Lost Vegas Series

by Lizzy Ford

  Tiana leaned forward and touched his warm forehead. “I’ll be back,” she promised him. “With Arthur. Then we’ll all go …” She stopped. She had purposely not considered how her father would react to her breaking all of his rules and leaving.

  The door opened, and the cool night air touched her cheeks. Tiana shrugged off the thoughts of her father and left Warner, following the Native.

  As soon as the cold night air brushed her face, she smiled. A thrill ran through her, and she looked around at the dark village, barely daring to believe she had spent not one, but three days outside the city!

  She had done it. She had thrown off her father’s heavy-handed control and escaped. She felt sad for Warner, but not even his condition could change her mind about leaving. Nothing would ever make her regret having her freedom at last.

  The lights in the houses, and circling the tree, flared to life. She had been too tired to pay much attention to the village when they arrived. Fully refreshed, she gazed at the strings of lights in the trees and wrapped around trunks with awe. The village appeared magical with the faint pricks of light, some of which glowed from beneath a thin layer of fresh snow.

  “I would never leave here!” she exclaimed.

  The tracker did not respond.

  She turned and saw he was far ahead of her, waiting at a corral with two horses. She hurried after him and slowed when one of the horses began to show signs of panicking. The second horse, however, twitched donkey-sized ears but did not try to pull away or flee.

  The Native nodded, as if he expected this, and motioned to a youth lingering near the entrance of the stables. The boy took the nervous horse away while leaving the calm one. The Native motioned her forward.

  She approached uncertainly, not wanting to scare the beast. Its ears twitched faster as she approached, and it pawed the ground with its front hooves.

  “Mule,” the tracker told her. “Not scare easy.”

  Tiana reached out to touch the soft hair of the mule’s face. It blew out a snort into her hand, and she smiled. It was the first domesticated animal she had ever officially met. His eyes were large, his ears larger, and his coloring brindle.

  “He is beautiful,” she murmured.

  The tracker appeared pleased. “Faster on horse,” he said. He stood to the horse’s left side and motioned for her to join him. As if knowing she had no experience with horses, he picked up the stirrup and motioned to his foot, then showed her the reins, the saddle and saddlebags. She nodded, excited for her first horseback riding experience.

  When he was done, he dropped a wooden box beside the mule. She stepped onto it, and he helped her mount before handing her the reins.

  “Wait,” he directed her.

  Tiana nodded. She fumbled with the reins and settled into the saddle. The mule’s warm body eliminated some of the night’s chill. His hair was soft and his mane wiry. She admired the animal and added this first-time experience to her list of adventures she intended to share with Arthur and Aveline, when she saw them again.

  The tracker left the stables atop a second mule and joined her. Stretching forward, he claimed her horse’s reins.

  “Hold.” He said and motioned to the horse’s mane.

  She gripped its mane and smiled, ready to find and rescue her brother.

  He led her out of the village at a quick walk. When they reached the nearest road, their speed picked up, from a jarring trot to a smooth, fast canter. Tiana clung to the horse’s mane and squeezed the animal with her legs, until she had found her balance. The movement had a natural rhythm her body soon adopted. Her hood fell away, and the cold night swept through her hair.

  The exhilarating pace soon left her intoxicated. The moody, partially cloudy sky above, mysterious forest, and invigorating wind only added to the happiness bubbling up within her. She grinned, feeling free of her oppressive father at last.

  Her guide alternated between cantering and walking and remained on the same road, which twisted and turned through the forest. They passed no other travelers during the night. Only when dawn began to brighten the forest, and the sun rose, was she able to figure out what direction they went.

  The sun rose at their back, though the air remained cold this day.

  The tracker glanced back, and she met his gaze, relaxed and smiling. He shook his head and faced forward again.

  Tiana took a drink from the penicillin water before sipping regular water and eating small bites from the meat and cheese given to her by the tracker the night before.

  She was about to ask the tracker how far away Arthur was, when he halted his horse in the middle of the road and tilted his head, listening.

  Her horse stopped automatically, and she gazed around at the forest. Even without her damaged hearing, she doubted she was going to pick up what he did, for he knew the forest in a way she could not. When he did not move, and nothing appeared in their path, she whispered, “What is it?”

  His response was in his language. He tensed and released the reins of her mule, indicating for her to remain where she was. The tracker advanced on horseback.

  Tiana lifted her hood over her head and waited for the danger he sensed to appear. When the tracker was a good twenty feet ahead of her, he stopped again.

  Five figures on horseback melted from the forest and rode towards him at a slow walk. The tracker spoke to them at length, until Tiana’s mule began to doze, and she grew concerned.

  She twisted as the sound of hooves on gravel came from behind her. Four more Natives on horseback were within fifteen feet. They had halted, but their horses were already starting to show signs of anxiousness. They danced in place and tossed their heads. None of the men behind her spoke. They were all armed.

  Gripping the mule’s mane harder, she faced forward again.

  The tracker returned to her, grim.

  “You go … them,” he said and pointed.

  “Oh. They will take me to Arth … our destination?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “We cross their lands. They take you there. Your brother pay and you come back.” He spoke the words slowly and with effort.

  She glanced at the men ahead of them with renewed interest. “Are they kidnapping me?” she asked.

  “Stealing,” he confirmed. “Me one. They many.” He motioned to them. “I come back with brother.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  “I tell them … eagle.” He reached back to his shoulder and tapped it.

  She cringed. “You were watching me change clothes?” she asked.

  “No. Brother tell me. Eagle is safe.”

  How would the Natives know anything about the tattoo each Hanover bore? And why had Warner felt the need to explain its existence to anyone?

  “If trouble, you do … Ghouls,” the tracker added quietly, gravely. “Okay?”

  She nodded half-heartedly, confused about what was happening. Even if she dared call upon her magic to help, she could not control it. That this man and Warner had survived, when Matilda did not, was beyond her ability to explain.

  “Is Arthur … our destination close?” she asked.

  “Yes. They have man you seek,” he replied.

  She almost sighed, relieved for the sliver of luck in circumstances she was doubting were fortunate.

  But at least she was free of the city. Nothing that happened to her here would ever convince her otherwise.

  “They will not hurt you. I tell them you special,” he added and pointed to her eyes.

  Tiana flushed, hating others knew of her deformity. “Thank you,” she said. “Be safe.”

  The Native was frowning, as if he genuinely had not expected this complication. With a brisk nod, he rode past her and towards the four men behind her on the road. They parted to allow him to pass. He urged his horse into a trot then a lope and disappeared around a bend.

  Tiana faced the five riders. None of them tried to ride near her. Had the tracker warned them what would happen if they did? Why did horses despise her s
o much?

  One of them motioned for her to follow, and the five ahead of her turned their horses and began to walk down the road.

  Uncertain how to make her mule go, she remained where she was, stranded on the beast. She considered sliding off the mule but did not know how she would climb back without help. She stretched forward to try to reach the reins the tracker had left dangling but was unable to grab them.

  “Can you ride?” one of the Natives behind her asked finally.

  “No,” she replied.

  He muttered something to his companions, and one of them chuckled. The Native urged his horse towards her and made it three steps before the animal reared and whinnied. It lashed out with its forelegs in Tiana’s direction then landed and bucked.

  “I cannot be around horses,” she called to him.

  He slid off his horse and strode towards her, frowning fiercely. Snatching her reins, he draped them over the mule’s neck. The Native effortlessly pulled himself up behind her and nudged the horse forward.

  Tiana shifted to give him as much room as possible. With her cloak bunched between them, she was uncomfortable for the first time since being hoisted into the saddle.

  They neared the five riders ahead but slowed when the horses grew agitated. The Native behind her mumbled under his breath and guided the mule towards the forest rather than the riders. He shouted a few words towards the others. One of them nodded, and he entered the woods via a well-trodden path wide enough for two horses.

  Uncertain what to expect from her first kidnapping, she began to grow concerned. These Natives had her brother, but how would she find him, if she were a prisoner? Once she did, how would they escape? Would she be able to find her mule again? And if they could not escape on their own, how long would it take for Warner to recover enough to rescue her as well as Arthur?

  A village appeared not far into the forest. It was much smaller than the tracker’s and consisted of rawhide tents and makeshift corrals rather than permanent cabins and paddocks. No women or children were in view either, only men bearing firearms and traditional weapons.

  The warrior behind her pulled the mule to a halt in front of one of the tents and slid off the animal’s back. He motioned for her to do the same and draped the reins over a pole to the side of the entrance.

  Tiana managed to climb off the mule without falling. The moment her feet touched the ground, she groaned. On horseback, she had not noticed the muscles used to keep her in the saddle. On the ground, her inner thighs trembled and her hamstrings burned from being used in a way to which she was not accustomed. She wobbled rather than walked to follow the Native waiting for her at the entrance to the tent.

  He swept aside the flap covering the entrance and motioned her into the large space beyond. A fire burned at the center of the tent, its smoke funneling up through the hole at the center. Furs and rugs covered the ground. The man at the fire rose upon seeing her. Several years older than Arthur, he was lean, like the other warriors who confronted her on the road, and tense, as if the well-armed warrior suspected her of planning to attack him. His dark gaze was steely, and a scar ran down the side of one cheek.

  He spoke a flurry of words at her escort, who answered just as fast. She heard her name mixed in among their tongue without knowing what was said. The frown and lingering glance of the man at the fire warned her he was displeased about something the other had said. He asked a question, and her escort answered with a shrug.

  “You call yourself Tiana Burrows?” the Native before her asked.

  She nodded.

  He lifted his chin in a wordless order to her escort, who left.

  “You bear a mark, as all the wealthy in Lost Vegas do?” he asked.

  Hearing the edge in his voice, she hesitated.

  “Show me.”

  Could he know what her marking stood for?

  If her father did not care who she was, why would the Natives?

  Tiana ducked her head then removed her hood and cloak. She loosened the shirt she wore and turned her back to him, sliding it down over one shoulder.

  “You’re a Hanover,” the Native said, voice growing even harder.

  She straightened her clothing and took a deep breath. “I came to find my brother.”

  “He is here,” the Native confirmed.

  Her heart leapt, and she silently thanked the tracker for bringing her the right direction. She bent to retrieve her cloak.

  The Native snatched her wrist, and she froze. He tossed her cloak out of reach. His scent was that of forest and bonfire, and his solid frame larger than Arthur’s. His body heat radiated through the clothing he wore. His grip was tight enough to start to hurt, but she was accustomed to pain after seven years with Matilda and did not flinch or complain.

  The Native was quiet, brooding. She felt the intensity of his gaze, as if he wished to murder her with his eyes.

  “You believe your enemies are beneath you?” he snapped. He snatched her jaw with his free hand and twisted her face towards him.

  Tiana closed her eyes to shield him from her deformity.

  He muttered in his tongue then spoke to her. “I look forward to peeling the skin from your body and killing you slowly,” he said with a great deal of control. He shook her hard enough to knock her off balance. She caught herself against his hard frame, ignoring the fingers digging into the wrist that had not yet healed.

  “What of my father? Will you send me back to him?” she whispered. She did not resist the angry Native, aware of how it would only infuriate him further.

  “You will never see him again!”

  “S… so, if I stay, you will murder me, and I will not be returned home?”

  “You will never see your city again!”

  She breathed as deeply as possible, given the awkward angle of her neck. “Very well. I agree.”

  He was silent.

  “Did you offer my brother these same terms?” she ventured. She doubted Arthur would agree to stay. He had always held his father’s good favor and a future as a leader in the city.

  “Are you toying with me, or are you a fool?” he snapped.

  “He does not intend to let me live past my next birthday. I would rather die free than under his control.”

  A low, gruff laugh emanated from the shadows in the back of the tent. A few hoarse words came next.

  The Native holding her gritted his teeth loudly enough for her to hear, offered a terse response, and then released her.

  “You are not foolish or toying with him, are you?” the second man asked.

  Tiana peered through her eyelashes at the elderly man with a blanket draped around his shoulders walking slowing towards them. He leaned heavily on a cane. His leathery features were folded in wrinkles, though his brown eyes remained sharp. Uncertain how to answer the question, she said nothing.

  “My father is the chief of our people. When he speaks, every man and woman beneath the sky answers,” the Native beside her growled. He gripped her arm and shook her again.

  “N…no,” she replied. “I am being honest. Perhaps I seem different because I am deformed.”

  “The Hanover’s burn the deformed,” the elderly man said.

  “Yes,” she said. “My father does.”

  “What does he do to the daughter he did not burn?”

  She did not wish to speak, but when the first man reached for her again, she shifted to display her arms and then turned her back to them and lifted her shirt over her head to display the various scars left over from her interactions with Matilda.

  “Fitting treatment for a Hanover,” the younger Native said and spat on the ground beside her.

  “She is every bit his victim, son,” his father chided.

  “She is a Hanover, father.”

  Tiana lowered her shirt. The younger Native snatched her arm and peered at the bracelet she wore.

  “Where did you find this?” the older man asked, limping closer. “It is not yours.”

  “It belongs to
my guardian,” she replied.

  “What is it, father?” his son asked.

  “Something I have not seen in a very long time,” was the careful response. “If this belongs to your guardian, then we will act with caution.” This was directed at his son, who nodded.

  In the quiet that followed, Tiana risked a look at the elderly man, who was studying her hard. He shifted forward and placed a knobby finger beneath her chin to lift it. Tiana cringed but did not fight him, not wanting to disrupt his delicate balance or anger his son even further.

  “It is true,” he said in his low, gruff voice. “The Hanover’s carry a deformity in their blood.”

  “My mother did. My father does not,” she replied.

  “You believe this?”

  Tiana’s cheeks grew warm, not because she cared to defend her father’s honor, but because she truly did not know him well enough to say.

  “It has long been rumored the Hanover’s pass down special gifts to each generation,” the elderly man said. He released her chin. “It is why your family maintains control of the city.”

  “My father spoke nothing to me of this,” she replied. “I was not permitted to leave my room.”

  The younger Native shook his head and paced away. “Every Hanover should be locked away and beaten!”

  Tiana gazed at his father, who lifted an eyebrow when she failed to react to the other man’s anger.

  “Son, return this to the man who sent it. I have given you my decision,” he said and held out an item hidden inside a leather cloth.

  The younger man took it slowly with a glance at Tiana. “I can send in several warriors to watch her, if you fear danger from her guardian.”

  “I fear nothing, son. We will be well alone,” was the calm response.

  “Father, she’s a Hanover. Our blood enemy. She cannot be trusted.”

  “Do as I say.”

  His son did not object again but glared at Tiana before striding out of the tent.

  She sighed when he was gone. He carried the air of someone accustomed to action, as opposed to his father’s wiser approach of assessing what was before him before he acted.