Chapter 10
Colt
I was fully prepared to mind my own business. Seriously. The homicidal forest witch and the armed psychopaths seemed like they had whatever this was under control, and I had absolutely no desire to become emotionally invested in either side.
Then one of them put his hands on her.
Then another one did.
Then the asshole behind her apparently decided sexual assault was an appropriate team-building exercise.
Well…Fuck it. Now I’m invested.
The first guy notices me at exactly the same moment I leave the trees. His expression shifts from confusion to oh, shit in record time, which would probably be funnier if he weren’t already swinging a knife at my ribs.
I twist around the blade, shoulder him hard enough to send him stumbling into his friend, and suddenly I’ve got three very angry men trying to separate my head from the rest of me.
Wonderful.
Somewhere behind them I catch a glimpse of Pixie still fighting against the hands holding her, and then I see the bastard behind her lean in again.
Absolutely fucking not.
I don’t even think about the other three anymore.
One grabs for my jacket, and I let him. The moment his weight pulls backward, I plant my boot against his thigh, use him like a springboard, and launch myself straight over his shoulder.
For one beautifully confusing second, every one of them is looking in the wrong direction. Including the asshole behind Pixie. He hears me coming just in time to start turning his head. Too late.
Both of my boots crash into the center of his chest with enough force to rip him away from her, and the two of us slam into the forest floor in a tangle of limbs that sends dead leaves flying in every direction.
He grunts.
Momentum carries me straight on top of him before he has the chance to recover, and both knives come down at the same time.
He manages to get one hand up, but it doesn’t help.
Steel bites. His fingers lose their grip.
His body bucks beneath me as I drive the blades down again, crossing my hands as instinct takes over.
He’s still trying to reach for the pistol on his belt when I hook the hilts outward with every ounce of strength I’ve got.
The resistance disappears. Warm blood sprays across my jacket, as his body goes slack.
Something heavy tumbles through the leaves beside us, and I don’t waste half a second looking to see what it is. I don’t have half a second.
A pair of hands grabs the back of my jacket and rips me clean off the body before I can even get one knee underneath me.
I hit the ground hard enough for my teeth to slam together, and a boot comes crashing toward my face so fast I barely manage to roll away before it buries itself in the ground where my skull had been.
“Oh, that’s just rude.”
The second kick comes even faster. I roll again, feeling the sole scrape across my shoulder instead of my jaw, then swing my leg in a hard arc behind both of his ankles.
His feet disappear out from under him. Gravity does the rest. He lands flat on his back with a satisfying grunt that almost makes me smile.
I throw myself on him before he can breathe, trapping one of his arms beneath my knee while my fist crashes into his throat. He reacts exactly the way every trained fighter does, driving an elbow into my ribs hard enough to make something pop, but pain has never been particularly persuasive.
“You picked the wrong tourist,” I growl, and he swings again. I slip outside the punch, catch his wrist, and smash my forehead into his nose.
Something cracks.
Blood pours down his face, and he howls. Good. Means he’s still awake enough to appreciate what’s happening.
He reaches for the knife hanging from his vest, and I grab his thumb instead. People spend far too much time learning complicated martial arts when all it really takes is finding the one body part that bends the wrong way.
His scream echoes through the clearing, but I don’t stop. A few more violent seconds of struggling, cursing, and very poor life choices later, he finally stops fighting altogether.
I shove myself back onto my feet, breathing hard enough that my lungs feel like they’re full of broken glass, and only then do I realize both of my knives are still buried in the first guy.
“Right…”
I jog the few steps back, wrench both blades free with a sharp pull, and turn toward Pixie just as my eyes land on the iron talisman still clinging stubbornly to the front of her dress.
“I have absolutely no idea if this is a brilliant idea or the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
Considering my résumé… The competition is fierce.
I grab the talisman, rip it free from the fabric, throw it onto the forest floor, and stomp down on it with everything I’ve got.
The iron gives way beneath my boot with a sharp crack that echoes through the clearing.
For the briefest moment, nothing happens.
Then the forest exhales. The wind returns all at once, whipping through the trees hard enough to make the branches groan overhead.
Leaves spiral into the air, roots beneath the moss twitch like something enormous has finally remembered it’s alive, and every instinct I have tells me I should probably get the hell out of the way.
I don’t. The remaining two hunters don’t either. The older one shouts something in Romanian, his voice stripped of every trace of confidence, while the younger one reacts faster than I do. His rifle is already rising before I’ve fully turned toward him.
The gun goes off. It feels less like being shot and more like somebody has driven a burning sledgehammer straight through my stomach.
The force spins me sideways. For a second I honestly don’t understand what happened. Then I look down.
Blood.
My blood.
“…Well,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “That seems… less than ideal.”
My knees threaten to buckle, and I ignore them. I’ve been stabbed before. I’ve been broken before. Getting shot is just another item on a CV that’s already deeply concerning.
I tighten my grip on both knives and charge anyway. The younger hunter meets me halfway, and I slash. He slips backward just enough to avoid the blade before the older man closes the distance from my blind side.
I never even see the punch coming.
Something crashes into my face with enough force to explode white light across my vision. My nose gives way with a sickening crack, warm blood immediately flooding over my mouth, and the world tilts hard enough that I have to catch myself before I hit the ground.
I spit out blood.
“Okay…” I mumble. “That one was personal.” I lunge again.
Stupid.
But if I’m going down, I might as well make them work for it.
The younger hunter knocks my arm aside while the older one drives a fist into my ribs, directly over the bullet wound.
Pain tears through me so violently my legs finally give up. I hit the forest floor on one knee. Then both. The knives slip from my fingers and disappear into the leaves.
No.
No, no, no.
I reach for them.
A heavy boot slams into my abdomen before my hand gets anywhere close. Every bit of air leaves my lungs.
Another kick lands. Then another.
Each impact feels like it’s trying to drive the bullet all the way through me.
I curl instinctively, wrapping my arms around my stomach, but it only earns me another vicious kick to the side.
“Would you all kindly…” I wheeze, struggling to breathe, “…fuck off…”
Apparently they decline.
Someone grabs a fistful of my jacket, hauls me halfway upright, and another punch crashes across my already broken nose. My head snaps sideways, blood spraying across the leaves as my ears begin to ring.
The world won’t stop moving.
Trees blur together.
Somewhere nearby, the wind is getting louder. Much louder. The forest. Pixie. Please tell me that worked.
A shadow falls across me.
The younger hunter takes two slow steps back before swinging his boot with everything he has.
The kick catches the side of my head, and the forest disappears. The last thing I hear before darkness drags me under is screaming.
This time… It isn’t mine