Page 3 of North Queen
“Where are you, lovely?” a sickening voice called. “I know you hear me.”
“Alke, we shouldn’t be in here,” a second voice replied. “It’s not worth it. We should just leave her.”
“Shut your face, you coward! I’m not leaving without that wench.”
She bit back a cry rising in her throat.
“There’s much worse than me in this forest,” he called to her. “Be smart, come out.”
His companion snickered.
The air grew quiet again. She strained her ears, but she heard nothing. Still, she waited. She wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d gone. Her legs cramped in the tight confines, but she didn’t dare move.
Suddenly, a hand reached down and grabbed her arm. She let out a scream as he dragged her from her hiding space.
“Gotcha,” the brute wheezed, this time holding her at arm’s length to stave off her defensive attack.
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting against him.
His companion, looking just as disheveled, chuckled beside him, but there was no sign of the other two. Where were they?
“We got her!” her captor bellowed over his shoulder, and she realized the others had stayed at the edge of the wood. They gave a few celebratory calls and urged their friends to hurry out as he dragged her back toward them.
“Let me go!” she shouted again as she struggled, desperately fighting against him, but she couldn’t match his strength. He gave a raspy chuckle and pulled her along.
“Alke,” the second man called from behind them, but her captor dragged her on, too enthralled with his catch.
“Alke!” The man’s voice came more urgent now, enough to pull even her attention.
The man that held her looked over his shoulder with a snarling glare. “Shake off, man. Come on.”
But something was wrong. His companion didn’t move.
“Bullo, come on,” her captor snapped, growing impatient.
But the man still didn’t move. His lips trembled.
“Bullo?”
The man pulled a dagger from his belt with shaking hands and brought the blade to his own neck.
She paused in her fight to free herself as a creeping dread snaked through her.
Her captor’s eyes widened. “Bullo, what are you doing?”
Bullo’s face strained, his veins bulging at his temples. “Alke!” he cried to his friend in terror. “Help me—”
But the blade cut off his words as he sliced into his own flesh. She gave a terrified gasp but held back a scream. Bullo sputtered as he choked for air. Blood sprayed down the front of his matted furs, falling to the ground and coloring the surrounding snow. He staggered forward, then collapsed with a gurgle onto the forest floor.
“Bullo!” her captor shouted, and moved toward him. Then he stopped suddenly. He let go of her wrist, but she stood frozen, too terrified to run. He looked back at her as his face twisted, his eyes widening with fear. “Witch!” he snarled.
She stumbled back. He bared his rotting teeth as he pulled his own dagger from his belt. She took another step back, shaking her head. What was happening?
“Witch!” he bellowed.
His fellow men yelled to him from the tree line, their voices urgently calling him to get out of the forest, but they didn’t enter. Why didn’t they come?
He raised his dagger, and terror ran through her. He blamed her, and he was going to kill her.
