My hands are cold inside my gloves. "You don't want to threaten me."
"We're past wanting." He takes one step forward. "You'll fill our order, and Velis's, and you'll stop complaining about capacity."
"Enough." Velis steps between us. "She sets her own terms. That was agreed."
The scarred man looks at Velis with the patient expression of someone about to demonstrate how little agreements mean. "That was before."
"Before what?" Velis asks.
What happens next is fast.
One of the buyers shoves Velis's nearest man, and then it's not a conversation anymore. Bodies crash through the undergrowth, someone's lantern goes over, and the forest fills with the sounds of a fight that has no clean edges. I back away from the exchange, moving toward the creek path, keeping low.
A hand closes on my arm.
I spin and drive my elbow back, connecting with ribs. The grip doesn't break — bigger than I estimated, and he uses my momentum to swing me sideways into the underbrush, away from the fight, away from Velis, away from the path.
I hit the ground hard and scramble upright. He's on me before I'm fully up, one hand in my coat, dragging me further into the dark under the trees. I rake my boot down his shin and go for the knife at my hip but he pins my arm.
"Stop fighting," he says, ragged and gruff.
I don't stop. I twist and bite down on his forearm through his sleeve, hard enough to feel the muscle compress. He makes a sharp sound and his grip shifts?—
Then something hits the side of my head.
White and then dark. I go down on my hands and knees, the forest floor tilting. My mind is fuzzy and my arms tremble and give out. His hands are at his belt, loosening his pants.
“You’ve got a lot of fight in you and a smart mouth.” He grins, showing gapped teeth, and leans closer, his sour breath on my face. “I know what to do about that.”
I try to push up and my arms don't answer right.Get up.My own voice, distant.Get up right now.
A shadow crosses the moonlight above me.
Then the man is simply gone — lifted and removed with a speed and force that doesn't leave room for doubt about what it was. A sound follows. Solid, final.
I push up onto one knee.
Nyrius stands over the crumpled buyer with his sword drawn, his pale violet eyes sweeping the tree line. Two more men break from the undergrowth at a run and he takes three steps toward them — not chasing, just stepping into the space between them and me — and they recalculate. Fast.
They run.
He turns back to me, but my eyes darken.
I wakeup in his camp on a narrow cot, a rough wool blanket over me and a damp cloth on the side of my head that's already gone warm. The tent smells of leather and cold air and the smoke of a low camp fire.
I sit up too fast. The tent tilts.
"Slowly." Nyrius is sitting on a camp stool two feet away, elbows on his knees, watching me with a very controlled and very angry expression.
I hold still until the tilting stops. "How long was I out?"
"Less than an hour." His voice is even. "You have a cut above your ear. It's not deep."
I reach up and find a cloth bandage tied neatly around my head. I leave it alone.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He tilts his head.
"Velis brought new people. It went wrong." I swing my legs to the floor. "I'm fine."
