Big Bad Wolf
The locket burned. Slaide loomed over her, his chest rising and falling. His expression grew dark with murderous intent as he raised his sword once more. Lightning flashed, illuminating him like an otherworldly being. Like a god.
Hazel squeezed her eyes shut, fully convinced he would bring the blade down and end her. Slaide was done playing games and had, in fact, decided to execute her.
A moment of deafening silence passed, followed by a thud in the grass. Hazel opened her eyes, her breath hitching.
Slaide’s sword was on the ground beside hers.
Anger welled within her, where gratitude should be. “What the Hel was that?”
He crouched beside her, raindrops carving intricate paths down his face. “That,” he said, voice gravelly and low, “was mercy. And this is the only time you’ll get it.”
Her chest heaved in a futile attempt to catch up with her racing heart. Her eyes flew wide as she stumbled over her words. “That… you… you scared me.” She admitted. “I thought…” She didn’t need to say the rest. She could see in his eyes he knew damn well what he’d done.
“Good. Then you’re learning.” His stare did not waver.
“In the upcoming trials, there’s going to be a target on your back.
You’re going to be pitted against trained men at arms and hardened criminals.
All men, to the best of my knowledge. It’s going to take more than a pretty face and a smart mouth to survive. ”
Slaide leaned in closer to her as the air filled with tension, as raw and electric as lightning. His hand lifted, hovering at her jaw. When his fingers brushed her skin, an unfamiliar charge zipped through her body, pooling in her core.
Their faces were inches apart. Hazel could see the many shades of yellow, marigold, and orange combined to form his impossibly amber eyes. Eyes that dipped to her lips for a split second. Eyes that drew her in.
The storm cracked above them, a warning that the sky would soon be torn asunder. Hazel’s breath caught in her throat.
“You’re such a bastard.” Her voice came out thick and low.
Slaide reached out and tucked a sopping wet curl behind her ear. “Oh, I most definitely am. But you like that about me.”
She wanted to laugh, to roll her eyes, or spit back some witty retort. But her mind was erased by the weight of his gaze. His touch. Their faces were ungodly close. As her eyes flitted to his lips, a question formed in the back of her mind— curiosity. One she was not ready to give life to.
The corner of his lips twitched, and he pulled back.
Hazel blinked, trance broken.
Slaide stood abruptly, smirking down at her, but his eyes were heavy with something Hazel couldn’t name. It made her insides twist, her cheeks flush.
Fucking Hel, Hazel, she scolded herself. “You’re an ass and an idiot. I’m done here.” The rain was subsiding. She could probably—maybe—make her way back.
His smirk turned down ever so slightly. “Listen here, sweets. I’ve told you before there are forces at play far beyond your understanding.
Beyond mine even. In case you haven’t noticed, I am the only person here willing to save your ass, so the least you could do is cooperate. You need me more than you realize.”
She blanched, and something escaped her mouth resembling a scoff.
“Save me? Save me? Is that what you think you’re doing?
I didn’t ask to go to some ball with you, and I certainly wouldn’t have thrown myself into this tournament.
I didn’t ask to be saved. What I need is to get back to my home. My life.”
“That’s not happening, so the sooner you get over it the better.
” He eyed the practice sword on the ground.
“Tell you what. Let’s try a different approach.
You’ve got the violent part down, but I’m not sure you’re ready for swordplay.
” He brought forth the dagger again and offered it to her, hilt first.
Hazel hesitated but took the blade, contemplating throwing it at his head. Like we haven’t spent enough time sparring today? She was tired and completely drenched from the downpour. She wanted to plop herself before a roaring hearthfire with a mug of hot cider, and rest her aching bones.
“Do me a favor and keep in mind that is a real blade. So maybe try not to kill me just yet. I know it’s tempting.”
After what I just went through? No promises…
As though he could read her thoughts, he raised an eyebrow. “Right, well. First thing’s first. You’re not very tall. You’re not very strong. And you’re slow as shit. It’s unlikely you’re going to get a shot at your attacker’s throat when he’s coming at you, so you’re going to need to focus lower.”
Hazel watched in shock as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open, revealing his solid, muscular chest that was tattooed solid black up to his neck. She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. She simply stood there, transfixed.
Slaide took a step closer and grabbed her free hand, placing it on his chest. He cleared his throat. “Now—do you feel this?” he asked, placing her hand over his breastbone.
Hazel knew he wasn’t talking about the steady drum of his heart, but she could focus on nothing else.
“This bone is deceiving,” he continued, dragging her fingertips down his chest to the tip of the sternum, where the bone gave way to cartilage. “You’d think it ends there, but it actually ends below this spot, here.”
She knew she should be listening, but was distracted by the warm, tattooed skin over tight musculature beneath her fingers.
This was without a doubt the strangest dance lesson she could have imagined, and she began to wonder what his motives were in all of this.
He was certainly the most secretive person she’d ever met, if not the most temperamental.
Hazel registered that he’d stopped talking and was staring at her with the look of an exasperated parent. She was still standing there with her hand on his chest, gawking at him. Embarrassed, she moved to pull her hand away, but Slaide only tightened his grip.
“Focus.” No calling her out. No belittling her. Just a reminder.
She nodded, desperately wanting the heat to leave her cheeks and hoping the pink flush wasn’t noticeable in the moonlight.
“As I was saying, this soft piece here is tricky. It can be pierced, though with some difficulty, and even if you do manage to pierce someone here, you’re going to find yourself without a blade.
” He moved her hand down to the left, tracing his ribs.
“I’d also recommend you steer clear of the ribcage, but just in case, you should understand how they lie.
Lots of folks think the ribs run perfectly side to side, but they don’t.
The ribs run in a slight diagonal from the center of your chest. It’s important to keep in mind so you angle your blade correctly. ”
She swallowed dryly.
“Your best bet, since you’re on the smaller side and inexperienced in combat, is going to be to insert the blade below the breastbone and ribcage.
Even a well-muscled opponent such as myself has soft tissues there—below the hardened exterior.
” He pressed her fingers against his muscular abdomen, feeling the stark change between bone and belly.
“And lastly, you can always go for the groin.”
Hazel stiffened, partially waiting for the end of the joke, the part where he’d try to place her hand in his crotch. Not happening.
Slaide chuckled, dropping her hand and running his own through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was getting myself involved with such a delicate little flower. But you might want to get used to it, sweets.”
I hate that nickname…
“In all seriousness, you never know when stabbing a man in the dick could save your life. And in some situations, it might be the only chance you get to get away. Now, let’s practice.”
“Practice?”
“Yes? Is that a problem?”
“You want me to practice stabbing you. No, it’s not a problem for me. Feels like it could be a problem for you, though,” she mocked.
“Of course I don’t want you to stab me. I didn’t realize that was something that needed to be said.” He eyed her incredulously. “We are going to practice location and angle. No stabbing.”
So, with shaking hands, Hazel stepped into Slaide and touched the blade against his skin, at the places he’d showed her. Each time he’d adjusted her angle slightly, to give the blade the best possible entry in a real fight. But overall, he looked impressed with her placement.
“I’m going to turn around now, and you can practice the spots I showed you on the back. Same rules. No stabbing.”
But this time, with his back turned, the temptation was real.
They were in the middle of nowhere. Maybe she could incapacitate him and get far enough away.
Sure, he’d kept her alive so far, maybe even kept her from a worse fate, if he was to be believed.
Her eyes traveled from the blade to the spot on Slaide’s back he’d explained was the location of the kidney.
“I don’t recommend doing what you’re thinking about doing,” Slaide tossed over his shoulder.
She paused, lowering the blade. “How would you know what I’m thinking?”
Slaide laughed. It was a surprisingly warm, homey sound.
“You’re a captive of the crown, you despise me, I kicked your ass in sword training…
you’re thinking what any desperate person would be.
” Something changed in his voice. “Actually, you know what? Do it. I dare you. No one will mourn my loss. I doubt anyone would even come looking.” He crossed his hands behind his head to give her full access to his back.
Hazel looked down at the glinting steel in her hands.
At the intricate swirling patterns in the blade, the hand-carved, wooden hilt wrapped with supple leather cording.
How many lives has this dagger claimed at his hand?
How many innocents bled under its edge? And she held it in her grasp.
She could put an end to one man’s reign of terror.
No, the voice in her head said, you aren’t like them.
You’re weak and feeble both in mind and body.
And it was right. She was in over her head.
As though he’d sensed the change in her, Slaide turned around, finding she was no longer poised to run him through. Instead, she stared at the grass, blade arm limp at her side, her mind lost to thoughts of things she’d been torn away from.
His brow furrowed. “Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He grabbed her chin and tilted it up to look at him, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Well, well. Aren’t you a pretty, broken little thing?”
She shoved his hand away. “I am not broken.”
“Yeah, sure. Neither am I,” he deadpanned.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Hazel hissed.
“Well, there’s something we can agree on. You aren’t much of a talker so…”
Her eyes shot daggers.
He put his hands up defensively.
“Can I go home?” Her eyes shimmered slightly, the angry mask she put on faltering.
“No.” Slaide folded his arms.
She examined the dagger again.
“Changed your mind about stabbing me that quickly, eh?” He was smiling broadly. Idiot.
Her face was stone cold, but the fire in her eyes could have melted every last inch of ice and snow from the twin peaks of The Sisters. “I never said I wasn’t going to stab you. It makes little sense to do it when you’re expecting it.”
He chuckled softly. “Something tells me I will always need to expect a knife in my back as long as you’re around.”
“Who’s scared now? Careful, we wouldn’t want anyone to find out the big bad wolf is actually a timid kitten,” Hazel jeered, ignoring the warmth blooming against her skin.
He stepped into her, closing the space between them. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t back it up. And you flinch like someone who has something to hide.” His eyes shifted to something predatory, feral, and he crouched down to meet her gaze.
“And you look at me like you hope I’ll break.”
“Not hope, Hazel. Expectation.”
Before she knew it, his hand was around her wrist, causing her to flinch at the sudden tension.
His grip didn’t quite hurt, but it was most definitely too tight.
His entire demeanor changed, and she was pretty sure this was no longer a playful game.
Hazel glanced at her wrist, and then back to Slaide, the dagger falling from her hand.
His eyes had melded into a sinister pitch black again, the golden irises completely devoured by an endless void. And when he spoke, the air trembled, the ground beneath her feat carrying the vibration. Clouds were closing in, blanketing the starry sky in darkness.
“You’re right,” he said, his face far too close to hers. “I’m not the big bad wolf.” His grin was sinister, teeth—and fangs—bared. “I am the monster before which the big bad wolf cowers.”
Slaide let go of her then and took a step back tilting his head up to the sky and spreading his arms wide. Lightning struck all around him, leaving nothing but charred, black earth in its wake.
And then enormous, onyx-feathered wings unfurled from his back, and he launched into the air, disappearing over the treetops.