He couldn’t have been much older than Quinn, but his bloodshot eyes and raspy cough said otherwise. His lank hair fell unkempt across his forehead as he leaned forward and pulled a card, and then discarded another in the pile. It was her turn.
Quinn actually had a fairly decent hand to start with, given how Lady Luck had smiled on her when she begged to be off the road, she wasn’t sure if it would be pushing it or not to pull from the pile. One of the two discarded cards was one she needed, but to pick it up this early might give too much away. Leaning forward she pulled from the facedown pile and prayed once more that her luck hadn’t run out.
The corner of the card barely turned upward when knew she picked right. Her face entirely stoic, she tossed a throwaway card in the face up pile and turned to the man next to her as the game continued on.
Within two rounds she’d already figured out two of the three to her left held nothing as did the man to her right. The third, the one with ash colored-hair and a hooked nose, he had potential. The only one she couldn’t get a read on was the old man with the half-naked woman on his lap. The woman let out a mewling sound and began grinding against him and the old bastard grinned at the other men around the table, his teeth yellowed, some missing. The three drunkards hooted with laughter, leering at the woman that Quinn was fairly certain was either faking it or had taken something to encourage the way she was acting. Either way, it disgusted her.
The next round came and went, and Quinn was still missing two cards but knew the game wouldn’t make it two more times around the table. She drummed her fingernails on the wood surface, the corners of her lips turning up just slightly. The men took notice.
The tension slowly ratcheted up as each person took their turn and the dealer looked to her to make her move. Two cards down and only one to draw. She pulled the one she needed from the face up pile and tossed one of the spares aside. With nothing more than a flick of her eyes, the eighth card changed and with it, so did her smile.
The hook-nosed drunk let out a curse when she presented her hand.
“That’s game,” the dealer nodded.
Quinn swept her arm out to gather her winnings. She stored most of it in her pockets, including the glass pieces, leaving just enough bronze coins with a single silver on the table to play another game.
This time she played with a smirk, growing bolder and bolder with every hand. Another four games down and her pockets filled with silver and bronze. She sensed tempers rising and rose to take leave. They’d gathered quite the crowd around their table the last two games, and Quinn had to push through the stench of body odor and liquor as she made her way for the door.
Men jostled her, their hands brushing over the thin fabric of her tunic—a bit too much for her liking. Behind her, the scuffing of chairs being dragged across the sticky wooden floor gave Quinn the urgency to ignore it for the moment as she pushed through the last of the crowd and through the battered door out into the cool open night.
Taking a long draw of the clean air, Quinn started for the main road that would lead her back to the Moonlight Inn. What she was going to do to get back inside when she got there … that was an open question. Climbing back up wouldn’t be an option and going through the lobby would just attract attention, not to mention piss off Lorraine who would just run her mouth to Lazarus. Quinn gnawed on her bottom lip as she looked at the night sky wondering if tonight would just bring more of those terrible dreams when she returned or if she’d finally get some peace.
She could sleep in the stables for a few hours and pretend she had gotten up early to look after the horses, she thought. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was something.
The tavern door smacked against the wooden frame drawing Quinn’s attention. She didn’t need to glance behind her to know who had followed. The real question was how she felt like handling them.
Her tongue lightly trailed over the edge of her teeth as she swiped her thumb across her bottom lip. They’d each had multiple drinks tonight, and that was after stumbling into the tavern—who knew what else they’d taken before they’d arrived. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think they might pass out in a ditch on the side of the road. No, Quinn thought, not unreasonable at all. Quinn slipped her hand under the edge of her tunic, pulling the dagger from its sheath.
She slowed a little, purposefully pretending to look down the dark alley—and not at them—before turning onto the narrowed street. She paused, rolling her eyes when sloppy footsteps came barreling down the alley behind her.
She turned around, facing the three that thought to follow her. A light breeze blew down through the streets, whipping her hair behind her. They didn’t notice the dark tendrils forming at her fingertips. Not when it was only moonlight and shadow.
“Hello, boys,” Quinn purred. Her voice husky and filled with a lovely hint of a dark promise. They slowed to a stop before her, the one on the far-right squinting into the night, confused. They’d expected her to run or beg. They expected screaming. They expected fear.
These children had absolutely no clue who or what they were dealing with.
“How’d you do it?” Hook-nose asked, cruelty and dark intention lined his expression. He wasn’t here for a friendly chat. Quinn smiled spitefully. She wasn’t either.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, and what a great liar she was. That last hand had only had half the cards it needed when she grew impatient and crafted an illusion to change the cards they saw. Maybe she should have let them win once. Not much that she could do about that now. They’d followed her, not the other way around. In her mind, that meant her hands were washed. Her sins absolved before they even got started.
She’d wandered out into the night hoping for something to entertain her, craving that brief taste of freedom. Trouble found her as it always did, and deep down Quinn knew this was what she really sought. This was what the restless magic that writhed in her veins was searching for.
“You’re lying,” he said, taking a step forward. His eyes traveled up and down the length of her body. “You know what we do to liars here?” He licked his lips and Quinn’s stomach turned. Not with fear, but disgust. Her lip curled back.
“We should teach ya somethin’ better to do with that pretty mouth of yours,” the third one said. “Somethin’ much better than tellin’ lies.” He was the shortest, but broad-chested. Quinn narrowed her eyes on them as the two took a step forward.
Her heart hammered in her chest—slow, steady—but the sound of blood pounding filled her ears. Fear and excitement swirled through her, sliding through her veins. It was both a poison and a cure in that potent combination. She didn’t feel fear like others did—but instead absorbed theirs and used it, manipulated it, to make her stronger.
In her, fear was something darker, something other. She felt no desire to run or flee or beg or cry. Instead, she felt powerful. Invincible. Drunken bastards thought to corner her in an alley, and not a single one of them had even an inkling that it was her who set this trap. That they were merely prey—buzzing gnats falling into the spider’s web. Even when she grinned, they didn’t seem to comprehend their precarious situation.
“I can do a great many wicked things with this mouth,” Quinn agreed. She took a step forward and moonlight bathed her face. “None of which you will find out tonight.”
The one on the right was the only one that had the decent sense to shudder at the playful excitement in her voice. The only one that had the presence of mind to take a step back.
“Grab her, Beck,” the hook-nosed bastard snapped through gritted teeth. “I wanna see what she’s hiding under that tunic of hers.” Beck moved and Quinn parried, swinging her elbow towards his face.
There was a crunch as cartilage cracked under the sharp pressure of her arm. Beck cried out, a hand going to his face. Blood poured between his fingers as he stumbled back. Quinn tsked at him with an irritated scowl. “Pathetic.” Moving forward, she knocked his hand aside and she went to punch him a
gain, but he quickly backed up, nearly falling in his haste to avoid her blow.
Blood and snot dripped from the mushed pulp in the center of his face. Tears reflected the light of the moon as he let out a blubbered, “you bitch!”
Quinn paused, tapping a finger to the corner of her mouth, a cold, cruel look filling her gaze as she said, “I’m not the one that thought it would be a smart idea to corner a woman in an alley and try to rape her. You’re the one that started this, Becky.”
His eyes widened and he bellowed a roar of outrage before he ran at her. The rage consumed him, but that wasn’t all. Quinn could still sense the fear within him, just waiting for her to reach out and grab onto. Not yet, she decided, as she sidestepped his attempt and stuck her foot out in a quick movement. Whether or not he saw and tried to stop, it was too late. He barreled forward, his boot catching against hers as his anger dissipated for a fraction of a second—shock taking its place as he fell.
Thunk.
His head whipped back and came forward, colliding with the compact dirt. Beck moaned but didn’t move to get back up. Quinn turned and pointed her knife at the other two.
“Who’s next?” Her smile was all teeth.
Hook-nose stepped up just as the other stepped back. Quinn turned her sights on him and grinned.
“Lars, I don’t think we should do this,” the one on the right murmured. His fear was practically palpable. She inhaled it like a fresh breath of air.
“Stop being such a coward, Finn, and help me deal with her.” Lars came for her, unaware of the hulking shadow that appeared at the end of the alley. Sensing who it was, Quinn’s lips thinned and she bit the inside of her cheek.
She’d hoped to deal with this—have a little fun—without him ever the wiser. She had, in fact, hoped that he wouldn’t even have known she was gone. It appeared that neither of her hopes were going to be realized. As Lazarus stepped into the alley, a wave of icy anger from a wayward wind hit her face. His nearly midnight eyes were far darker than the vast expanse of the night sky, no stars to light the abyss that created them. There was a darkness there in his gaze, so primal and cruel that Quinn shuddered.
To say he was displeased was an understatement.
He stared at her over the hook-nosed bastard’s shoulder as fingers pressed into her arms and her back hit the hard brick of a wall. Quinn hissed as a hand closed around the wrist holding her knife and the other wrapped around her throat. Lazarus simply stood there and watched across the alley while the ash-haired man—Lars—tried to pry the knife from her numb fingers. His breath blew across her face as he spoke, but Quinn wasn’t listening. In fact, she wasn’t paying him any attention at all.
She stared at Lazarus, waiting, watching him just as he watched her. Both of them urging the other to move with nothing but their gaze. He shook his head once and Quinn sighed.
He had no intention of saving her. She had gotten herself in this and he was going to make her get herself out, and then ream her for it. She didn’t mind dealing with the rabble, but she didn’t want to if it meant facing the music afterwards.
Quinn gritted her teeth and turned her chin just slightly as the hand at her throat squeezed. Something hard started grinding into her lower stomach, pushing her tunic up with its fervor. Still, Quinn looked at Lazarus. Curiously waiting, trying to piece together what the slight flutter in her chest meant as his eyes hardened into obsidian gems. His hands clenched and she wondered if he realized it. This reaction he had to seeing someone abuse her—touch her.
It intrigued her far more than she wanted to admit. The hand at her throat slipped away, reaching for her trousers, and still Quinn watched him. Waited. Her lips parted as teeth bit into the crook of her neck where it met her shoulder. Sweaty fingers touched the skin of her belly and that was where Quinn drew the line. She had enough experience with skeevs to know that their inability to use magic made them too bold when they never knew what they were facing. She didn’t need the knife in hand to take care of him as she let it fall to the ground and let the darkness rise.
Black wisps slithered through her veins, sliding off her skin like black vapor. The man touching her didn’t notice. He was far too concerned with pleasures of the flesh that he felt was his right to take, consent or no. He didn’t know that the very last thing you should do when you corner a fear twister was touch them.
He licked her skin and then froze. His muscles locked as fear overloaded his system. Terrible, enthralling, paralyzing fear. It seeped into his skin, pushing through muscle and tendon and bone, until every bit of his body was locked into whatever he saw. His eyes widened and Quinn turned her head back, noting the wide unseeing gaze that looked through her. She smiled. Tendrils wrapped around his arms, stretching up his neck and chest, thick and fat and restraining. The wisps circled his throat. He wheezed once and Quinn maneuvered her free hand between their bodies, pushing his chest. Like a living statue, he gave no resistance and simply fell backwards into the filthy alleyway.
His lips moved, muttering gibberish as Quinn readjusted her tunic. He trembled, slowly wrapping his arms around himself, completely lost in his own mind as Quinn took a step over him.
The last man, the only one of the three that wanted to leave, turned to run away from her. Quinn shook her head. Stupid boy. You should have run when you had the chance. He hit Lazarus square in the chest, but the man who held her contract didn’t move an inch. Finn bounced off him, and while she couldn’t see his face, she could sense his fear intensify as the boy looked up at the man he hadn’t seen until it was too late. Lazarus’ hand shot out, his scarred fingers wrapping around the boy’s neck, holding him upright. Only a moment passed before his eyes flashed, never leaving Quinn for a single second as he tossed the other man aside. Finn hit the wall and slumped over, completely limp. Not dead, but unconscious.
Silence sat between them, spanning the distance and filling the void where words went unsaid.
Quinn let out an exasperated sigh and the slight sound seemed to stir something in him. Lazarus snapped, hands shaking with barely suppressed rage as he strode forward. Quinn didn’t back away as he stopped before her. She made no move to stop him as he leaned forward, and with more gentleness than she expected, tugged the collar of her tunic aside. Her lips parted, but he wasn’t looking at her now. He was staring at the teeth marks that undoubtedly were beginning to bruise on her skin. His fingers brushed over them, gentle but calloused.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” he whispered. She tilted her head and his hand fell away. Her eyes flicked downward just as a shadow seemed to slither and disappear beneath the cuff of his sleeve.
Quinn frowned, slowly looking back up into his depthless eyes.
“You said you’re not a fear twister,” Quinn stated. Not a question … and yet, it was.
“I’m not.”
Quinn crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow. “Then what are you?”
He gave her a hard look and leaned in close. “Like calls to like, Quinn. For now, that’s all you need to know.” His breath blew across her face, and she inhaled sharply. Wood burning over an open fire. Smoke and ash. He tasted of warmth, but not comfort or kindness. It was the kind of blistering heat that could set even the coldest of women aflame.
“And if that’s not enough?” she asked, hardly more than a whisper.
This close she could see the scar that ran down the left side of his face, stretching from eyebrow to cheek. Without thinking, she lifted her hand reaching to—
“You don’t get to decide what’s enough here, Quinn,” Lazarus said. “You’re my vassal. For the next five years, I own you. If you want me to trust you with things, maybe you should learn to stay in your room like I told you to.”
Quinn blinked and stepped away. Shaking her head, she shifted to step past him, her shoulder slamming into his upper arm as she stared out into the empty streets and beyond.
“I’m your vassal,” she spat, striding past. Her back to all of them as she
turned onto the main road that led back to the Moonlight Inn. “Not your slave, Lazarus. Or have you forgotten the details of the contract we signed?” She didn’t wait for his reply, or even care if he had one. She strode off, not caring if he followed.
Own me? She scoffed, and the darkness inside twisted. Stupid, arrogant man. No one will own me. Never again.
“I gave you one command. Stay in your room. And what do you do—”
“I go for a walk because I’m tired of being watched night and day,” she snarled. The sky turned black, truly black, as every star in existence winked out and a canopy of darkness spread above them. Quinn clenched and unclenched her hands, because somehow, some way she knew that it was her. She was doing this.
The void descended, creeping from the sky into the horizon as Quinn’s temper spiraled. A black wind swept through the sleeping town, and while not a hair on her face moved, the dreaded chill it brought with it was enough to give Lazarus pause.
“Wait.”
Her footsteps came to a halt, and she turned her head to the side just a fraction as warm fingers wrapped around the sleeve of her forearm. “Quinn, wait.” The void paused in its creeping, waiting to hear what he had to say the same as she did, both of them withholding judgement.
“You don’t treat Lorraine this way, and she’s a vassal. You don’t treat Draeven this way, or Dominicus. Just me. Why is that?” Quinn asked.
“Because you go for a walk and I find you in an alley, cornered by three men—”
“I handled them,” she interjected.
“I know,” he answered. She paused and frowned. His acceptance was the last thing she expected after the rant about owning her. “You get cornered, Quinn, and leave a string of bodies in your wake.”
“So, it’s my fault that they wanted to rape me?” she asked, her temper rising once more.
Fortune Favors the Cruel Page 9