Page 1 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

1

There was something cathartic about hiking through the forest in late summer. The drone of cicadas mixed with the scent of oak and pine. I inhaled deeply, looking down at my lunarium detector—a device sensitive to picking up the crystal’s presence. The readings were weaker here, so I carefully made my way over the rough terrain as I waited for the signal to intensify.

My hiking boots were brand new and there was a blister forming on my pinky toe. I should have listened to the checkout clerk at the sporting goods store and broken them in properly. But that would have taken time. A precious commodity I was running low on.

I ignored the burn on my toe, keeping my eyes alert for anything that remotely looked like a cave entrance. There was a slim chance I’d stumble across it on day one. Still, I had to start somewhere.

My shoulders slumped. I had thousands upon thousands of acres to cover. Something that would take days. Months. Possibly longer.

But my approach was organized. Because that was how my brain worked. I’d already meticulously mapped everything out.

The beeping on my detector kicked up a notch and my heart skipped. Pausing, I took a moment to scan my surroundings. The sun beat down through the canopy of trees, casting dancing patterns of light across the bed of pine needles and dead branches littering my path.

Sighing, I set down the detector and swung my pack around, pulling my water bottle free and taking a healthy drink. If today’s adventure was a bust, at least it served a purpose—to illustrate how horribly out of shape I was. So what if I liked spending my free time wrapped in a blanket on the couch reading romance novels and eating sour gummy worms? Sue me!

Pressing on, I made it another thirty feet, trying not to stumble as the clicking on my detector turned into a high-pitched whine. There was definitely lunarium here. Which proved my first theory correct. There was a cave system beneath me. I just had to find the entrance⁠—

“What the fuck do you think yer doin’?”

I let out a little scream and whirled around, backing up several paces before falling flat on my ass. Thanks to a stupid branch. Pain shot up my lower back. My detector landed with a thump a few feet away. My gaze fixed on the mountain of a man towering over me.

He had a prominent scar that carved diagonally across his face, cutting through his eye, leaving it damaged. The rest of him was distinct and powerful. His hair was a deep brown with a glint of gold, accentuated by the sun. It was a mess of choppy strands that fell just right around his ears. His jaw was covered in scruff that hadn’t been shaved for a week or two. His harsh eyes were a shade of amber that made me think of burnt honey, even if there was nothing hot about the way he looked at me.

“I…”

“Asked you a question, lass.” His frigid voice held a faint Scottish accent. “Answer me.”

“Right.” Gathering the bravado I didn’t feel, I jumped to my feet and brushed off my leggings, then held out my hand. Maybe he wouldn’t kill me if I was polite? “I’m Rebecca Miller. But most people call me Becca. And you are?”

“Unhappy to see you here.” He glanced down at my hand before meeting my eyes. “On my land.”

“Your… Oh! I didn’t realize. Your land? Are you sure?” The chill in his expression didn’t budge. There was something almost…feral about him. A wildness that spoke of danger. I dropped my arm, rubbing my palm against my leg. “Got it. I must have made a mistake then. Just thought I’d go for a hike, you know? Get some fresh air.”

“A hike.”

“Yep.” I took a step closer to my detector. Maybe I could grab it and run?

He glanced at it before taking in my attire, my brand new boots. His expression finally changed, anger mixed with disgust. He stepped forward. The crunch of plastic and circuits filled the silence as he smashed my detector beneath his heel. He didn’t so much as look down. “I’ve no time for your lies.”

A nervous laugh burst from my chest. “I’m just going to⁠—”

“Get off my property?”

“Yeah. That.”

I backed up a step, my heart hammering. Every muscle was strung tight, ready to spring into action, but afraid all the same. Afraid that if I ran, he’d chase after me. Like an instinct I couldn’t shake.

Leaving the pieces of my device trapped under his boot, I turned and took off at a quick pace, picking my way over the uneven ground. A low, irritated growl filled the air. It sent a shiver of unease racing down my spine.

“Wrong way!”

I spun around. And promptly lost my footing. Again. Landing on my ass. “Fuck.”

He stalked toward me, covering the distance between us. I tried to scamper backwards as he bore down on me. I didn’t get far. Before I knew it, he swung me up off the ground and over his shoulder.

I screamed, adrenaline dumping into my system. My body acted on pure instinct. Magic ripped from me as vines shot out of a nearby bush, wrapping around his legs.

The drain on my body, my magic, was immediate—a familiar tearing sensation, like someone had reached into my chest and ripped out a part of my soul. Permanent. Irreversible.