Page 51 of Betrothed

Zax looked at her curiously.

“I do,” he said slowly. “We could go beyond the mountain. My other brother, Wick⁠—”

“We don’t need Wick,” Fawn said.

Zax watched her, a strange anticipation curling in his gut. He felt like he was witnessing something beautiful and bloody being born.

“Your brother,” she began. “He knows a lot of magic, yes? More than what he gave us.”

“He does.”

Fawn grunted. An animal grunt, a predator grunt, a noise that set his blood alight with excitement.

“Fawn?” he asked, tail swishing. “What are you planning?”

Fawn did not answer for a moment. Then she looked back at him, and her bright eyes reminded him of his own just before he gave in to the chase.

Twenty

Fawn watched the camp from the shadows, trembling.

Zax laid a hand on her shoulder. Fawn looked up at him and wished that they were far enough away, she could admit that it wasn’t fear—it was adrenaline. Some strange, twisted part of her was excited about what they were about to do.

But they were too close to the camp. Whispering would ruin the element of surprise. So Fawn held herself back, as she had been doing for so much of her life, and walked silently into the camp the group had set up just beyond the rocky mountain path she and Zax had walked on the way to his brother’s cave.

They didn’t notice her at first. The two hunters were sitting close together next to the fire, trading strips of jerky. Errol and Chastity were sitting on a log on the other side of the fire, re-bandaging Errol’s injured hand.

They all had their back to her. Fawn took a moment to bask in it. The short span of time before the prey realized what they were. Then again, Fawn considered as she came to a stop behind them, they wouldn’t realize it when they turned around. They probably wouldn’t realize they were prey until it was too late to do anything about it.

Fawn cleared her throat.

Errol startled so badly he fell off the log and landed on his injured hand, swearing loudly. Chastity almost followed suit, the roll of bandages slipping into the dirt. The hunters jumped up, each of them reaching for their crossbows.

“Wait,” Fawn said desperately. She raised her hands, doing her best to look like the meek, scared woman she had been before she sprained her ankle. “I’ve made a huge mistake. I want to come back.”

One of the hunters scoffed. Errol narrowed his eyes, which were watering from landing on his injured hand.

Fawn looked at Chastity. “I thought about our talk. And something… happened, with the Skullstalker. It opened my eyes to what a monster he truly is. I don’t belong with him. I belong here, with you. My family.”

“You didn’t seem too eager to come back before,” Chastity replied. Her voice was slow and cautious. But Fawn could hear something behind it: hope. Even after all that had happened, she believed that Fawn would come back. After all, what else would a woman do?

Fawn took her hands, squeezing the bandages between them. “I was wrong. I was a fool, thinking I could be more than I am.”

“And what are you?” Errol asked icily.

Fawn steeled herself. Then she turned to Errol, making her expression as pleading and simpering as her facial muscles allowed.

“Yours,” she said with a tremulous smile.

Errol grunted. He stepped over the log, staring down at her with that condescending gaze that used to make her skin crawl. But for the first time, there was something underneath the condescension: suspicion. He had seen what she truly was, and he had the wounded hand to show for it. He would not trust her easily.

One of the hunters coughed. He had his net gun in his hands, loading the net slowly.

“Errol,” he began.

Errol shushed him. He didn’t take his gaze from Fawn, watching her as if he could pick out a lie if he only stared hard enough.

“Then you will lead us to him?” Errol asked. “You will lead us to your would-be husband and watch as we kill him?”