“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
Scarlette hesitated and looked back at the land she was leaving.
“It’s now or never, Sarge,” Vin said.
I nodded, took Scarlette’s hand, and together we limped toward the brightest point, the center of the circle. She came freely.
The last thing I saw was the portal opening—a golden maw, edges sharp and inviting. I heard the crows take flight. I heard Scarlette’s gasp as we stepped into the light.
And then, nothing.
Just the sweet, wild silence of home.
Scarlette
The world came back in a single pulse of sharp air, and the roar of blood in my ears. I landed first, knees buckling on the black-mudded floor of the oak ring, hands scraping bark and gravel as the world spun itself right-side up. My body remembered how to be solid, but nothing about it felt safe, naked skin thrummed with leftover shock, every hair standing on end, lungs wringing out the taste of smoke and iron and burnt ozone. My vision doubled and doubled again, until the trees drew together and the clearing stopped moving, and I realized I was on hands and knees, retching up nothing but bile.
Something wet and cold ran down my spine. Portal slick, I would call it later, a paste-thin film that caught the sunrise and turned every inch of flesh to a shimmer. I wiped it away with a shaking hand, then noticed all at once that I was unclothed, naked, vulnerable, the full length of my body smeared with a pearly residue that looked less like magic and more like spit.Next to me, Moab rolled over, gasping, then spat into the ground. His eyes were clear, already scanning the perimeter, the wolf tattoo on his arm vivid in the orange dawn.
The men came out of the woods without warning or ceremony, just six of them, but they filled the space between the trees like a trap you didn’t see until it was too late. They wore their own pelts of black leather vests, every one stitched with a patch that glared out in red and white. GHOULS MC. I didn’t know what it meant, but it looked enough like a threat to count as one. They were big, bigger than Moab, and they moved together with the slow arrogance of predators who had never been hunted themselves.
One of them whistled when he saw us, a low, rising note that made my ears ring. He grinned, flashing gold in his mouth, and said something I didn’t understand, but the meaning was plain. The others laughed, not a real laugh, but the kind that rolls over a crowd like a wave, then grows teeth as it breaks. They pointed, not at Moab or Vin or Shivs, who had all come through with me, but at my chest, my hips, my bare legs smeared with dirt and frost. The cold was no longer the worst thing; it was the eyes, the way they stuck.
I tried to curl in, but Moab was already in front of me. He stood without shame, the cut of his body hard as rock, jaw bristling with the kind of stubble that looked more like armor than hair. He put his back to me, squared up to the men, and said in a voice that was nothing but threat, “You got business here, or just looking to get fucked up?”
The Ghouls spread out, loose and easy, hands in pockets, but I could see the knives at their belts, the weight of heavy guns pulling at their pants. The leader—gold tooth—cracked his neck and spat to the side. “Just didn’t expect the circus to drop off its animals this early, Sarge,” he said, lingering on the word likeit was a joke nobody else got. “Why don’t you stand up and introduce the fresh meat?”
The others hooted, even the smallest one, who couldn’t have been older than I was. One of them, fat and bald, cupped his hands and made an obscene gesture at my chest, then jerked his hips, grinding at the air. I wanted to crawl behind the nearest stone, but I couldn’t move, not with Moab standing so still, his fists clenched so tight I thought the veins might burst through his skin.
Vin and Shivs stood to either side, Vin with his jaw set, eyes narrowed to slits, Shivs with a lazy, rolling gait, his hands never straying far from his belt. I watched Vin reach for his waistband, but he found nothing there, no weapon, no gun, just empty skin and a look of pure, cold calculation. The Ghouls must have seen it, too, because two of them put their hands on their own knives, grinning wider.
Gold Tooth stepped forward, arms out like he was inviting a hug. “Look, Sarge,” he said, “this don’t have to be complicated. You hand over the girl—” his eyes dragged across my body, lingering, “—and maybe we call it even for last month’s little incident. Maybe we let you and your boys go home with your dicks still attached.”
Moab didn’t flinch. “You come any closer, you’ll be picking teeth out of your ass.”
The Ghoul laughed, then flicked a glance at the others. They fanned out, slow but sure, a practiced move. “You’re a real funny guy, Sarge,” he said. “But you and me both know, you don’t got the numbers. Or the balls.”
Shivs grinned, all teeth, and said, “Try us.”
The world went tight, the air itself shrinking down to the circle of men, the stones, the slick mud underfoot. No one moved for a heartbeat, maybe two.
Then Gold Tooth lunged.
Moab met him halfway, a blur of motion so fast it looked like he vanished and then reappeared, fist already connecting with Gold Tooth’s jaw. The sound was thick, a crack that echoed through the trees, followed by a spray of blood and one, two, three more punches, each one finding its mark. Gold Tooth staggered back, spit and teeth raining down, and the others surged forward.
Vin was there, moving with the weird, coiled grace of a man who’d spent years on the edge of violence. He ducked under a swing from one of the Ghouls, popped up with an elbow to the throat, and as the man reeled, Vin slipped behind him, choking him out with his own arm. The man’s face went purple, eyes bulging, and Vin didn’t let go until he went limp.
Shivs, true to his name, had a blade in his hand that I hadn’t even seen him pull. He darted around the fat one, slashed a perfect line across the man’s ribs, then pivoted and jammed the blade up under another man’s chin. The second Ghoul went down screaming, clutching his face, blood bubbling from his mouth and nose. Shivs laughed, a high, wild sound, and looked for the next target.
Moab fought like the world owed him, every punch and kick a debt collected. He grabbed Gold Tooth by the vest, ripped him off his feet, and slammed him into the ground so hard the earth itself seemed to jump. Gold Tooth scrambled for his gun, but Moab stomped on his wrist, grinding bone into mud, then yanked the gun free and tossed it into the brush. Another Ghoul came at Moab from behind, but Moab spun, caught him by the throat, and squeezed until the man’s face turned the color of bad meat.
The fight was close, dirt and flesh and sweat, every motion a collision, every sound a crunch or a scream or a wet, sucking gasp. I watched it all from the ground, skin slick with portal ooze and fear, heart jackhammering so fast I thought it would burst.The men moved around me, over me, sometimes so close their boots splashed my face with mud and blood. One of the Ghouls, with a beard and neck tattoo, locked eyes with me, then lunged, reaching for my hair. I shrieked, tried to scramble away, but he caught me by the arm, yanked me up hard enough to make my shoulder pop.
“Pretty little thing,” he grunted, the stench of his breath sour with beer and something worse. “Bet you taste sweet.”
I clawed at his face, but he was too strong. I could see the knife at his belt, the black grease under his nails. My vision narrowed, everything shrinking to his teeth, his tongue, the hot, rotted wet of his mouth.
Then Moab was there, not running, not shouting, just moving, silent and efficient. He slammed a fist into the man’s ear, then drove the heel of his palm into his nose with a noise like wet celery breaking. The man let go, staggered back, blood gushing from both nostrils, and Moab caught me around the waist, pulling me behind him.
