Page 3 of Betrothed

She took off into the woods, ignoring the path Errol had trodden on his way back to the camp. The clearing wasn’t far; she had picked berries in it mere hours ago.

After a few minutes, she broke into a sprint. Quiet and fast, only stopping when she neared the clearing and realized how hard she was panting.

She crouched low, creeping through the trees.

Then she saw him.

A Skullstalker, his distinctive skull mask tipped up toward a single shaft of moonlight shining into the center of the clearing. He was standing in its white glow, his arms out as if he was absorbing it. Maybe he was. Fawn knew so little of these monsters.

Fawn’s heart stuttered as she crept closer. The Skullstalker was smaller than she remembered, so small that he might even pass for a massive human. That is, if he didn’t have the features of a monster: the claws and horns and fangs, and those horrible purple eyes.

Well. Eye. One of his eyes was scarred over from what the Circle had done to him when they captured him. And one of his horns was broken. He had healed unfortunately fast in the past few weeks. The scars from the malblossom rope scored his body with white lines instead of the angry dark blue she would expect. His tail was unaffected, sweeping the forest floor.

Fawn winced. She had been hoping he was more injured than this so he was easier to take down. But she was too close now.

Then, like a miracle: the Skullstalker closed his one remaining eye and started mumbling, his horrible skull face still tilted up into the shaft of moonlight.

Fawn wanted to cheer. She brought her knife out of her coat sleeve. She approached the Skullstalker’s bad side, no eye to see her coming. If he just kept his eye closed, if he kept mumbling…

Fawn ran as silently as she could. No battle cry, like she had done when she attacked him over her husband's corpse, so wild with rage she couldn’t hold it in. She raised her knife and leapt, aiming the blade at his spinal column⁠—

—only for the Skullstalker to step neatly aside.

Fawn flailed. She slammed into the ground with both feet, agony exploding in her ankle so intensely that she cried out, her knife clattering out of her hand.

The Skullstalker loomed over her, blocking the moonlight.

Fawn gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Maybe if she got lucky, she would take out his other eye before he ate her.

The Skullstalker leaned in. Fawn prepared herself to drive her thumbs into that purple, glowing eye.

But before she could, the Skullstalker spoke one word in an excited voice that had been plaguing her nightmares:

“Wife!”

Two

Zax was not the best at first impressions.

Several of his brothers told him so. The many, many mortals who ran screaming from him did not tell him so, though their actions were confirmation enough.

But Zax could not help it—he was simply excited. And when he was excited, his tail thrashed and his remaining eye pulsed and his voice got loud and growly.

“It is good to finally meet you,” Zax continued, crouching in front of the mortal as she lay in the dirt. “I like your hair. I do not see many mortal women with short hair. At first, I thought you were a husband! Which would have been fine. I would love you either way.”

The mortal made a noise as if something was caught in her throat. Zax suddenly remembered what his eldest brother, Slate, had told him about first meetings: to calm down. Which Zax thought was uncalled for. He might be speaking too much, but he was not chasing her down and devouring her. Which was his other option when it came to first impressions.

“Oh,” Zax said. “Sorry. I am Zax.”

He held out his hand. The mortal stared at it, and Zax wondered if he had done the wrong thing. His brothers recommended that he spy on mortals to know their customs, but it was difficult to understand when there was no one to explain those customs to you afterward.

The mortal continued to stare. She was beautiful: warm brown skin that glowed in the moonlight, and freckles that made him want to lick her cheeks. He might have, if she did not smell so afraid.

Finally, the mortal spoke.

“I am Fawn,” she said in a strange, quiet voice. She pushed herself up, then hissed. The scent of fresh pain filled Zax’s nostrils, and he breathed it in with shock.

“You are hurt!”