1. Riggs
RIGGS
Breathing in the fresh, crisp pine of Aldmoor, Riggs might have smiled at the clarity and peace the woods offered him—had the cold rain not stolen it away.
He huffed, pulling the damp hood over his head, and stared at Killian, who had done the same.
Then the rain dumped, soaking both brothers to the bone.
Fucking great.
Weeks of tracking the notorious thief had led them to this moment. “Are you sure that’s him?” Riggs asked, eyes wide with anticipation.
Killian, crouched low, quietly moved a branch from the clearing. “From the drawing, I’d say so.” His voice was a low rasp. Killian nudged Riggs, passing him a vial. “Drink this.”
Riggs cocked a brow, observing the purple liquid swishing in the glass vial.
“You think this guy has magic?” he murmured.
Riggs had seen that particular white-capped vial many times before, and it only ever sat on the top shelf at Eddie’s and Things.
Killian must have spent a fortune on Magic Invincibility.
“Better safe than sorry.” Killian grimaced as he downed the liquid, Riggs following.
The thick, acidic liquid rushed down his throat, burning his insides. Riggs gagged, his face turning green. “Tastes like ass.”
“You would know.” Killian demanded, “Eyes up.”
Riggs observed the redheaded man stride down the path toward Eldritch. He scoffed. “Where’s he headed? Doesn’t he know that if he travels further down, he will be eaten by ammits?”
Over the past three years, the ammit population had grown.
Those sleeping, slithering beasts would dismantle a body in seconds.
Riggs knew all too well from his recent study, ammits had an incredible ability to blend into the thick, green, murky waters while they waited for prey.
Whatever unfortunate soul they wrapped their jaws around would be dead the instant they attacked.
Good thing they were an hour away from Eldritch.
Still, as dangerous as ammits were, they were highly valuable.
Riggs had been analyzing their blood properties for the past year.
In theory, one drop could cure someone from sickness.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Killian started, and Riggs effortlessly tuned him out.
He knew Killian’s plan. They had only captured over fifty outlaws. And almost every hunt, Killian followed the same routine.
Riggs sighed, the sound swallowed by heavy rainfall.
He wasn’t always a bounty hunter. Four years ago, he joined his older brother, Killian, as an extra hand.
And even though it wasn’t Riggs' cup of tea, he still enjoyed the hunts, but more for cardiovascular purposes than collecting the reward. After all, he had to get his blood pumping and muscles moving somehow. Researching in a chair for hours could permanently fuck up someone’s back.
Riggs patted his pocket, ensuring he had brought his test kit.
Got it.
He never left his house without it. In the world of Razareth, where creatures and beasts could be lurking, one refused to miss a chance to collect samples. Two birds. One stone.
With lethal focus, Killian raised his hand and signaled for Riggs to go around. He moved silently, waiting for Killian’s next call.
Riggs found it strange that the thief they had been hunting had only fallen on their radar a few weeks ago. The culprit had been committing heists around town for years. He must have gotten sloppy on his last job.
He glanced toward Killian. Something far grimmer than heists had persuaded his brother into this line of work.
After his wife, Layalara, was brutally murdered ten years ago, Killian had high hopes that one day he would catch her killer.
Riggs' brows drew together, his lips tight. It was difficult witnessing Killian lose himself over the last decade. But he’d gotten better. Sort of.
Riggs doubted the greasy thief murdered Killian’s wife. But a few extra coins for bringing him in wouldn’t hurt.
“Meet across the clearing. You got it, Riggs?” Killian whispered; his whiskey-brown eyes locked on the target.
“Yeah, yeah, I heard every word.” Riggs rolled his neck, hearing a few pops. He slumped as the tension released from his shoulders.
“On my mark,” Killian’s voice was hardly a whisper.
Riggs was prepared to run and ready to follow Killian’s plan. This was a clever, sneaky rat.
“Now!” Killian bellowed, his voice overpowering the dumping rain.
Riggs sprinted toward the thief, puzzled as to why Killian shouted so loud. Maybe it was part of his plan. Next time he’d listen. Now, the dude was on the move and skidding down the ravine.
Of course, he skittered down a fucking hill like the rodent he is.
Riggs leapt down the hill. “Run as far as you like! I’m still going to catch you!” His breath caught. “Oh crap.” Riggs ducked, sliding beneath a hanging tree limb.
Close one.
Once he reached the riverbank, he pushed his pace, quickly eating the distance between them. But not for long…
Riggs slipped, falling flat on his ass. “Mother. Fucking. Boots!” he bellowed, eyeing the white river pebbles beneath him.
This was not supposed to happen. He had paid extra for these soles.
He glanced ahead, their target gaining a few feet of distance.
Riggs stood, shaking his head, and scoffed.
“Good thing I wore my non-slip running shoes today.” He was going to talk with the shoe wizard, the only man known to possess power in Aldmoor.
“That old man, Eddie, swore up and down that these were all-terrain.” He began running at a steady pace, veering into the brush to avoid slipping again.
Riggs picked up his pace and smirked. The man was no match for him. Fucker had to stop to catch his breath. What a bitch.
Oh gods.
Riggs' vision blurred.
He, too, stumbled to stop.
The earth and the heavens collided, meshing into one.
Blinking his vision clear, Riggs swayed toward the man, the rapids roaring, ringing through his ears like bells on a Sunday morning.
He breathed shakily through his nose, fighting the roiling in his stomach.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much at the tavern last night.
Zander, his cousin, challenged him as usual.
Bastard.
If he knew Killian was going to get a wild hair up his ass at the crack of dawn, he wouldn't have. On the bright side, he did take home a barmaid last night, which made the whole evening worth it. She smelled like his favorite flower, lavender. What was her name again? He sucked his teeth.
Focus, idiot.
The downpour trickled to a stop as Riggs approached his target, the man leaning against a boulder, gulping down air.
Riggs pulled back the hood of his cloak, the heavy wind ruffling his hair, dark strands falling into his eyes.
Riggs crossed his arms, leaning next to the thief, the rough rock biting into his shoulder.
“Boo!” Riggs taunted with a smirk, “Got you.”
The thief yelped, stumbling backward, and raised his palms like his life depended on it. His mouth dropped wide open, pure shock burning in his jade gaze.
Riggs hummed, pulling on his earlobe. Perhaps the idiot-thief does have magic after all.
If Riggs was blessed with magic, he wouldn’t have gotten caught stealing. What a fool. A stupid, stupid fool.
The man’s face paled, his hands dropping to his sides. His freckled fingers curled around his satchel strap, and then he darted into the forest.
“They always run…” Riggs chuckled, dusting his hands as he steadied his steps toward him. How pathetic. Riggs puffed out his cheeks, and he let a laugh or two slip. The asshole didn’t get far, not as he tripped over a fallen tree branch.
Riggs approached slowly, a grin twisting his cheeks. “That looked like it hurt.”
The man stood, flipped him off, and started running again. Riggs could have sworn the thief grumbled ‘Fuck off’ as he took off down the overgrown flower-speckled path. Heat claimed his cheeks, frustration bubbling his blood.
He will regret that.
Keeping pace with him, Riggs unsheathed a dagger from his belt and, with practiced precision, flicked his wrist, aiming for the thief’s leg. He didn’t want to kill him, just make him pay for his words. The last person who told Riggs to fuck off had their face smashed into a wall.
Blood sprayed as his dagger found its mark. The man screamed in pain, tumbling to the ground, his hand wrapping around the ruby hilt.
Riggs warned, “I wouldn’t pull that out if I were?—”
The dumbass ripped the blade out of his leg, chucking it toward him. His dagger dropped inches away from his boot, tumbling along pine needles.
Riggs sighed in annoyance. “You have shitty aim…” Reaching down, Riggs wiped his blade clean on his pant leg to avoid rust. Blood was terrible for iron daggers.
With trembling arms, the man pushed himself up from the ground and wobbled. He started half running, half limping, and it took everything in Riggs not to burst into laughter at the ridiculous sight. It appeared the thieving, shitty-aimed asshole wasn’t done running after all.
Good. Neither was he.
Warmth filled Riggs' chest as his legs pumped at a steady speed. He loved this—heart racing, muscles working, the wind brushing along his face.
The fugitive turned past the boulder, the first checkpoint to the two-mile mark. Riggs smiled like a fool. Perfect.
He was headed right toward Killian.
The man glanced over his shoulder, long strands of hair sweeping over his forehead like straw. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, I think you and I both know what you did, twerp!” Riggs shouted, “Who steals from the elderly and forgets about the crime they commit?” What a dimwit.
The thief’s eyes burned with panic. “Who are you?”