What if I was only fooling myself to imagine that he would care about me? Didn’t Mathias need someone stronger? A paranormal that could come close to his strength, although it seemed unlikely she would also be a 10. Maybe a dragon shifter would be a better fit for him or there could still be an unattached Myrmidon female who would definitely be a better fit. He probably had already considered all of this and that was why he left. That was why he stayed away.
After spending the morning with those lovely thoughts chasing through my head and losing more of my confidence by the second, I finally decided to go find Mathias. Ignoring the crutches, I opted for the faster option of limping outside. For once, it wasn’t raining or snowing and the sun was still up. I needed to find Mathias. I needed to just ask him pointblank if he . . . If we . . . If there was a chance, no matter how small, for us.
Even now in spite of my doubts shouting at me that it was too much to imagine or hope for, I still found myself wanting this, wanting him. I didn’t want to cave to my doubts despite that being easier. The heart deep need to find Mathias and learn if there was hope drove me to the smaller cottages to search for him. But, he wasn’t there.
Unsure of where to search next, I went to the stable. Perhaps, I would ride Ailsa and find him that way. My steps faltered when I reached the stable only to find all three Fae ponies were gone. A heavy weight settled in my stomach as I realized he had truly left this time. Abandoned.
I leaned against the wall of the stable feeling sick to my stomach, and the sapphire teardrop hanging around my neck seemed to burn my skin. Abandoned . . . No different than any other time in my life, all the foster families who would abruptly stop talking about me being part of the family right before someone came to take me away and place me with a different family. For another too short time. A shaky breath escaped as I closed my eyes. Why was it so easy for people to walk away from me?
The question burned at me, and then the memory of Mathias’ blue-green eyes replaced it. Desire had blazed bright in them and the kiss . . . I touched my fingers to my lips as I opened my eyes once more. He couldn’t have truly meant to abandon me. Mathias was . . . He was not like most of the people I had known and certainly not like any of the men I had occasionally dated. Maybe they would have abandoned me, but Mathias wouldn’t. Even if there was no hope for a true relationship between us, he would not abandon me.
I blew out a slow breath through my nose and left the stable. Maybe Mathias had moved the horses. It was difficult to say, but I couldn’t believe he would simply leave. Maybe he was merely letting them graze further out.
“Mathias?”
There was no answer. I pursed my lips and kept walking. The breeze was cold and cut through my sweater, but I didn’t want to go back for my coat yet. He had to be around somewhere. I hoped.
If he wasn’t in his usual hideaways, then maybe he had gone further out. To graze the Fae ponies . . . Which sounded ridiculous, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. It was ridiculous to find a Myrmidon and a Spotter in the same place in this day and age, too. Yet, here we were . . .
Still I kept walking, my limp making my gait awkward and clumsy but I didn’t turn back to get the crutches since I didn’t need to move faster. Stretching the tendon would be a good thing. A heavy fog rolled in with the sun’s slow retreat behind the horizon enveloping the mix of ruins and cairns in a creepy atmosphere. I shivered as I looked around. The fog was thickening by the moment. I could hardly see five feet away.
A cackling laugh broke the eerie silence. I shuffled around to face the direction of the laugh, but I kept my mouth shut. If whatever was out here didn’t already know where I was, then I wasn’t about to give away my position. I started to back up only to catch my right heel on a rock. I stumbled, my left leg giving out from under me, and landed on my back.
I heard the cackle again. It was closer. I pushed up on my elbows and spied a skeletal figure just barely obscured by the fog. It was waving a dark colored cloth. No, it was a simple cloth hat much like the old fashioned stocking caps norms like to put on their garden gnomes or wear at Christmas. I could see its glowing number flickering between a 5 and a 6. Panic started beating its wings frantically against my ribs. A redcap had found me. And, I was easy prey right now.
I scrambled backwards dragging my left leg since I didn’t trust my ankle to hold my weight. Another shadow appeared in the fog, tall and lean. Hope flared, easing the little knot of panic in my throat, as the shadow came closer. Mathias had found me . . . but then two more shadows appeared in the fog on either side of the one I had hoped was Mathias.
The redcap cackled with renewed glee, and I knew it was too late for me to escape. But, it didn’t stop me from dragging myself backwards. If I could just get back into the village, maybe I could hide before they caught up. The shadows lunged forward and emerged from the fog to surround me. The two males grinned wolfishly at me, both Unseelie. The female hunter was a half-shifted jaguar and definitely out of place in Scotland. All three had blazing 7s above their heads. The male, who seemed to be their de facto leader, looked me over and licked his lips. “So this is the woman who led to the fall of Weard’s so called greatest hunter? A little small for my taste.”
The female shifter gave a chuffing sound, caught between a jaguar’s cough and a more human sounding laugh. She circled closer to me, tapping the tips of her claws together, as she eyed me like I might be a poor excuse for a snack. “They’re always a little small for your taste, dear. I still don’t believe he fell because of this little Spotter.” She suddenly crouched poised to pounce as her snout pulled back to better reveal her fangs. “Do you see our numbers? What are they?”
I kept pulling myself backward waiting for the right opportunity to do my best to run. I glanced at the air above their heads. Telling them their numbers would confirm I was a Spotter, but it was far too late to try to keep that particular secret from Weard. I bit my lip and glanced at their numbers again.
“Come on,” interjected the other male. He was a little shorter than his companion but far broader through the chest and shoulders. “Tell us what it’s like to be spotted,” he cajoled with a toothy grin.
His companions laughed, and I felt a line of low mossy stones directly beneath my hands. The boundary? I hesitated only a moment more watching them draw closer. Then, I glanced at the redcap who was creeping behind them still mostly hidden in the fog. I lifted my chin. “The redcap is a . . . six.”
“Who cares?” snapped the leader. “What are our numbers?”
“Five,” I whispered, not quite believing that I was going to try this. As all three spat curses and vehemently disagreed with my revelation, I glanced at the air over the broader male’s head. All three hunters noticed the movement as their curses lessened enough that I could actually be heard again. I raised a trembling finger to point at the broader male. “Wait, he’s a 7 now.”
“Only him?” exclaimed the leader.
When his fellow hunter preened, the leader shoved him. I pulled myself a little further away from the two males as they started a shoving match. The female shifter gave a low growl and turned her attention away from me in favor of approaching the two. “Enough!”
They ignored her command, too focused on shouting in each other’s faces about why one or the other couldn’t be significantly higher. Her rounded ears flattened against her skull as she bared her teeth in a drawn out hiss. She marched into the fray attempting to break the two apart.
I seized the opportunity. Dragging myself across the boundary stones, I didn’t wait a moment longer to scramble to my feet. I nearly collapsed again as my left ankle buckled with a sharp pain, but I ignored it. I half-ran, half-limped as fast as I could manage, heading back into the village. Unfortunately, I hadn’t gotten far before the redcap screeched. The arguing continued until the vile little goblin screeched again, no doubt doing its best to interfere. I hobbled faster praying that they wouldn’t simply tackle me and be done with it. Praying the boundary
actually served as a barrier. I could just make out the lean-to forming the stable when there was a popping sound and something in the air shifted. They must have found a way to physically break the protections forming the glamours and boundary.
Fear drove me to push past the throbbing pain in my ankle. I could hear them running behind me, somewhere in the fog. By some miracle, I reached the cottage and was able to slam the door shut. I hobbled over to the table and dragged it across the main room, not the least bit concerned when it made a hideous noise as its legs scraped across the floor. I jammed one of the chairs against the door first before I shoved the table flush against it, pinning the chair beneath the hinge.
I stumbled back from the table, falling to my hands and knees, as I caught my breath. There was no noise from outside. I staggered back up and then hopped on my good foot toward the bedroom. Glass shattered and I covered my head with a scream as a rock landed in the center of the room, missing me by a mere inch. I kept hobbling and hopping my way to the bedroom. I could hear the door rattling on its hinges and then the sound of at least one body landing on the roof.
I forced myself to ignore the sounds as I focused on grabbing my go bag. Everything except for the extra supplies was already packed since I didn’t like being too settled. Other than the figurines. They were still on the table.
I hobbled back into the main room, listening to the footsteps running across the roof. They were going in circles instead of trying to actually get inside, which was . . . disconcerting. I reached the table and grabbed the three figurines.
All noise stopped.
That wasn’t trustworthy at all . . . I started to back away from the table only to shriek when the second window broke sending glass shards everywhere. A few stung my cheek as I turned away.
Then I heard the female speaking, still in the odd mix of a growl tinged alto. “Lauren Hope, we bring you an offer. Come to work for Weard Enterprises and everything that has happened since the incident with Smalls at Halliman’s will be made to go away. Weard will announce you were a victim of mistake identity. Your good name and reputation will be restored. No one will ever speak of the ‘rogue Spotter’ again. And, you will be a rich woman doing the world so much good by working for Weard.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “I’ve heard this offer before and I didn’t fall for it then. I’m not going to now.”
“You should take the offer, little Spotter,” she replied, a sinister cloyingness sinking into her growled words.
“I’ll die first!”
There was silence and then I heard footsteps circling on the roof directly above me. I hobbled away to the back room. I shoved the door shut just as the lean male I had mistaken for the leader jumped through the roof, bits of thatch and wood falling to the floor with him. I jammed one of my crutches beneath the handle, bracing the end against the foot of the bed, and waited. I quietly slipped the figurines into my go bag and slid it onto the floor on the other side of the bed. Where I wouldn’t trip over it. I heard the male grumble a curse and then the sound of the table crashing across the room before he shouted, “She’s hiding!”
“Get out here!” the female yelled.
I heard retreating steps, but I didn’t trust them enough to risk a peek. Silence fell but it felt wrong. Then, there was the sound of running steps. I fell back on the bed covering my face as the door was knocked in, wood splintering. I grabbed my other crutch and swung the handle at the man’s head. He uttered a curse as I struck him twice in the head and landed another glancing blow off his shoulder before he was able to lunge forward and grab me.
I gasped for air as he wrapped his arm around my neck choking the breath out of me. I reached up blindly scratching at whatever exposed skin there was to no avail. He dragged me by the neck into the center of the main room. The half-shifted jaguar was waiting. Her upper lip quivered, exposing her fangs, as he dropped me at her feet.
I coughed and gasped as my bruised throat ached under the pressure of drawing in air. A claw touched my cheek pricking lightly but not yet cutting my skin, and I glanced up to meet the jaguar’s golden gaze. A hint of a growl tinged her words as she spoke. “You defy Weard?”
“I am hiding in an abandoned village in the highlands. Why else would I be here, hmm?” Meeting her gaze despite my rising panic, I added quietly, “I won’t be one of Weard’s pets.”
“Weard would prefer for you to be brought in alive,” she countered, her ears perking, “however, since you have refused the generous offer, I think we’ll leave you for the traitor to find.” She cut my cheek and nodded to the male. “Take care of it.”
I looked up at the man in time to see his incoming fist. Then, everything went dark.
When I woke up, smoke filled the room. I coughed and squinted around. The remaining roof was on fire as was the far corner. It looked like a lantern had been broken over the table and chairs. My head throbbed and my throat ached, but I forced myself to move. I stayed low, beneath the billowing smoke, and crawled to the bedroom. I had to get the crutches and the go bag.
I could hear the hunters’ laughter. They expected me to die in here. Or to stumble into their arms. I would take my chances against them. Anything was better than burning to death.
By the time I reached the bedroom, I was coughing again. I found the crutches and my go bag. This was the first time I truly hated that there were no windows in the bedroom. The only way out was through the front door and straight into the arms of Weard’s hunters. I coughed harder, blinking away the sweat stinging my eyes. Better hunters than fire. I dug in my go bag and pulled out a grey shawl. Taking the shawl, I dropped it in the bowl of tepid water still on the stand. I pushed it down until it was completely soaked then wrapped it around my head and neck before covering my nose and mouth.
I wriggled the go bag onto my back and grabbed my crutches. The smoke and heat were oppressive and the flames close. Water and sweat dripped into my eyes as I crawled across the floor dragging my left leg behind me. The fire crackled. I could see places where burning pieces of roof had fallen around me. Above the crackling roar of the fire, I could hear the redcap’s cackling and the laughter of the hunters.
A hot ember grazed against my left leg just above my wrap and brace. I screamed and rolled away. When I looked back, I couldn’t see flames. I coughed and choked on smoke as I forced myself to keep crawling. The stone walls couldn’t burn, but the furniture and fixtures could . . . so did the blankets.
The air grew hotter, parching my throat and my lungs even with the soaked shawl. It was hard to breathe and to keep crawling. I pushed myself further reaching for the door. A tearless sob escaped me as I tried to grasp the door handle before jerking my hand back as heat greeted my fingertips. It wasn’t a proper burn, but it was a near thing.
The laughter on the other side of the door had stopped. I heard a big cat’s snarl. Then, a man screamed before it was strangled to silence. I yanked my sleeve down over my hand and lunged for the door handle blindly grasping through the smoke. I found the handle and yanked. The door didn’t budge.
No. No, no, no!
I tugged again. The door still didn’t budge. I peered through the smoke trying to see if the latch had been knocked into place. The smoke was too thick. I couldn’t see, but it was the only thing I could think of so I grabbed one of the crutches. I shoved it up, bouncing against the door, as I blindly tried to hit the latch so it bounced out of the cradle. Please . . . Please . . . Please!
I felt the crutch connect with something and then give. Still holding the crutch, I reached up once more to grab the handle. This time it swung open a few inches. Smoke billowed out the crack as I scrambled to move the crutches out of the way so I could force the opening wider. It was only then that I heard another snarl from the jaguar shifter. As I dragged myself out of the cottage, I gasped for air and I heard a man’s panicked shout, “No! Don’t!”
The shifter screamed and then I spotted her on her knees a little ways from me. She raised only one han
d, blood covering her claws. She was panting, her eyes fixed on someone else. “Mercy,” she snarled.
Lifting my head, I saw something that made my blood run cold. Mathias was bearing down on the shifter, a sabre whose blade was dark with blood in his hands. He never slowed as the shifter once again pleaded for mercy. His voice snapped through the air like ice crackling underfoot. “You have lost all hope of mercy, killer of innocents.”
I saw the sabre streak downward and turned my face away. The jaguar’s defiant curse was cut off mid-word. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was bad. So very bad.
A cough escaped me as I forced myself to stand. I had to get to Mathias before he did something worse. The number over his head flickered as though the 10 were encased in flames, but I ignored it. Just as I ignored the bodies. Mathias was standing with his back to me, bloodied sabre in his grasp. I tried to step toward him only for my legs to immediately give out, and I dropped to my hands and knees.
Looking up, I saw Mathias. He was facing me now. A shudder ran through me as I met his gaze. There was nothing save for an icy assessment in his pale blue eyes. I tried to say his name, but another coughing fit enveloped me.
* * *
Mathias
The shifter fell to the ground, her crimes paid for with her life. I stared at the body with cold indifference. Justice had demanded the price. I had fulfilled it. The icy wrath coursing through my veins sought any others who had guilt. A rough cough and the sound of a body falling brought me around to face another slight figure. Female, but her face and head was covered by a soaked shawl. She didn’t look ready to attack, but I brought my sword up even so.
The cold pure lance of justice recognized her guilt. Not as strong as the other four. but there nonetheless. And, justice demanded payment.
I walked toward her, sword in hand. It would be swift and painless because she did not bear the mark of a killer of innocents. She sat up and my steps slowed as I met wide dark eyes. The cold guidance of my hand and purpose faltered as she rasped, “M-Mathias! Stop please!”
Flight by Numbers Page 13