5. Chapter 5 #2
His arms tighten around me. “I know her well enough to understand that she will stop at nothing to find the raven. That spellmark of yours is a target, whether you realize it or not. Frank is not the only one who’d turn you into the gods in exchange for the bounty over your head. You cannot trust anyone in Aurora.”
“Has that been your plan all along?” I ask. “To turn me into the gods?” I try to keep my voice even, but as my last syllable rings out across the trees, my throat cracks, scattering into broken fragments.
Augustine seems to contemplate this in silence before responding.
“You think too highly of me, Shay. If that is your real name. No, I’m not going to turn you into the gods.
In fact, I intend to hide you from the queen simply to spite her.
” With that, he pulls the horse’s reins sharply to the left, directing Hades toward a little clearing on the side of the road where roses coated in thorns bloom around tangled trees, and the aroma of damp leaves wafts in greeting.
He dismounts and holds out a hand.
“I don’t need your help,” I protest as I slide off the saddle, where I face-plant in a puddle of mud.
“You have the coordination of a pigeon in a windstorm,” he observes, not bothering to keep his composure as he digs through his bag and withdraws a balled-up jacket. He tosses it at me, laughing hysterically.
I catch it, anger ripping through me as I wipe my face with its sleeve. “If you call me that again, I will peck out your eyeballs. Why’d we stop, anyway?”
“I’d love to be pecked to death by a beautiful woman.” His grin widens, almost as if he’s enjoying the unnecessary drivel. “As far as why we’ve stopped, Hades needs to rest for the evening.”
Hades snorts in agreement.
“Rest for the evening?” I ask, side-eyeing him up and down. “If you’re insinuating that you expect for me to sleep beside you, then you’ll be severely disappointed.”
He cocks a brow. I study him intensely, pretending that the thought of his big, brawny, muscular body lying next to mine would make my bloodless lips twist in disgust. Even though his body heat would bring my core temperature back up.
He grunts a few vague obscenities over his shoulder before disappearing into the bramble, leaving me alone with his horse. I stare at the creature’s enormous chestnut eyes and try to gauge whether his master is being honest about his intentions or not.
On one hand, Augustine does seem like the type of man who would laugh in the face of the gods and hide away the very thing that they’re searching for.
On the other hand, based on what I’ve learned thus far, blindly trusting anyone would be foolish, regardless of how handsome they are.
Especially considering the monetary reward involved with my capture.
Along with that, he has yet to tell me where we’re going, which seems a little suspicious to me.
I glance down the splinter-thin path of the forest. The uneven terrain stares back at me. I could steal his horse and escape back to Windspire. After all, I still have my satchel and half a vial of Eric’s Vitalis remaining, which means that I have enough money to get by until…
Until what? I have no job, nor any future prospect of one.
I certainly have no home to return to, nor any friends to find comfort in.
Gods know that I don’t have a family. And Eric’s probably wrapped in the arms of another woman by now, suckling on wyrm shit and laughing about how he betrayed me. I’m entirely alone.
Augustine emerges from the trees, taking Hades’s bridle in hand and jerking his head for me to follow. I concede, but not before slinging his mud-caked jacket over my shoulder, my footsteps turning into stomps as I hurl a string of inventive curses at his back.
He leads us deeper into the heart of the forest, where a dark body of water looms beneath splinters of silver moonlight. The storm overhead may have given way to the night, but it’s still raging within my thundering heart.
Kaboom, kaboom, kaboom.
I watch him between narrow eyes as he ties Hades to a tree.
I’m pretty sure I forget to breathe as he rips off his armor, and then peels off his damp tunic beneath.
He wrings it out slowly, revealing a dark, broad chest tapered in defined muscle that’s sheening with humidity.
Gods, he looks just like he had in my earlier vision, with rows of gilded spellmarks trailing down the length of both arms in the shapes of crescent moons, scattered constellations, and broken stars.
The sight makes me catch my lower lip with my teeth.
I’ve never met anyone with more than one spellmark before, let alone six of them.
It’s almost as though he scooped up all the realm’s lost spellmarks and branded them to his flesh to hoard all the magical wealth for himself. Maybe that’s where all my magic went.
“Care to join us?” he calls from over his shoulder.
I cross my arms in indignation and lean against a nearby tree, feigning ease despite the fact that I’m shivering. “What gave you that foolish idea?” I holler back.
“Oh I don’t know,” he says, “the fact that you’re staring?”
I feel my cheeks flush. “I’m simply waiting for you to move out of the way so that I might have a drink. It’s impressive, really, how a person can consume the entire riverbank.”
He grins at me.
I force myself to avert my wandering eyes from his big, bulging biceps, and even farther away from the glittering constellations of half-moons and stars that sweep across his skin, which ignite with raw energy and power. Although I swear, if I didn’t know any better…
No, that’s impossible.
The gods never wander this far.
He digs through his bottomless bag and reveals a canteen, which he fills to the brim with fresh water and then tosses at me. “Your drink, madam, since there’s apparently not enough room on this riverbank for the three of us.”
Hades whinnies in agreement as the canteen lands at my feet with a heavy thud. “I wasn’t aware you could count that high!” I shout in thanks as I swig back the cool refreshment, my parched throat singing praises in response.
Augustine tosses his wrung-out shirt on a nearby branch, ignoring my little slight.
“You’d be a lot warmer if you removed your clothing,” he says in nonchalance, a mischievous dimple appearing in his right cheek.
“Body heat works best. Skin on skin contact. Damp clothes are a death sentence around here, especially once the night’s chill sinks in. I don’t make the rules.”
“I’d rather die of hypothermia,” I reply, holding his muddy jacket tightly against my chest as I take another sip from the cool canteen, my body shaking like a leaf.
“Your funeral.” He shrugs before disappearing into the forest once again.
This time, he returns with a pile of firewood, which he drops at my feet.
“Why don’t you at least make yourself useful and find us something to eat while I go gather more firewood?
” he proposes, handing me the cool hilt of his dagger in a peace offering.
I stare at the blade for a long, drawn-out moment before realizing that it still has specks of Frank’s blood on it.
“Moving around will keep your blood flowing until I’m able to get us a fire started,” he adds.
“Even if you don’t catch anything, I suggest that you go and chase some rabbits.
Enthusiastically, might I add, or else we might have to amputate.
” He grabs my hand and squeezes my blue-tinged fingertips.
I feel nothing, yet everything all at once—just in other places.
“Where did you get that firewood?” I ask.
“Don’t you have bigger things to concern yourself with?” He waves the dagger around for me to take. “Like keeping your fingers intact, for instance?”
Begrudgingly, I grab the hilt of his blade. “What about burying a dead body, would that involve enough movement to satisfy you?” I hiss.
Theoretically, I could dive this dagger straight into his heart and then take off with all of his belongings and his horse.
Speaking of, I wonder how much Vitalis he’s carrying.
From the look of his weapons and his armor, along with those magnificent spellmarks canvasing his body, I imagine it’s a lot.
With his bloodmagic to fund my start-up costs, I could become a thief of the forest and rob unsuspecting passersby for the rest of my measly existence.
Perhaps bards would write songs of tragedies in my honor.
His breath is warm as he leans over me in warning.
“If you intend on digging a grave, Little Bird, then I suggest you dig one large enough for the two of us. Because the wolves will lick your bones clean the moment I’m no longer around to protect you.
” His gaze falls on the dagger in my grasp, as if calling my bluff.
He’s right. I don’t have the gall to kill him in cold blood.
Heaving a sigh, I take off into the leaves, putting as much distance as I can between myself and the insufferable man who seems to find pleasure in tormenting me.
I use his dagger to shed foliage out of my way as I simultaneously contemplate all the various ways he infuriates me.
He’s egotistical, sarcastic, brazen, and he doesn’t think before he speaks.
He’s the epitome of confidence, which I suppose is a good thing.
As I tick off his most cumbersome qualities on my frozen fingertips, I nearly tumble over a fallen tree branch and land face-first in a puddle of mud.
Eventually, I find my balance, only to become the victim of a hooting owl’s wide-eyed judgment.