Page 35 of Betrothed

Fawn ignored him and fished out a knife from her pocket. It was the vegetable knife he had given her this morning to slice radishes. She watched him recognize it, his eyes widening as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

The malblossom net was burning him. She wasn’t looking, but she could hear the horrible sizzle behind her, the acrid smell of burning flesh. At least this one wouldn’t scar—it only scarred if it went very deep or was left for a long time. And Fawn would not let him be stuck for a long time. She was getting them out of here, right now.

Or at least as soon as Zax cut himself free. She could hear that, too—tiny snaps as he clawed through the rope, thankfully hidden behind her body.

“I’m going with him,” Fawn announced loudly. “And you are leaving us alone.”

One of the hunters raised his crossbow half-heartedly. Errol slapped at him, his upper lip curled.

“Not the crossbow, you’ll hit the girl,” he barked. He turned back to Fawn, his lips stretched in that awful condescending smile. “Fawn. What in the hells are you talking about?”

“We’re leaving together,” Fawn said, still brandishing the knife. “If he’ll still have me.”

Zax piped up from the ground. “I will!”

Fawn shushed him. She didn’t want them to notice he was cutting himself free with his claws.

Errol spluttered, his smile finally slipping to reveal the ugly frown beneath it. “What are you doing? Get out of the way so we can put an end to him!”

“No,” Fawn barked.

Errol stared at her in disbelief. “He ate your husband.”

“I never liked him much anyway,” Fawn admitted. She listened to another rope snap behind her. It wouldn’t be long now.

The hunters were looking at Zax too long for her liking. She had to distract them.

“Errol,” she snarled, so loud that all three men looked at her. She grinned at their gormless faces. “I never liked you either, you entitled little shit.”

This seemed to snap Errol out of his shocked stupor. He grabbed a crossbow out of the closest hunter’s hands and swung it in her direction.

Fawn stabbed him in the hand with her vegetable knife. He shrieked, dropping the crossbow.

The last piece of malblossom rope snapped. Zax surged up and grabbed Fawn, then sprinted for the mountain path.

One of the hunters piped up. “If she’s going to the forbidden mountain, I ain’t following.”

Errol ignored him, screaming, “You crazy bitch! We’re going to mount his skull on our wall!”

“I’ll fight you for him,” Fawn shouted back, clinging once more to her pack. “I’ll kill you myself if I have to! Leave us alone, or you will regret it.”

A malblossom-arrow flew past them, lodging in the rocky mountain face. Fawn held her pack up again, but Zax had her clutched to his chest and she couldn’t angle her pack as a shield this time.

Another arrow streaked toward them. It struck Zax in the back, and he stumbled. Another arrow struck him in the arm. He roared, clutching Fawn closer.

“Run,” Fawn demanded. “Zax, keep going!”

Zax growled. But he forced himself up and ran, legs pumping until the shouting faded away, the air turned cool, and there had not been any arrows shot their way in an age.

He found a small cave and crawled into it, collapsing to his stomach on the stone floor. Even in his pain and exhaustion, he still made sure Fawn was not hurt in the fall.

“Zax,” Fawn gasped. She crawled out of his arms, stowing her vegetable knife away in her dress pocket and dropping her pack so she could take his face in her hands. “Hells. I’ll fix you up, okay? I’ll—I’ll take care of this.”

She eyed his arrow wounds dubiously. She knew nothing about how to care for a Skullstalker, but she knew enough to get the arrows out. And they were smoking from the malblossom; that meant they wouldn’t bleed so much, right? But what if there was some left in the wound? What if she ran out of the bandages she had stolen for her pack? What if Errol and the others found them? What if⁠—?

Zax touched her cheek, stilling her whirring thoughts.

“Fawn,” he said softly. “You came back.”