’t because I’d stuck an arrow through his palm.
Something crackled in the air around us, a low hum that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
The sky darkened fast, swallowing the trees and the edges of the clearing until it felt like we were standing in the middle of a black hole.
The wind whipped at my hair, tugging at my clothes, snatching at the leaves and dust around my feet, obscuring my vision.
I blinked, trying to steady myself, but the energy buzzing through the space between us made it impossible.
Maybe… yeah, maybe I’d taken it a step too far.
What in the world possessed me to poke the fucking bear, I don’t know, but he made me lose what control I had over myself when he threatened Sorrow.
Which meant, in for a penny, in for all the pounds. “Temper, temper, Veyyr. Do try to control yourself.”
His eyes popped wide and I smiled and for just a half beat I thought he’d throw down and we’d be fighting to the death.
“Fuck, girl, you got a death wish?” The ogre took a step back.
“Woman.” I corrected him as I braced myself against whatever Veyyr was going to throw at me next.
A woman’s voice cut through the wind and the tension. “What is going on? Who is that?”
The wind died and the storm retreated, leaving us with just a normal darkness for a fading day and not the temper tantrum that Veyyr had been about to throw.
“That is Mallory.” Veyyr snapped the arrow in half and pulled out it out of his hand, and I watched as his palm indeed healed in a flash. “She was just leaving.”
“Did she shoot you?” The woman rushed forward and I had to blink a few times to see the scraps of cloth she wore as clothing.
A sheer black gown—though gown would indicate a full article of clothing—clung to her torso, cut daringly low in the front and splitting high up both legs so very little was left to the imagination.
Thin straps and laces barely kept the overly thin fabric in place across her waist, flashing bare skin with every movement.
Her midsection was almost completely exposed, the fabric hanging in strips more like decoration than armor.
A hood and face covering add a mysterious, witch-like air, but read more as sensual theater than practical disguise.
Black leather boots climb to her knees, glossy and fitted, the kind meant to stomp across polished floors, not trek through mud and blood.
How the hell did she keep them so clean? The desire to throw mud at her to see if it bounced off was strong—if somewhat childish.
“I’m fine.” Veyyr dropped the two halves of the arrow. “Lucky, toss her the fuck out of here.”
“Yeah.” The purple skinned ogre ducked his head.
“Sure, but she’s kinda cute, and I ain’t seen you that lively in a long time.
I wouldn’t mind if she stayed for a little while.
” The ogre had the balls to wink at me, over exaggerating a waggle of his eyebrows as he flexed his biceps.
Fucking peacock ogre, flashing everything he had in one go.
I should have been offended. Put off. Mad as hell, but there was a familiarity to this banter with him that I didn’t understand, but I felt it in my bones. That it was all just a big joke to him.
I fucking laughed. “You’d flatten me, big boy. And my chest isn’t that big to begin with.”
His grin was immediate, and his eyes lit up. “Oh, I’d let you be on top for sure. Think you can ride a bucking bull? I’ll let you hang onto my nipple rings if you need the balance. Once I even tied a rope between them so—”
“Lucky!” Veyyr snapped.
The witch next to Veyyr put her hands on her hips. “I’ll do it, my…Veyyr. The ogre is too busy thinking about fucking her to do his job. As usual.”
I wrinkled my nose, it felt like she’d almost said something else. Veyyr had sounded strangely like master. Gross.
She flicked her fingers at me, both hands, so a spell for sure. The magic curled around her, slower than Veyyr’s magic and then it wasn’t so slow.
Her spell shot toward me even as Veyyr tried to grab her hands. “Isla, no!”
The moment slowed and I…shit for lack of a better word, read…I read the spell. I didn’t just see it—I understood it. Layer by layer, what it would do, how it would strip me down. Like I’d read a language I shouldn’t know and yet it was as clear as a winter sky.
This particular one would peel my skin from my bones and leave me nothing but muscle sloughing from my skeleton. Not a very nice spell at all.