His heart hammered in his chest, his guts twisting as he looked over everything that was here. So many lives. So many trolls had died to make this masterpiece, this showcase, all displayed in a human man's house because he'd been interested in knowing what the trolls were like.
Gunnar forced himself to stay at least somewhat calm as he headed toward the back room. What he looked for wasn't in here, so it must not have been catalogued yet for "viewing."
The back room was significantly less organized, and the clutter was distracting. There was so much here that he could steal and return to the families who were likely still looking for all these pieces. The jewelry that had meaning. Necklaces that had dotted the necks of beloved trolls, and piercings that had signified all their wondrous deeds.
But then he found it. He didn't know why the artifact would be within the simple wooden box that had been tucked away on a shelf, but he knew it was there.
Hands shaking, he reached for it and gently lifted it off the shelf.
Gunnar pried the lid open with a single claw, and tears blurred his vision as he saw the bones within. They made up just a single finger. The pointer finger of a troll who had used that hand to brush his hair when he was little and shown himwondrous sights as she’d pointed for him to notice the world around him.
He grabbed the bones and let the box fall to the floor. Too loud. Louder than he should ever have let it be. But this was Tindra, and he had finally found the last piece of her.
"I'm here with you," he whispered as he placed her bones into the pocket attached to the leather strap wrapped around his chest. She would be safe there.
And he would take her home.
The door to the room clicked shut, and he knew he’d been spotted. Baring his tusks in a snarl, he whirled around with blades already in his hands. He didn't think; he moved.
Gunnar darted forward with speed no one his size should be able to have, pinning the human against the wall with force that knocked the air from their lungs. His twin blades were crossed over their neck, and one small movement from him would sever their head from their shoulders.
The dark-haired woman he had pinned to the wall stared up at him with wide eyes. There was fear in them, yes, because she had to know that he could kill her without even the slightest hesitation. But there was hope, too.
He could smell it on her. The excitement, the fear, and the urgency that she was in the right place at the right time.
"Troll," she whispered. "I've been hoping someone of your talents would stop by."
"Death," he said. "That is all you will get from me."
"I'm certain of it. But before you put an end to my miserable existence, I beg you to listen to me. I need help."
He tightened his grip on his blades. Gunnar didn't like killing women or children. It went against every part of what made trolls... trolls. They valued the lives of women, even if they were disgusting humans.
He'd known a lot of trolls to go against that. Particularly ones forced into marriage with the barbaric and animalistic creatures. They always ended up hating the humans a little more, and it was hard to control that hatred with they were forced to lie with them.
Even this woman, with all her curves on display, didn't tempt him in the slightest. Perhaps that was her plan. Distract him with the black nightgown she wore, so sheer he could see the dotting of freckles on her skin and the dark hair between her legs.
"I don't have time for this," he snarled.
Gunnar would have cut off her head if her hands hadn't clutched his wrists. Desperation laced her touch, and it made him hesitate just enough.
"My friend," she said. "I have been missing my friend for seven years and I need you to look for her. You are uniquely qualified to do so."
"Find her yourself."
"I have heard of you," she said, once again desperate. "The troll that takes back what we stole from your people. It's said you are like a shadow that moves through homes. No one has ever heard you, seen you, or can speak your name without summoning you. You are the only one who can get her back if any of that is true."
He knew what it was like to lose someone who mattered. His heart broke for her. It really did. But he had to go.
"I have my mission," he replied. "It sounds as though you have your own."
Gunnar moved to let her go. He hadn't wanted to kill an innocent woman today anyway. He dropped his blades, and she didn't let go of his wrist, holding him as though she were desperate.
"My name is Cassandra. If you happen to find her in any of the noblemen's houses, you can't miss her. She's so pretty. So small. Hair nearly white as snow. I don’t know where they brought her, but she has to be with someone of great importance. They wouldn’t give her to anyone else." She was rambling, but desperate people did that.
He started past her, heading out into the room with all the rest of the artifacts. If she wasn't quiet, she was going to wake up the entire house. His reputation would be ruined if that happened. Although he had to admit, he was a little proud he had a reputation at all.
Gunnar had spent years doing this—breaking into people's homes, moving alongside them while they were asleep, and taking what they had bought from black-market sellers. Apparently humans wanted to make up stories about him. Legends.
