by Chloe Jacobs
With a hint of pressure, he urged her to turn back around. “But you have to ask me.”
“When hell freezes over.” The familiar ache of loss stung. It was a damn lie anyway. He couldn’t give her what she truly wanted, nobody could. And she hated that he brought to the surface all the emotions she had worked so hard to keep hidden.
Need to get out. She tried to shrug out of his grasp and snarled when he didn’t budge. “Right now, what I want most involves a certain goblin king’s dismemberment and eternal suffering. Shall I demand that you honor my wish?”
He didn’t respond to her angry sarcasm except to lift an imperious brow.
“And if I did ask for something, the only cost would be my soul, is that it?”
“It wouldn’t have to be like that, not in the way you think. We would be bound together.” He paused, his gaze straying to his hands still on her shoulders. “Would it be so horrible to belong to me, Greta? To give yourself into my keeping and trust me to take control of your happiness?”
“What the hell does that even mean? Do you get to dance through all of their heads as well? Doesn’t that make for a busy night?”
He frowned. “The ability to penetrate dreams has always been a curse, but the obligation to grant my people’s wishes came with the mantle of king.”
“I’m not one of your people,” she said. Is that how he saw her? She should have known better to believe she might be special to him. “How many others are ‘bound’ to your keeping?”
“Those who wish to barter with me for their deepest desires do so of their own free will, with full knowledge of the payment required.” The dark slash of his brows came together in a stormy frown and he stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides. “Sometimes I wish I could turn them away, but just as the sprites are bound to the earth, air, fire, or water, the goblin king is bound to his people.”
Her chest constricted, as if the bandages around her were being wound tighter. She tamped down on the feelings with a ruthless frown. She refused to feel sorry for him—that was exactly what he wanted. “This bartering of yours…what do you do, wave your magic goblin wand and presto—wishes granted?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m linked to every person under my care, it doesn’t matter where I reside, they can reach me. I cannot ignore an honest and direct call for help. And yes, once I grant a wish made from the soul, that soul belongs to me because I have assumed responsibility for his or her future happiness.”
What he was talking about reminded her of an old Chinese proverb: Save a life and it’s yours forever. Taken literally, that could get complicated. It sounded like a nightmare…maybe for him as much as for the ones who paid his price.
It also sounded like a load of crap. The goblin boy she’d met at Maidra’s hadn’t said anything about responsibility, or being a caretaker of his people’s souls. That boy wouldn’t have accepted the kingship if it had been handed over to him on a silver platter.
And yet here they were, proving she’d been a gullible idiot when it came to him.
“So all those plans you told me, about the things you want to do, and the places you want to see—that was just a game to make me like you and say your name?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “At first it may have been a challenge,” he finally admitted. “But I didn’t lie to you.”
“Then what changed? Why am I talking to a king now, when a fortnight ago I was just talking to a cool goblin boy?”
He clammed up and looked away.
“Fine, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t believe you anyway.” Besides, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been completely forthcoming when it came to their identities that night. She swung around and tenderly pulled her shirt on while he wasn’t watching before letting the sheet drop. “But I’m never going to make a wish, Isaac.”
A big, satisfied grin transformed his face as she turned back to face him. Oh, hell. She’d gone and said his name again.
“Does this mean I can leave?” She tented her hands on her hips, daring him to say no.
“Where do you plan to go?”
“Back home.”
He raised a brow. “And where is home, really?”
“Didn’t we just go over this?” She still couldn’t decide what his game was. If he knew she was human, he wouldn’t be talking about letting her go, right?
He sighed. “All right, I’ll take you.”
Everything still hurt, but a couple hours walking in discomfort was a better alternative than spending any more time alone with him. “That’s not necessary. I’m used to walking.”
“Yes, it is necessary. You’re in no condition to make it to Dolem Lucius’s home from here, on your own.”
“And where is here?” she asked again.
“My home, on the outer eastern circle of goblin lands.”
She groaned. That put her almost a full day’s travel if she went on foot. “Then I’d appreciate a ride if you can spare one of your royal minions to take me in your carriage.”
“I don’t have anyone here who can take you. I will take you myself.”
“What do you mean? Where are they?”
“Where are who?”
“Your servants?”
He shook his head. “I don’t keep servants with me.”
“What?” If that was the truth, then he’d definitely been the one to undress her. How could she ever look him in the eye again without thinking that he was picturing her naked? “Why not?”
He only shrugged.
“As quiet and cozy as this place seems”—she threw a glance at the stone cold hearth—“I can’t picture the king of the goblins without a slew of slobbering servants and pack followers hanging around all the time.”
“I like my privacy.”
“Privacy I can understand, but this is more like self-inflicted banishment. Doesn’t that make it a little difficult to do your kingly duty?”
“I didn’t ask to be the damn king. I didn’t ask for any of—” He stopped. A veil dropped over his face.
“You went to a lot of trouble to get something you didn’t want.” She shook her head. “It’s too late now, your highness. You can’t make me believe you’re anything but an arrogant, power-hungry liar.”
His lips pressed together in a line, but he didn’t try to plead his case anymore. It was just as well. Greta did not want to know what made Isaac tick. She didn’t care why he would bother lying about his reasons for taking the goblin throne, why he would rather invade her dreams than have real people around him, or why he would suffer a cold, empty house when he could have his choice of female companionship.
Caring was a luxury she couldn’t afford in Mylena.
“Now get out of here so I can get dressed. I still have a bounty to claim.”
Chapter Four
Greta tried rolling her stiff shoulders, but the wheels of the carriage hit another rut. She bit off a low groan as she was thrown against the side yet again.
“Are you aiming for every ditch and hollow in the road?”
“Just be glad you aren’t walking.”
“I said I was fine walking,” she muttered, but her head pounded and her body ached, and he was right when he’d said she would never have made it on foot. A gust of wind could have pushed her over.
She glanced at him. While wood sprites like Lucius were expected to be reclusive tree huggers who lived in the forest because of their strong connection to the Great Mother, most gnomes and goblins lived on top of each other in the city, or on farms with large families. It was strange that Isaac chose to live out in the middle of nowhere, unless…what if he truly hadn’t wanted to be the goblin king and wasn’t digging the responsibilities that came with it?
No. If the rumors were true, he’d gone way too far to get his hands on the throne not to have wanted it in the first place.
As they rounded the turn that would put her in view of the tiny cottage,
Greta strained to see if Luke was waiting for her out on the front porch. It was kind of a tradition. Whenever she’d been out on a job, she would round the last corner and there he’d be, waiting to welcome her back safe and sound.
As a young bounty hunter determined to prove herself to her mentor, it had bugged the crap out of her. But at some point that had changed, and it was now an expected and necessary part of coming home.
Home.
The word brought on a whole host of conflicting feelings. As much as Greta constantly told herself that home and family were elsewhere, the memories of that place were fuzzy and vague, like a half-remembered dream. She still went through the motions of searching for a portal, but her hope was fading.
When Luke said she was ready to hunt solo, she’d been relieved because it meant she could give him something in return for her room and board. She could never make enough to repay him for everything he’d done for her, but it felt good being able to contribute. Almost as if she had a purpose.
At the same time, she doubted this was the life her mother and father had planned for her when she was just a little girl playing with her dollies. Putting aside the whole living in another dimension thing, they wouldn’t have wanted to know the person she’d become—a quick, ruthless killer. It would have destroyed them.
What is with you today? She shook off the dreary, pointless mood, and squinted against the sunshine reflecting off the high snow banks.
Isaac had been tight-lipped during the long carriage ride. They seemed to have agreed to a moratorium on uncomfortable, probing questions, but he was still watching her much too closely. The sooner she could get away from him, the better.
She still didn’t see Luke. Beyond the jingling and clomping sounds of the moving carriage, the thick woods surrounding the small cottage were too quiet.
At the narrow drive, Isaac pulled back on the reins and slowed down, but she was already jumping into the snow. The horse looked over its shoulder, eyeing her as if she might be a tasty treat. Mylean horses actually bore very little resemblance to the horses she remembered from back home, except that they had four cloven hoofs and a long snout.
She danced out of reach before it could take a chomp out of her. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Would you like me to wait?”
Was it so obvious that she was worried? “I’m home now. You can go.” Please go.
She walked away without saying goodbye, not bothering to have the “stay out of my dreams” discussion with him again, because it would take too long. Despite her racing heart and the almost painful feeling foreboding, she was still surprised when she reached the familiar—but empty—front porch.
She tried telling herself she was being ridiculous. He was probably just busy inside. Cooking. Maybe sleeping. Or in the back shed. “Luke!”
Greta tromped up the plank board steps just as the suns were starting to dip down to the horizon, but rushed forward when she saw the door was hanging open an inch. The gloom within the cottage was oppressive, impenetrable by any light that might have tried to follow her inside. A dank smell that she didn’t want to identify had already made itself at home.
Her stomach dropped and cold settled over her heart. “Lucius?”
Trying not to panic as she took in the broken crockery and torn linens strewn over the floor, the upended furniture and the cold, gray hearth, Greta looked for signs that something other than wanton destruction of property had taken place.
Signs of blood.
The place looked like an ogre with a bee up its nose had been trapped in here. But maybe Luke hadn’t been. Maybe he was out on a job and didn’t even know the place had been ransacked.
The optimistic thought didn’t have time to root. She felt and heard the sorrow of the forest. As a wood sprite, Luke had a connection to the land that ran deep. Being human, Greta couldn’t understand it completely, but she had learned to listen and respect it, and right now every leaf on every tree—the very ground itself—was weeping.
She forced her feet forward, making her way through the destruction of Luke’s normally pristine home, tasting the bitterness of fear. “Luke, please.” She tried swallowing the lump that was lodged in her gullet like a ticking grenade. Be alive. Be alive. Be alive.
Lifting her gaze from the splinters of wood that used to be a chair, a wave of panic threatened to drown her. “Damn it, Luke. Where are you?”
“Here.” Barely audible, the pained whisper was the most welcome sound ever uttered. She spun around, her breath coming out in a jerky rush of relief, and dashed into the bedroom.
At first she didn’t see him.
But then she saw the blood.
“Oh my God.” It was everywhere. Soaking the single white sheet crumpled on the bed. Covering the walls in long slashes. Pooling in dark burgundy splotches on the floor. “Oh no.”
Frantic, she searched the room. Now she hoped she’d been wrong in what she’d heard. She didn’t want to find Luke here. He needed to be anywhere but here.
Her gaze landed on a bare foot peeking out from the other side of the bed and she hurried over, sliding to the floor as she reached his side. Her knees skidded in blood, but she barely noticed it.
“Luke?” She reached for him, running her hands over his chest and down his arms, searching for the source of the blood. She didn’t know where to start. God, there was so much of it, from so many cuts and slashes and punctures.
“Who did this to you? Luke, please talk to me.” His eyes remained closed. “Come on! Wake up and look at me.”
Her voice shook as badly as her hands. His body shuddered through some kind of spasm and she moaned with him, moisture blurring her vision.
One particularly gaping wound in his chest was seeping steadily. She planted her palm over it in a lame attempt to stem the flow, eliciting a hoarse cough from her mentor. “We have to get this bleeding stopped.”
“Greta,” he whispered. His eyes fluttered and he struggled, like he wanted to say something to her, but when he opened his mouth and hacked weakly, blood bubbled from between his lips.
She blinked back tears, refusing to dishonor him with weakness. “Shh. It’s okay. Don’t talk. Just…just let me fix this.” Her gaze darted over him as she tried to decide what to do first.
“No, I have to… You have to know…”
Greta shook her head, but he only tried harder to get the words out and the blood splattered from his mouth onto her arms and hands. “Damn you, shut up,” she said. “Luke, please. You can’t—”
“Gretel.” She stilled at the stern tone she knew so well. “Stop…and listen.”
Impatient and scared to death, she took a deep breath, aware of the blood streaming between the seams of her fingers as she continued to press against his chest wound.
His expression was one of sadness and defeat before he seized the fabric of her sleeve. “You have to leave…find a way to go back. He knows. The key… Greta, he knows.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “I will. No problem. I’ll do whatever you want once you’re better. Just let me get you some help first.”
“Hurry. They’ll be coming for you.” He struggled to continue. “Can’t let Agramon…”
“Never mind that now,” she said, becoming more desperate as his color turned from chalky white to all out ghostly. “Luke—”
At the sound of a booted foot at the door, Greta swung around with a snarl, hand going to her sword. She released a harsh sob when she saw who it was.
“Oh, thank God.” She didn’t even bother trying to hide her relief. “Help us. Lucius…he…I need help,” she said. “Please… Isaac, he’s hurt. And I…I don’t know what to do.”
He took in the scene and was at her side in less than a heartbeat. Thankfully, he was thinking more clearly than she was, reaching for the cotton sheet from the bed and dragging it down to press it to Luke’s chest. He held it in place while he carefully assessed the rest of the damage.
“His wounds a
re extensive. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
The finality in his voice was unmistakable. Everything in her railed against it. “I know, but it’s going to be okay,” she insisted, even as darkness clawed its way into her heart. “He’ll be fine. We just…we need to get him outside and into the ground. He’ll heal better there.”
Isaac looked into her eyes. Just when she thought he was going to tell her it was too late, he nodded. “All right. Keep pressing this over his wound while I lift him.”
She did as he asked, silent while Isaac gathered Luke into his arms.
As quickly as they could, they carried him out of the cottage and down the three wooden steps. “Over there,” she said, gesturing with a tilt of her head to a tall thicket of very old trees a few hundred feet from the house.
When they reached the copse, Isaac turned sideways to step between two tall tree trunks acting as twin guards at the entrance of the sacred circle. Within it, no snow had gathered and the grass was lush and green.
Greta couldn’t go any further. She was forced to let go of Luke and stand waiting beyond the circle’s boundary while Isaac carried him through. He turned around, but she waved him on. “Hurry,” she said, motioning him on. “Get him in there.”
As much as Luke had taken her in and treated her as his own, Greta was no wood sprite and controlled no magick, so she couldn’t enter a sprite’s sacred circle. She hadn’t even been certain Isaac would be able to, but thank the Great Mother, he crossed the boundary without any trouble. “You have to lay him down in the middle of the circle.”
“I know,” he answered, his voice calm. Even. Greta took some comfort from his competence and the gentle way he released Luke to the earth.
Without waiting for her instructions, Isaac reached over and quickly started digging a shallow trench in the grass all around the body with cupped fingers. When it was done, he tilted his head to the sky. Her lips moved with him as he said the sacred words, praying for the ground to open and enfold the wood sprite in its healing, mineral-rich earth.
Nothing happened.