Page 79 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“Has Gentian ever cast curses on his own kind before?” Reed’s brow furrowed in morbid interest. “That seems unnatural.”
“It’s rare.” Pete shivered in remembrance of another Danann cursed by Gentian. He blocked the images. No good ever came of rehashing the darkest moments of his life. “But aye, it happens.”
“But whyher?” Jade prodded.
Pete shrugged. “Damned if I know. I didn’t scent power in her, and even though she gave me a false name, I find it hard to believe she’s important. What titled Danann beyn travels with just one companion and no mount?”
“Speaking of her companion,” Jade said. “You’d best be gone with her by the time he shows. There will be no bloodshed in my tavern, you hear?”
“Yes, mam.” Pete bowed his head.
Pete hadn’t survived years as a cage fighter and become Gentian’s most successful harbinger for nothing. Fighting was always secondary to using his wits. Starting out before his mark’s companion arrived was step two in his plans.
Step one was sleep.
Unfortunately, now that the Danann was snoozing on his bedroll, he had nowhere to lay his head for the few hours left in the night.
As if telepathic, which she wasn’t, Freesia stomped to his right and plopped her tray of tankards on the counter. She pouted, her tiny nostrils flaring. The wings of the bird birthmark on her cheek fluttered the way they did when she wasn’t the center of everyone’s attention.
Angling her way, Pete lazed against the bar. “Care to share your nook for the night, darlin’?”
Her luscious pout transformed into something seductive. She’d gotten what she wanted and bested another beyn—albeit a sleeping one. Her ego thus boosted, Freesia’s gaze promised naughty bed-play.
Pete hated to tell her he had about five minutes in him before he dozed off atop her. He doubted that would satisfy her, but he’d worked miracles before.
She grabbed his collar in her spindly hand, tugging him toward her.
“I’ll wake you at dawn,” Jade rasped as Pete shuffled off with Freesia. “And you’d best pray trouble doesn’t come knocking at my door before then.”
Fifteen
Amy
Shadowsbillowaroundthehooded figure in my nightmare, his purposeful footsteps echoing. I fall back to shield my little sister and brother. I might be able to save them. I know I can’t save myself.
The shadows shackle me, haul me toward the harbinger. His breath hisses against my cheek. Darkness, pervasive as a black hole, swallows me until, for the first time, the hood masking his face falls away.
“He’s found you, Amaranthine,” the eternal voice of my dream sings as I stumble in my shadow cage. A cage that feels much like the arms that laid me down that night.
Darkness flickers in a pair of narrowed molasses eyes. A wide, upturned mouth curls in a sneer.
It’s Pete!I realize to my horror.It’s Pete! It’s Pete. It’sPete!
My own voice screams a warning to me from the shattering windows of my bedroom. “Run!” it shrieks. “Justrun!”
Morninghadbarelybreachedthe night when I awoke, adrenaline poising me to fight. I was no longer in the cozy nook behind the stairs at the tavern. Instead, I lay sprawled in a rickety, rattling wagon. Spoked tires splashed through puddles from last night’s storm, each pothole jarring my bones. I blinked in the pre-dawn mist at the ambling hindquarters of a dappled ass led by a massive man in a hooded leather jerkin. Not Briar. A nimble black figure tramped beside him, panting.
Waking this way, I had no reason to doubt my dream’s warnings. Confused though I was. Why was I still alive if Pete was a harbinger sent to kill me? Why had he stolen me like a thief in the night instead of slitting my throat while I slept? Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.
Because I could only distinguish shapes in the transitory haze, I lay still and quiet, scared to make any noise until the suns shed light on my backpack. A hasty escape plan was already forming, but I couldn’t abscond into an unknown wilderness without my stuff. What little I had in my bag could mean the difference between death or survival.
By the time the sky ignited in orange, my panic had risen to manic levels. At last, I scanned the wagon and found my book bag slumped in the back-left corner, zippers jangling.
Praying for stealth, I wriggled my way to the back of the wagon, gritting my teeth the whole way. I crawled past a leather quiver of feathered arrows and an etched longbow fit for Robin Hood.
Why had Pete left the weapons in the wagon with me? I could potentially turn them against him. Which I, of course, considered. Although, I decided against it real quick.
Not only was the terrain too rough beneath the juddering wagon for me to aim true, but the bow was secured to an iron bolt in the wagon’s lip by an intricate knot beyond my patience. Untangling it would take time I couldn’t waste.
