Page 93 of Fallacies

“I’ve got it,” I assure him, forcing some false confidence into my voice. “It won’t happen again.”

It can’t.

Callan nods, tightening his hand around mine, and as we cross the creek bed, taking the narrow path back through the woods, some of that false confidence becomes real confidence.

It can happen again, but I won’t let it.

It’s my body, my power, my self-control. I have the final say.

At that declaration, the retreating beast inside me rears its ugly head, and a deep rumble shakes my spine.

I’m fairly certain it was laughter.

22

The Hound

“You’re new.”

I lift my gaze, and the woman behind the front desk gulps. Her eyes widen as she takes me in. I can tell she desperately wants to look away, but she doesn’t. Or can’t. Fear seeps out of her, bitter and pungent—an awful smell when mixed with her jasmine perfume.

I’m not surprised by her response. This is consistent with every human interaction I’ve had since I got off the boat, and if they actually knew who I was, there would be a lot less hesitance and a lot more screaming.

I get it, I need a haircut. And probably a shower. But I’ve just come out of a five-decade imprisonment—what do they expect? Have times changed so drastically that everyone must now walk around perfectly groomed and well-kempt? It’s all so pretentious. I remember a time when everyone walked around naked.

I fight the urge to smile. It was a simpler time.

“I take it you don’t see a lot of new people,” I reply, pulling the tattered fabric down and exposing the lower half of my face. I’ve had enough of her scent for the day. It’s too faded to be overpowering, but it’s still driving me mad. Not because of the way it smells, but because I can’t catch even a whiff to take me to the main source of it.

If I weren’t so confident in my abilities, I’d question whether or not the woman I’m looking for is even on this planet. Sure, the wind was rough when I crossed the Ivory Channel, but I’ve tracked a scent in far worse conditions, and I’ve got nothing. No matter which direction I face, no matter how deeply I inhale, there’s no sign of her. It’s more than frustrating, and I’m beginning to think Alaric has sent me on a wild goose chase for his own entertainment. Bound me to a deal that I’ll never be able to uphold.

I won’t get my freedom without this girl, and while freely checking into a cheap motel might seem like agency, Alaric has found ways to keep me imprisoned.

For starters, he has Sena, and without my blade, I’m only a fraction of my power, and I have no way of getting home. To make matters worse, there’s a Vow inked into my skin, a promise I made to him that I have no choice but to fulfill.

The girl for Sena.

The girl for freedom.

“Roara is a small town,” the woman behind the desk squeaks out, plastering on a polite smile, but I can see the edges of it trembling.

“That it is.” I decide to smile back at her, instantly regretting it when she stiffens, spine straighter than a plank of wood. I run my tongue across my teeth just to make sure they’re all there. They are. Deducing that her reaction likely has to do with how sharp they are, I narrow my gaze on her name tag. “Elspeth, is it?”

She nods, accepting my pronunciation of her name, but with the increase in fear seeping out of her sweat glands, I’m not entirely sure if I said it correctly or if she’s terrified to tell me I didn’t.

Whatever.

“Elspeth, I need a room.”

Some of her fear subsides as she reaches for the guest register. “Absolutely, Mr…” Elspeth slowly lifts her gaze, and I’m not sure the last time I laughed, but I have the sudden urge to.

“S,” I tell her, watching her pen hover above the next blank line, unsure of the letter. I lift a brow. “Do you need me to spell it?”

Color rushes to her cheeks. “Oh, um. No. I’m sorry.” Elspeth scribbles a quick S on the blank line. “Mr. S,” she starts, grabbing a small key off the board beside her. She slowly slides it across the top of the desk. “How long will your stay be?”

I reach for the key, and her gaze falls to the calloused skin around my wrists. “One night,” I tell her, taking the tarnished metal and shoving it into my pocket.

Elspeth’s eyes flick up to mine, her scent shifting from bitter to oily. Guilt. It’s mixed with the smell of light rain. Sadness.