The Secrets of Jane: Forgotten (Improper Bastards #1)

Chapter 1

“Bastard broke my knuckles,” I grumble. My hand throbs as I exit Ern’s Tavern, the ale barely soothing my pain.

“Let’s go, little warlord,” Kathleen calmly says, her hand on my back as the door shuts behind us—she’s the only friend I’m willing to punch others for.

I laugh and groan in the same breath, placing my right hand over my left knuckles, concentrating on the well of power that flows through me. A faint blue light emits from my right palm until the pain subsides. I pull my hand away, flexing as the cracking bones fall back into place.

That man’s jaw left my skin raw and red. I could heal it further to remove any discoloration, but then I’d have nothing to remember his ugly, shocked face by.

My satisfaction is even better because I can still hear the asshole groaning through an open window. He told Kathleen that she would look better on her knees between his thighs, positioning himself as if she’d actually comply.

That’s when I downed my ale and struck him so hard my bones broke.

I already miss the energy of the rowdy tavern as we make our way through Talon’s Perch, a large outpost near the coal miner’s village where we live. Once we pass the guards sitting on haystacks that watch the border, we only have the moonlight to guide us back.

It’s a trek we’ve made countless times in the dark, sometimes more drunk than others. I’ll never forget our younger days when Kathleen stole venison jerky and ate the whole bag on our walk home—it was the first night I ever began teaching ‘lessons’ with my fists.

“You didn’t have to go so far as to injure yourself, though,” Kathleen remarks, pulling me from my nostalgia. I glance at my friend who’s a few inches taller, her breasts so large someone can eat dessert right off of them—which is actually a favorite trick of hers when we visit drinking establishments.

“I think it’s a perfect arrangement,” I contest. “It means I really broke his nose, and I’ll just heal myself afterward like I always do.”

“I just hate you getting hurt, is all.”

“Yeah, but what about watching him get hurt?”

She laughs. “Okay, I did really enjoy watching that asshole fall off his chair. Telling me to suck his ugly, fat dick!”

“See! It’s absolutely worth it, being able to hit men like him. Nothing quite like it, really.”

“You know, you could always try flirting with a man rather than beating him senseless—except for that asshole, obviously. But it’s an idea, right? Might make you feel better in a whole different way to let yourself have a pleasurable night rather than ending it with pain.” Kathleen winks as she pulls up the bottom of her white skirt while we walk through a muddy spot in the dirt road that leads us home.

I don’t have to pull up my dress because I’m purposefully wearing pants. The idea of getting into a fight at a tavern while wearing flowing fabric sounds ridiculous.

Kathleen understands me, though. Probably because she’s similar, in her own way, as she isn’t wearing anything underneath that dress. Knickers only get in the way, according to her.

We’re an odd fucking duo, and I adore it. When we go out, I’m always motivated to find a cocky asshole who runs his mouth far too much so I can leave him bruised and bloodied. Meanwhile, Kathleen bends over for a handsome wanderer when he comes into Ern’s Tavern.

Even though I’ve always walked my own path, I also consider Kathleen’s suggestion—I really do. But the thought that I’d accidentally seduce a man from Skull’s Row and not realize it until morning… I refuse to be part of that life. Not even for a quick romp.

Is it for my ego? No, not at all. My aversion stems from knowing that the temptation to claim more would consume me, like an alcoholic being told to guard a barrel of ale.

I breathe deeply, catching the smell of smoke in the air, wondering if it’s coming from a traveler’s campfire nearby. Ern’s Pub is far enough behind us that it’s just Kathleen and me on this dirt road. My mind drifts to the blade at my thigh in case anyone else traveling this road is less than friendly.

Kathleen continues, “You’re lucky Coalfell is such a traveler’s hub, or you’d run out of faces to sock.” She eyes me, her face barely visible in the dark. “Okay, you don’t have to do things my way, but perhaps trying some meditation would help.”

“Why? What’s wrong with my way?”

“Oh, come on. One day, it’s all going to go wrong. Hit the wrong man or something. Maybe I’m getting older, but it does worry me more than before.”

“It’s… complicated,” I reply. There’s no way to properly describe how it feels to be strong when I’ve always been so easy to push around. “And anyway, I’m careful about it! I don’t go looking for fights when a Zenith is in Talon’s Perch.”

“Thank the gods you don’t, or I wouldn’t go with you anymore. I don’t need to watch what those men would do to you if they saw how you act.“

“At least my death would be swift with them,” I darkly joke.

Kathleen snorts. “Oh, stop it. It stresses me out as it is. I just don’t enjoy imagining the day you hit the wrong man.”

I glance at her again, most of her blonde hair pulled back while a few loose curls freely bounce past her ears. “Yeah, but I can heal myself. Pain is temporary. And I know how to spot a Zenith. Trust me on that one.”

“Can’t heal a broken skull if someone hits you too hard,” Kathleen counters, pointing to her own head, “Zenith or not.”

“True,” I concede with an even wider grin, placing my hands on my hips, rolling my fingers to loosen the stiffened bones. “And besides, what about you? Aren’t you afraid that one day you‘ll wake up with a swollen belly and no father to name him after?” I tease.

Her laugh carries through the trees surrounding us, mixing with the crickets. “Oh, whoever that bastard is will be lucky to get a say in the name. I’m naming that kid after me .”

“Yeah, you could … You’re aware of how it works, though. It’s the father’s line that means everything.” My voice is more bitter than I intended, my smile dropping. My lips thin as I press them together, the words eating at me in retrospect.

“Well, that’s society’s and your issue, along with whatever bugs you so much that you need to beat up random men for it. I don’t care what people think. I’m the one that has to birth the damn baby, so they’re getting my name.”

Chuckling, the warmth in my chest returns. “Yeah… Yeah it’s a good idea, isn’t it?” My grin doesn’t linger when my wounded soul aches like it begs to be seen. I crane my head to stare at the stars, placing a hand over my heart, mindlessly rubbing the skin there.

If only life were that simple.

“I’m all for setting new trends,” I add, kicking a rock in the path as my boots squelch in the muddy patches. “But in all honesty, I don’t think I can stop doing what I do. I was raised to deal with anger by getting into fights. To take it out that way. The only real rule is to always make sure the man earned it.”

Kathleen crosses her arms, speaking as she slowly releases a chuckle. “Hells, Jane, that’s the kind of behavior people have in Skull’s Row.”

My body stiffens, but I’m swift to move the conversation forward. “Yeah, like I’d survive in Skull’s Row,“ I scoff, nervously stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I’m not that good of a healer. Those men would destroy me with just one look.“

My somewhat humble origin is a gray area for many, and that’s just how I like it. Very difficult and dangerous men would be after me if anyone ever found out who I truly am, and they’d use way more than nasty looks to bring me to the Zenith.

Skull’s Row... the Zenith... all fancy names for a world that’s built on the blood shed by mercenaries and warlords. Whereas the more civilized lands of our world call their rulers kings, we call ours Zenith.

And I’m intimately aware of how dangerous they are.

My mother comes to mind, the woman I inherited my magic from. It’s for her memory that I try so hard to keep myself from getting lost in the world that killed her.

I know in my bones that I’m trying to fight against a current that’s never going to weaken. I was born with blood that runs hot, and I don’t know what to do with it anymore. Instead of letting my shadows haunt me, I’ve learned to stare them down and rough them up a bit instead.

Or rough up others.

“Yeah, well, you can say you’re not from Skull’s Row all you want,” Kathleen says. “The villagers might all be daft, but I’ve seen a lot. I know you like to keep your secrets Jane, but I can tell you weren’t born to a stable master.” She yawns, covering her mouth before adding, “You got another kind of fire in there. Don’t know where it initially kindles from, but it’s definitely not from a pacifist’s village.”

I sigh, glancing at the silhouettes of the trees created by the nearly full moon. I could try to deny the statement, but having someone see a sliver of the truth in my shadow makes me feel things I’m not sure how to interpret.

How I wish I could tell her.

But if Kathleen dies because of my truths…

I settle with, “You’re right... I’m not from a village...” With the confession brimming in my chest, I move on before it can reach my lips. “But it’s good for something, you know? The way that prick was talking to you! He deserved what he got.”

“Oh darlin’, it’s these tits. You always get the pricks in the weeds with these girls, but they also land me my stallions.” She wickedly grins while looking at her nails.

I give a belly laugh, reminded again why Kathleen and I go together so well. She’s a worldly woman, and that’s something I don’t come across much of anymore. If the village of Coalfell wasn’t such a safe place to rest my head, I’d suggest she and I try to find ourselves new lands to settle in—

We both freeze when the smell of smoke is undeniable, a distinct glow hovering above the tree line in the far distance. Dark clouds billow into the night sky. “Are they holding a large bonfire?” I ask, although I fear I know the truth.

Kathleen hesitates before replying, “No.”

We face each other, her eyes wide and lips parted, no doubt mirroring my own expression. The burning down of villages is extremely common in warring lands, but who would attack Coalfell? It’s protected by Belstead, one of the largest settlements in the region. Even Skull’s Row—where all the darkest bastards eat, live, and die, including the Zenith—have an unofficial understanding with Belstead, leaving their crops and villages in peace, sometimes even harvesting it themselves.

Either way, a burning village is a beacon of caution, alerting anyone outside that mercenaries have sunk their blades into it. Much like seeing a red flag on a pirate ship, knowing they will attack without mercy.

The faintest scream in the distance raises the hair on the back of my neck.

Kathleen immediately takes off, picking up her dress as she bolts for the village.

And what do I do? Honestly, I fucking hesitate, eyeing the smoke with upturned brows, knowing that if there’s even a chance that men of Skull’s Row attacked our village, then I have to stay far away from it.

Who else would do something like this? Even if it’s not them, who isn’t to say they’d find out what’s inked on my chest? If I get caught…

“Kathleen!” I shout.

No, no, no.

This can’t be happening.

Kathleen only runs faster. If she goes too far, I will lose her to whatever carnage waits to ensnare us.

It disappoints me how torn I am when faced with the mortality of a friend.

Outside of her, I’ve been a lone wolf for over a decade—since my teens. Kathleen and I have grown close whether I wanted to or not, even if I knew better.

The scent of smoke gives me tunnel vision born from deep despair.

Survival begs me to run for it, but the need to help those in danger nearly moves my feet forward. And yet, if this is a mercenary’s doing... everyone who isn’t already dead, will be.

If they catch me, they’ll know. They’ll know what I’ve been trying to hide. All this running and hiding will be for nothing.

Kathleen becomes smaller in the distance, and I swiftly imagine a future where I’ve left this village, after leaving a friend behind to die.

All for his secrets.

Fuck it.

I was raised to die a warrior’s death, not be a coward when facing sharpened steel.

I run forward and pray to every god that this isn’t a mercenary’s doing, and if it is ... well, hopefully, somehow, they won’t see me.

And somehow, I’ll get Kathleen out of this unscathed.