Needing a moment to breathe, needing to know Laken was okay, I turned. And the unholy, sinister thoughts that filled my mind were not something I’d expected.
The second body dropped from his grip, the first already lying behind him, bent over a gate to another cage.
Laken glared up at me from under his lashes, feral and panting, wiping the blood from his lips with his thumb. My own mouth parted, thirsty—no, parched—and feeling greedy because he was a fine glass of wine.What happened to my mind?I’d seen Laken naked. I’d seen him lift heavy things, I’d seen him with his sleeves rolled up and reading a book. I’d seen Laken taking me in the mirror before.
And yet, seeing him with a red trail down his chin could’ve brought me to my knees if it weren’t for the squealing pigs. Laken did his job—I could do mine. If out of anything, out of spite. I wasn’t about to let him outdo me, even if our tasks were… unbalanced.
Watching, studying the pigs running in circles aroundthe pen, I waited. Like a predator stalking its prey, if I waited until their paths crossed and…
Tackled them!
Face-planting straight into mud, pig booty, and hooves, I wrapped a firm arm around each and refused to let go. As I tilted my head up for air, Laken grabbed one and tucked it under his arm before helping me up.
Standing before him, mud pie personified, I laughed. This couldn’t have gone much worse, without one of us being injured. Out of all the luck in the world, how did I end up smuggling pigs out of a secret auction with my ex-lover/best friend/currently-still-figuring-it-out?
“There’ll be more coming, best get to it.” Laken grinned, his white teeth shining against the blood and muck. Another side of him unlocked.
Running with squealing pigs slipping in our arms, we made it to Moon and the cart, where I crawled up in the back with the cages. We tried to stay quiet, but the pigs echoed under the metal roof of the stable. The smell of hay and horse defiled the air, but it smelled better than the pigsty. There must’ve been a hundred carts and carriages under the same roof, some embellished with gold linings and some engraved with symbols I didn’t recognize.
Settling mine into the little crate and latching the lock, I whispered soft words to her in hopes she’d know we did this to help. McCarthen’s was a better home than where she’d be heading if we hadn’t intervened.
Laken handed me his, and I placed him inside as gently as one possibly could handle a feisty piggly wiggly.
Laken’s grunts cut through the air.
Whipping around, my body trembled as he battled two guards. I froze, unable to think and terrified. How could I help? Could I even help?What do I do? What do I do!
Fighting one in the front with his legs, another held him by the neck in a choke hold.
Without thinking, I slammed a foot into the pig’s cage and dove—grabbing the dagger from my thigh and stabbing it into the back of the guard holding Laken.
The dagger did indeed penetrate his skin, as intended. And I wasn’t really sure what happened after that.
“I stabbed him!” I yanked my hand off the handle and threw myself back.Oh my Gods. I stared at the blood oozing from his back, sliding down the velvet of his crimson uniform.At least it won’t stain, right?
“Oh my Gods! Oh my Gods! I stabbed him, oh my—” My stomach rose in my throat. My hands flailed as the guard I’d stabbed, but not killed, spun toward me.
Shit.
Deep shit, indeed.
Meeting his murderous glare, I backed into the cart with trembling limbs as he raised his hand. I’d die stealing pigs. Covered in mud. Reeking of pig and horse manure.
There actuallyweren’tworse ways to die.
“Bitch,” the guard growled. One hand reached for the dagger in his back, but the other flailed around.
Panicked, I didn’t know what else to do. I grabbed his thumb—and bent it like Laken had shown in our self-defense session. He screamed. I let go. I screamed. There was a lot of screaming. Unfortunately, he rose. And I couldn’t reach his wrist, or thumbs, or any weapons at all.I’m screwed, I thought.
I waited for his blow to land.
I waited for the cold steel to slash through my flesh.
What I got was a warm, liquid splatter across my face followed by a loud thud. Daring to look up, I became vaguely aware of the (unconscious, not dead) bodies surrounding me and became completely aware of the worry-struck wide-eyed gaze of Laken Augustus.
He closed his eyes, his head tilted back. “Thank the fucking Gods,” he whispered like a prayer. The muscles in his neck were strained, his veins running rapid from the rush of blood pulsing through them. His knuckles around his blade were white but slowly regaining their color.
I lived.
