Chapter Sixteen
ABBY
MY FEET ACHE, my head is pounding, and my back is stiff—the trifecta of hell.
I lick my lips, peering over the stone I hid behind. I don’t see anybody, and I pray this isn’t some sort of trick as I rise, tightly clutching my knife. What are the odds it was a shifter? I wait a minute, double-checking that nobody is around, before stepping away from the rock.
My foot catches on something, though, and a low grunt slips from my lips as I stumble forward. My knife flies from my hand and clatters to the ground, and my body quickly follows.
I land with a hard thump , and pain immediately vibrates up my legs.
Every muscle grows taut before I scramble to grab my knife. That was too loud.
Several long seconds pass, all spent in total, all-encompassing panic. Did they hear?
My knees burn from the fall, but my gloves protected my hands. I assume they did, at least. I’m not really in a position to pull them off and check. There are more pressing matters at hand.
I rise, my eyes darting around. My already too-thin leggings ripped open, and I can feel the skin on my kneecaps is torn. There’s a basic first-aid kit in my backpack, and I’ll patch myself up later. If I can survive the painful blisters currently littering my heels, I’m pretty sure I can survive anything.
My anxiety is at an all-time high as I straighten up and begin walking, heading in the opposite direction of where the person just went.
I’m extra careful to watch where I step, wincing with every small twig and leaf crunched under my sneakers. They’re impossible to avoid. I do skirt around the larger ones I know will make a lot of noise, but I’m not perfect.
“What do we have here?”
I jolt and spin toward the voice, my heart pounding.
Bright-violet eyes shine at me from only a few feet away, and I tighten my grip on my knife. A man is leaning against the base of a tree, his arms crossed over his chest as he carefully regards me.
He’s a faerie. A tall, muscular faerie I’m not going to stand much of a chance against.
His black, long-sleeved shirt clings to his skin, stretching tightly across his shoulders and abdomen. I glance at his chest, trying to make a snap decision on whether I could win in a fight against him.
There’s no magic, which may put us on a slightly more even playing field, but I can tell this guy has me beat in physical strength. Even with my knife, I won’t stand a chance.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The man cocks his head to the side. He has dark hair, but he also has violet eyes. Faeries always have violet eyes. I’m not sure if I’m relieved that he’s not a shifter.
“You’re quite a persistent little bug,” he says.
His voice is deep, and he smiles afterward to reveal a set of perfect teeth. He’s beautiful, with sharp cheekbones and a square jaw humans would kill to have, but I won’t be lured in by it. Especially not when he’s just called me a bug .
Some could argue it’s a pet name, but I know he means it as an insult.
He takes a step forward. I take one back.
“A human bug,” he continues.
I take another step back. His smile widens, the look entirely predatory.
“I don’t mean any trouble,” I say. My voice cracks, which isn’t exactly what I’m going for. “My name is Abby. I’m twenty-six, and I work in accounting.”
I once read that if you think somebody is going to hurt you, you should tell them things about yourself. This will make them view you as a person, not just an object.
The man cocks his head to the side, his dark eyebrows furrowing together. I think I’ve caught him off guard, and he takes a moment to process what I’ve just said before blowing a strand of hair out of his face.
“My name is Kieran. Kie,” he finally says. “I’m twenty-seven, and I work in politics. Why are you following us?”
Kieran. That sounds mildly familiar. Kieran. Kieran? Prince Kieran ? Fuck. Is this the prince? It must be. Politics is a light way of describing the title of prince, though.
I guess the rumors about him traveling into the forest were true, after all. Is the other prince with him? Mason? The shifter everybody seems to hate.
Movement on my left stops me in my tracks.
Kie’s gaze flickers in that direction. “Mace…” His tone is warning, and it’s not directed at me.
I shift, subtly glancing at the newcomer. I’ve never seen a shifter, but there’s no doubt that this man is one. He’s just as physically imposing as Kie, but something about him screams feral . It’s written somewhere in his bright-green eyes. Something about them isn’t right. It’s off.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, immediate alarm bells ringing in my head. I need to get out of here.
Mason approaches with unnerving speed, and with ten times more aggression than Kie. He’s coming straight for me, but before I can so much as blink, I’m being pushed up against a tree. The back of my head slams into the trunk, and my toes just barely graze against the ground as I’m pinned to it by my neck.
I can’t breathe.
There’s no room for any other thoughts.
Everything is moving too quickly for me to make sense of, and I kick out my feet as I pry at the hand wrapped around my throat. It hurts. I can’t breathe.
Kie appears behind Mason, his unnerving, violet eyes meeting my brown ones as he wraps his own hand around Mason’s neck. I look between the two, half-convinced I’m going to piss myself.
Kie squeezes Mason’s throat.
Well, I assume he’s squeezing. The look of betrayal that momentarily spreads over Mason’s face tells me it’s not a friendly touch.
I claw at the fingers cutting off my oxygen, desperation and panic rendering me unable to do anything but. I can’t fucking breathe. The rough tree bark scratches my lower back where my sweatshirt’s ridden up, but I hardly notice it as I tilt my chin upward and try to wiggle free.
I’m going to die.
I try with everything I have to bring air into my lungs, but the way Mason squeezes my throat makes it impossible.
“P—” I try to plead, to say anything, but I can’t get the words out.
“Let her go,” Kie says.
He tightens his grip on Mason’s throat, putting the shifter in an identical situation as me. What feels like minutes—but is probably only a fraction of a second—passes before Mason angrily releases me.
I crumple, falling onto my already injured knees as I drag in precious oxygen through my burning throat.
“She’s human,” Kie says. “We can’t kill her.”
Mason grunts. “I disagree.”
A long silence stretches between the two, one filled with the sounds of my frantic panting. Tears leak from my eyes and pour down my cheeks, the reaction involuntary. Crying isn’t going to save my life.
“We don’t kill humans,” Kie says.
“Shifters do,” Mason argues. “And she’s a liability.”
If I intend to make it out of this alive, I suspect I’ll need to fight for it. Ignoring my burning throat, back, and knees, I struggle to my feet.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say. I’m looking for the plant the shifters are rumored to be harvesting into a weapon. Then I’m going to bring it to a woman I’m pretty sure is a fugitive—or the daughter of one. “I swear I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just exploring, and we happened to cross paths. It was a coincidence.”
Mason eyes me, his cold, calculating gaze traveling down my frame. He looks disgusted with what he sees, and I get the feeling he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I don’t know how to prove it to him. I can’t, mainly because I’m lying through my teeth. Mostly.
Some people don’t believe lying by omission counts, but I do.
“I swear it,” I insist. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
I point to my bag, the one that Mason somehow managed to rip off my shoulders without me noticing. He also took my knife, which I spot lying on the ground several feet away. He was so fast with it. Too fast.
I clear my throat. “I’ll just grab my things and go. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”
Mason steps aside, avoiding brushing against me as I squeeze between him and the tree he pinned me against. I’m sweating, and I tuck my loose hair behind my ears as I grab my backpack and slip it up my shoulders.
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” I repeat.
Kie crosses his arms over his chest. “Zaha likes humans.”
What? I look over, pleased to see he’s speaking to Mason. I take this as my cue to leave.
Mason hasn’t moved from his original spot, and I keep a close eye on him as I pick up my knife. I clutch it in my fist, just in case. If he comes after me again, I’m going to fight.
There’s no other option. Judging by the muscular frames of both these men, they’re athletic. They can easily outrun me, even if I have a head start. Fighting is my best, and only, option.
“It won’t hurt to bring her with us,” Kie continues. He gestures wildly in my direction. “She’s pretty, and Zaha might feel generous if we bring her a gift.”
A gift ? Are they talking about me? I’m not a fucking gift .