Chapter 7
Zyla
The drei are an ancient war-like race that hail from the Ash Kingdoms. Once upon a time a star crashed from the heavens, and from this star was born a creature of fire and fury, whose mere touch scorched the ground it walked upon.
The First bred with a woman from the Iron Kingdoms, and over time, the magic in their bloodline has diluted. But discount them at your own peril.”
— KARI SILVENDALE, AUTHOR OF A HISTORY OF THE DREI
Flames lick at the night sky, roaring heartily.
What is left of Rhykus’ operation will soon be no more.
Men flee from the burning manor like beetles scuttling from a sinking log, but we managed to find all the women within before I allowed Bael to lead me out, except for the few that were gathered up by Rhykus’ remaining warriors.
Many of the women have left, whispering thanks.
One of them, a battle-scarred woman with only one eye, gathered the others to her as if they were her chicks. “Come. There is safety to be found at the Sanctuary. And room for all.”
“Sanctuary?” I asked.
“It’s a secret place within the Labyrinth where those brides that are trapped between hunts have managed to find some sense of security. They still worship Amara there and light candles in Her name,” Lannia whispers eagerly, tears wetting her eyes. “It’s considered a myth, but we—I—hoped…”
“Not for you,” the leader murmured, holding her hand up flat to me as she glanced toward where Bael still lurked. “We appreciate all you have done, but it is not safe for us to travel with you. Your mark still blazes. The Hunt is not over for you, and you will bring others down upon us. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I’d waved her away. “Go with my blessing.”
Because now I have two women to find.
I stare at the flames, fury burning within me.
I was so focused on freeing them all that I lost her.
Lannia saw Rhykus’s men drag Kari into the Labyrinth. It feels like a recurrent dream, and I see an image of my sister, screaming as she’s plucked from the ground by the monster.
I need to find her tracks. It shouldn’t be difficult. But how many men does Rhykus have with him?
And will the fucking Labyrinth keep twisting and turning, hiding those precious signs? I’ll have to move quickly if I’m to have any chance at finding her. But to do that I need supplies.
I steal a sword off a dead man, then haul a set of boots off some merchant prince who looks to have delicate feet somewhat similar in size to mine.
Bodies decorate the flagstones in front of the manor, and as I work I realize some of the creepers that cling to the maze walls have started to crawl toward us.
Or the bodies, to be honest.
A vine snags around a man’s boot, jerking him back toward a thicket of leaves.
It’s only as my eyes adjust that I realize there are…
shapes pinned to the walls, leaves and vines wrapped tight around them.
One of those shapes move as if there’s something still alive in there.
A skull leers at me from another mound, long since picked clean.
I swallow. It’s definitely past time to get out of here.
“Here,” says a familiar voice behind me. “You’re going to need these.”
“Malus’ thorns,” I hiss, spinning around. “Could you warn a girl before you sneak up on her?”
Bael strolls toward me, moving on cat-quiet feet, which is strangely unnerving in such a big man.
His dark hair blows back off his face, revealing those stark cheekbones, and firelight lovingly gilds his olive skin.
I shouldn’t notice these things—I should be paying attention to the way he moves, and searching for hidden weapons—but my gaze slips to the sleeveless cut of his canvas tunic and stays there.
Damn the man, but his arms are a work of art.
“I wasn’t sneaking. You weren’t paying attention.”
“The vines are consuming the bodies.”
“They’re scavengers. They won’t attack you unless they’re hungry.” He plucks a bundle of clothes from under his arm. “Here. You need more to protect you than that scrap of silk you’re barely wearing.”
The words make me acutely aware of what I look like. A light rain dusts over me, the gown clinging to my damp skin.
It was created for a single reason—to show off a woman’s best assets.
The skirts are sheer gauze with just enough layers to hide what lies beneath, though the shadowed outlines of my legs were clearly visible in the mirror.
Chips of diamonds are sewn into the skirts, glittering like stars in the night sky.
But it’s the thin straps on my shoulders, and the triangles of silk over my breasts that make me feel the most naked.
I’ve never worn its like in my life, and whilst I didn’t give a damn inside, because those men meant nothing to me, I can’t stop my cheeks from flushing as the impact of his words hit.
I am wet.
In white silk. Thin white silk so fine it would put a butterfly’s wings to shame.
And I don’t know why that fact makes me feel naked with this man, when it only made me feel powerful inside.
Perhaps because you don’t know entirely where this man stands. And you’re attracted to him.
I can’t read him.
He’s a bride hunter, but he saved me twice, and the offence he took when Broken Nose wanted to assault me was real. I stole his knife and he promised to punish me for it, but for the first time in my life, it felt like… something flirtatious rather than a threat.
“Why are you doing this?” I demand, because I need to know where he stands. I need to understand him. “Nobody asked you for help.”
“My apologies. I should have left you to that strangler then? In the manor?”
“I was about to—”
“You were about to be choked unconscious.”
“I was about to knee him in the groin, steal his axe, and then bury it in his skull.”
Bael towers over me. He has to be several inches shy of seven feet. “Is there any particular reason you can’t say ‘thank you’?”
“This is not my language,” I point out. “I don’t know the right words. Kasaros must not have gifted me with them when he gave me the ability to understand you.”
His eyes flare in surprise and then he bursts out laughing, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.
“Maybe you do have the God’s favor.” Hot amber eyes score me from head to toe, lingering this time.
I feel the brush of his gaze against my breasts, my hips, my thighs.
“You are trouble personified. Chaos knows, you’d appeal to him. ”
“Perhaps,” I brush past him, trying to ignore the beckoning heat of his skin. He burns from within as though his insides house some inner furnace. “Though everyone else seems to prefer redheads.”
“Not I.”
The words come softly, but they imprint themselves on my soul.
I reach for the clothes. “May I?”
“Say please.” There’s dark humor in his eyes.
And everything within me rebels.
“It’s a word of politeness,” he says, definitely mocking me, “that my people use whenever they want something another has. Just in case Kasaros didn’t gift you with that word either.
In your case, I have clothes. You need clothes.
Though I must admit I’m growing partial to that dress the more it rains. ”
I hate it that he’s right. And storming out of here in the dress is pure stupidity, when only my pride stands in the way of warm clothing. “Please.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He hands over the clothes. “You’re welcome.”
I rifle through them, somewhat suspicious when I discover they’re almost the perfect size. “I find it somewhat odd that you’re trying to dress me when most of your brethren are attempting to undress me—”
“They are not my brethren.”
A swift glance at his face shows my careless words struck deeper than I intended. “You’re all here for the same reason.”
“You think you know my reasons?” He arches a brow. “You know nothing about me, little lioness.”
“That’s not helping your cause.”
Bael’s shoulders heave as if I’ve touched a nerve. Then he takes a deep breath and swallows it down, before he offers me his arm. “Truce?”
I stare at the thick muscle in his forearm, and the roughened calluses on his palms. A swordsman, pure and simple.
But an ally?
It would make things easier.
If I could trust him.
But I can’t. Because why would a hunter suddenly desire to assist me in getting my friend back? He has ulterior motives and whilst he might be playing nicely right now, I don’t believe a word he’s saying.
“If you stick with me, I will bring about your ruin,” I warn.
His hand doesn’t waver.
I slide my hand along his arm and capture his elbow as he grasps mine. “Fine. Truce. Now turn around.”
“Why?”
“If you think I’m going to strip myself naked in front of you—”
“Relax, little lioness.” His eyes gleam and he steps forward, filling the space between us with his imposing frame. He leans lower, whispering in my ear, our arms still clasped. “If I wanted you naked, then you would be naked.”
“Somewhat arrogant of you.” His body is so close I can barely breathe. “Does this fall in line with this odd fantasy you have of pinning me down and spanking me?”
“Am I arrogant?” Bael allows me just enough space to glance up at him, our breaths mingling. “If I wanted you naked, little huntress, then I wouldn’t need to pin you down. I would simply command you to strip.”
“And I would do it because you seem to have some mistaken idea that I’m some sort of obedient woman?” I’m fairly certain the burning manor backlights me as I say it. “In case it’s not apparent by now, I have an issue with men who try to tell me what to do.”