by Chloe Jacobs
Something had been stuck in the back of her mind for a while. Something she’d been trying to ignore because, well, she and hope apparently didn’t play well with each other.
But now that she was standing around with nothing to do but wait—likely for the last battle of her life—hope had started poking its head back into her business. If there was any time to give it one last chance, that time was probably now.
But could she do it? She still hesitated. There’d been very good, sane reasons for shutting away all her emotions in the first place. Opening herself up to that again could be a brutal mistake. If she opened herself up, she’d have to deal with what had happened to Isaac.
Isaac.
Just his name was enough to shock her out of her daze, as if the real Greta had been waiting for any opportunity to escape the dead, empty place she’d been shuffled off to.
She bit her lip and everything tumbled back, all the anguish and the pain she’d been trying to leave behind. But with it came a niggling feeling that Isaac was still out there somewhere.
Guessing. Hoping. It was all part and parcel of relying on emotion. And maybe it was only her imagination, but it felt like their link snapped back into place. Maybe it wasn’t his death that had severed it for a while, but her own decision to reject her love for him. In denying her emotions, she’d denied their bond.
She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. The hot tears flowed. She couldn’t stop them. The arrows. The blood. Isaac’s crumpled form. She shouldn’t keep hoping—it would only hurt more.
Even if he lived, he’s still Lost.
Greta had been in Mylena, hunting the Lost, for four years and had never once heard of anyone coming back from it.
And yet…
And yet.
She needed to sleep if she was going to know for sure.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen.
This wasn’t exactly the place to purposely put herself in such a vulnerable position.
Dare she risk it anyway?
She had to. Not only because she couldn’t bear to sit here just waiting for the faeries to come back, and not only because this could be her last chance to see him.
I won’t let you go. He’d said those words to her in Agramon’s lair right before he pulled her out of the black portal. I would bring you back from death itself if I had to.
She turned away from the windows and slid down to the floor, then tipped her head back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. Being able to doze at the drop of a hat wherever she happened to be was a necessary skill when you spent your days and nights hunting, and she’d never had any problem before.
Her eyes were open again a second later, though. She watched the door, listening for movement on the other side. Her mind was a locomotive, rushing along, pulling train cars behind it. All of them were filled with another problem she was trying not to worry about. There was the Isaac car, and the Wyatt car, followed by the car with all the rest of the boys. Then there was the Siona car, and the faerie car, and the magick car, and—
She drew her knees up to her chest and folded her arms over them. The only way to get to sleep was to clear her head. The only way to clear her head was to make sure it was focused on only one thing.
“Isaac,” she murmured. Her throat tightened until all she could taste were the salty tears. Shame and self-loathing overwhelmed her. Had she really let them kill him and not even felt an ounce of remorse? If the cost of escaping her own heartbreak had been at the expense of his life, she might never be worthy of love again.
She swallowed and closed her eyes again. It was easy to picture his face. The harsh angles in his cheeks and chin, the intensity of his amethyst eyes, the unrepentant quirk in his lips when he grinned—which he seemed to do only for her. She imagined that he was there with her, that she could feel his body radiating heat like a gigantic oven right beside her.
She let out a long breath and tipped her face to the side, as if he was sitting there and would lean in and plant his lips on the vulnerable pulse point beating in her neck. She could almost feel his arm curving around her shoulders and drawing her closer, his hot breath against her skin, his whispered words tickling her ear. I’ll never let you go.
Her breathing evened out, her lashes fluttered.
When she opened them, she was still locked in the room at the top of the faerie tower, but she was asleep. She knew this because he was there.
Not beside her, not kissing her, not holding her. Of course not. He was still Lost, crouched on all fours across the room, his face a mask of wild, violent hunger as he snarled. Although he looked around the small, enclosed room, one eye was trained on her.
This might not have been such a good idea. She didn’t really want an answer to the question of whether or not her physical body would die in the waking world if she were killed in a dream.
Making no sudden moves, she slowly put her hands on her knees, shifted her weight, and pushed herself to a standing position.
“Isaac.” She had his full attention now. He went so still she could see the tense muscles in his torso quivering. Did that mean he’d recognized his name, that she was reaching him?
He didn’t immediately try to rip her apart, but she wouldn’t say he was exactly lucid. He was little more than a cornered animal, ready to strike, eager to strike, as soon as she showed him an ounce of vulnerability.
Neither of them moved. They stood staring at one another for what seemed like forever, with Isaac maintaining a constant, low growl. She kept talking, calmly telling him who she was and who they were to each other, but it wasn’t working, and something had to give.
She had to make contact. Last time, it was touch and memory that seemed to give him that tiny moment of clarity.
The tower room was a circle. She edged along the wall as slowly as she could. His growls increased in volume, but she pushed another step. He lunged at her with a brutal snap of his jaws an inch from her nose, and she froze, heart slamming.
He circled her, and she shifted her back to the wall. “Isaac,” she said again. “Don’t let the moons control you. You’re stronger than this. You can overcome it and come back from it. You can come back to me.”
Big mistake. Her voice had risen with her agitation, and he reacted with a roar. He swiped at her, showing every intention of taking her head off, and she raised her arms to block, but that left her side exposed.
His claws went into her like knives sliding through butter. She screamed, the pain immediate and excruciating, every bit as real as she expected it to feel in waking life. Her legs collapsed under her, and her hands clutched his arm for support, even though his claws were still embedded in her gut, coated with her blood.
Her vision blurred, but he was right there. He leaned over her. How did she get on the ground? She blinked and squinted up at him.
She was touching him. Touch. Her fingernails dug into his forearm. Was it working? His face was so close to hers, but her vision was too blurry to know if his eyes were still red.
I won’t let you go. I won’t let you go.
“Isaac,” she whispered, but even one word was hard to get out. She finished on a gurgly cough. That couldn’t be good. She let her head fall to the side, feeling the grit from the stone floor clinging to her cheek just as her blood was sticky on her skin.
The memory that came to her was from a late afternoon shortly after the first time they’d met, before they really even knew each other, definitely before there was anything between them other than suspicion and mistrust. She almost ignored it and tried to think of something else, but it was the one sticking with her as her blood splattered onto the floor—
A farmhouse. Deserted because the goblin mother and two babies who had lived there had been slaughtered the night before by the goblin husband and father, gone Lost.
These were the scenes that horrified her the most. Thankfully, they didn’t happen often. She chased a lot of bounties into the woods, into the mountains, into the Brim
stone Caves. After all, the poor souls got the name Lost because something in their lives had caused them so much distress that they couldn’t deal, and they wandered away, both physically and metaphysically. Giving in to the moons left them free to bask in the freedom the Great Mother offered with her wild embrace—or so she’d heard.
But sometimes the Lost lingered—they didn’t seem to want to leave their civilized lives behind—and Greta had often wondered if the ones who stayed somehow still felt something for the people they left behind and were trying to find a way back.
Of course, it had always ended in bloodshed and screams…and a doubling of the bounty.
When this bounty had come down the pike there’d still been time to stop him from killing. If only she’d been quicker, but it had taken her a full day to track him here. She hadn’t expected him to return to his home.
She’d crept across the field leading up to the house as quietly as she could, ducking behind fences and boulders on the way, to stay out of sight.
The creature stood outside the house, howling his heart out. It was haunting and horrible. There was no way to miss the blood coating his fur and smeared across his jaws.
A shadow moved near the side of the house.
Crap! Who was stupid enough to get near one of the Lost? Besides herself, of course.
The creature broke off midhowl and snarled before taking off…right for whatever had moved near the house.
She gave up the pretense of stealth and started running.
With her back pressed against the stone wall of the building, she took a deep breath and peered around the corner. The thing about being a bounty hunter, you always ended up doing the job in the dark. That just seemed to be how it went, and this time was no different. That didn’t make it any less unnerving, especially tonight when the moons were barely visible through a thick cover of clouds.
She shook her head. Who would have thought the same girl whose bedtime had once been a respectable nine thirty on weeknights would, only four years later, be out scouring the land for monsters at all hours of the night?
A soft noise made her shiver. She adjusted her grip on her sword and rounded the corner ready to take down the Lost…
Only to find herself face-to-face with the goblin king.
“What are you doing here?” She hissed in an impatient whisper. “Do you realize the danger you’re in right now?”
“And good evening to you, Danem Greta,” he murmured in a low voice that sent tingles up her spine.
She shook them off and scowled. “If you know what’s good for you, just stay here out of my way, and don’t move.”
His raised eyebrow said exactly what he thought of her giving him orders, and when she spun away, he stepped in close behind her. Way close.
She fought to put his presence out of her mind as they slowly made their way around the perimeter of the house. Where had the Lost creature gone?
The goblin king’s hand fell on her shoulder. She turned, and he held a finger to his lips. She couldn’t help but stare, but then he pointed over her head, and she looked up, steeling herself against everything except the job.
Open window. The creature had gone inside the house.
It was about three feet too high for her to reach and climb through on her own. She looked at the goblin king. She looked at the window. She looked at the goblin king.
He grinned, and it tugged at something inside her despite her determination not to pay any attention to him. “Would you like some assistance?” he asked.
Her gaze narrowed in warning. “No funny business. Keep your hands to yourself.”
His forehead creased. “Then you do not want me to lift you up?”
She sighed. “Yes, I want the damn boost. Hurry.”
She turned to face the wall and he came up behind her, his hands closing around her waist. She was immediately warm all over, immediately distracted. Focus on the job, Greta. She bit her lip and looked up at the window.
He lifted her and she wobbled. Startled, her hands flew down over his for balance. He quickly readjusted his grip. She wasn’t touching the ground. The front of him was plastered all against the back of her, and he held her at just the right height to whisper close in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
Her heart thumped wildly, but she nodded. “A little higher,” she murmured. “I still can’t reach the window.”
He pushed her up another foot. His strength was impressive. She was tall and far from dainty, but he hadn’t even grunted against her weight. His breathing was a little hurried, but hers was, too.
She gripped the windowsill and pulled herself up, pausing to make certain she wouldn’t be ambushed halfway through the opening. It looked like a bedroom. Mostly empty except for a small cot in the corner. A child’s room? After climbing inside, she turned around to call down for the goblin king to wait right there, but his big body was already squeezing through the window. Impressive.
“Do I have to tell you not to get in my way?” she asked impatiently.
He looked down his nose, but obviously felt her comment didn’t deserve a response.
A noise drew both their attention. It sounded like something scratching in the walls.
They made their way out of the room. The floor of the hallway was covered in wet, dirty footprints the size of pontoons, leading to a set of narrow steps.
The attic.
She and the goblin king approached slowly and carefully. She started up, sword in hand, thankful that he seemed willing to let her take the lead.
At the top of the stairs, she readied herself to attack, but what she saw froze her and she didn’t know what to do.
The Lost goblin knelt before a closed door, his hand spread open over the thick wood, claws scratching, scratching, scratching. He’d almost scratched a hole right through, but surprisingly he probably could have just bashed the door in and been done with it if that’s what he’d wanted.
Beside her, the goblin king cocked his head. She caught the sound at the same time.
Crying.
On the other side of that door, a baby was crying.
Shock and alarm flooded her with cold, and she took an instinctive step forward.
The creature spun toward them with a snarl. She had a half second to catch the bunching of its muscles before it sprung for her.
She shoved the goblin king back so that he was forced to take a couple of steps down the stairs, out of harm’s way, and then she positioned herself protectively in front of him.
The close quarters worked to her benefit. The Lost didn’t have anywhere to go, no way to avoid her blade. It was over in moments.
The goblin king pushed past her and went to the door. She looked down over the dead creature and murmured her apology like she always did when forced to take a life. When she glanced back up, the goblin king was coming back out of the attic room with a bundle cradled in his arms. Her chest tightened.
She looked back down at the thing that had once been this child’s father. “Do you think he knew?” she murmured. “Even in that Lost state, could he have remembered?”
His brow furrowed. “You hunt them. Have you ever known one of the Lost to retain knowledge of anything once the moons have taken them?”
She shook her head. Of course not. “But what if—”
“For one so accomplished, your heart is soft.” His gaze seemed to probe just a little too closely for her peace of mind.
“We should get out of here.”
He stepped forward and reached for her hand. “Thank you for your assistance this evening, Danem Greta. This child will live because of you.”
Was that supposed to be a good thing? All of her family was gone, and she would be completely alone in the world—something Greta wouldn’t wish on anyone. “I was just doing my job.”
“Isaac.”
She started. “I’m sorry, what?”
“My name,” he reminded her.
She crossed her arms. “I know what your name is. And n
ow I also know you tricked me into saying it the night we met.” Maidra’s tavern. A cozy table in the corner. Hours of talking. He’d made her believe in the possibility of friendship in this crazy world…only to realize she’d been duped.
He only grinned. The damn goblin had no shame.
She stomped down the stairs. “I’m out of here.”
“I’ll see you in your dreams,” he called after her with a chuckle that made her blood boil—
Maybe this wasn’t the way to bring him back. If there’d been a window of opportunity, maybe she’d already missed it.
“Greta.”
She gasped and glanced back up into his face, her heart skipping a beat. His voice. Isaac’s voice. Raspy and guttural like he’d been swallowing knives for the last several days, but beautiful to her ears. “You—” Cough. “You said my name.”
He looked at her, his red eyes clearing.
“Isaac,” she whispered. She reached up to touch his cheek, but nausea and dizziness hit her suddenly like a ton of bricks. “No!” She clutched his arms desperately. “No, I can’t go yet,” she cried.
“Greta!” His voice took on the snarl again.
He held her tighter, but she was already half gone. His face faded and his roar was muffled, and all she felt was his fury and the claws digging deep into her skin.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was not surprising to find Siona standing over her when Greta awoke, but the concern and worry in her expression wasn’t what she expected.
“What? Did you think I was dead and you had lost your sacrificial lamb?” she snapped. “I needed a nap.”
Isaac. Hope and fear warred. Had he really beaten the odds and escaped the pull of the moons? Could she already have pushed him back over the edge by leaving him?
Siona eyed her pityingly. “He can’t return to you, danem. You won’t find him in your dreams ever again.”
She ignored the hunter and got to her feet.
Siona finally said, “It’s time.”