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Maybe the dig is on the other side of that rise?
“Yeah,” I say, fighting the urge in my head to run. Run where? “My friends will be looking for me.”
“Your friends? Will they now?”
The man who’s speaking has lighter brown hair and dark eyes. The other’s hair is closer to black, but he has light colored eyes. They casually stroll closer. I step backwards, acutely aware of their larger, stronger size. Every nerve is screaming to run, get away, but that’s ridiculous. My friends and the team can’t be far away, so nothing bad is going to happen. These must be some locals. Who else could it be?
“Have you seen the dig? I was with the expedition.”
“Dig?” Light-hair asks. “I do not ken what your referring to. Are you a fae?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“What is tha’ you’re wearing,” the dark haired one asks, pointing his shiny sword at my pants.
“Jeans…” I say, looking at my legs then back at him.
“Jeans? Where are ya from?”
“French, she must be,” the light-haired says. “Those French are always coming up with new fashion.”
“What do ya know of French and fashion, you bloody slob,” dark-hair says.
A heavy scent of unwashed body, manure, and something coppery assaults my nose as they move closer. It makes my eyes water. I wipe them clear but wish I hadn’t because now I see that the sword has red splotches along its length. I drift my gaze up its wickedly sharp length. Those splotches on their hands and clothes… those aren’t dirt.
No, it can’t be. This is crazy. It has to be something else. Hunters. They must be hunters. That would explain it.
“I know more than ya’d think,” fair haired says.
“Never ’ad a foreigner,” Dark-hair says, ignoring his friend.
“I’m sorry,” I say, heart thrumming like a frightened rabbit thumping its leg, I take three steps back as I talk. “I’m looking for my friends. I’ll leave you alone now.”
I motion with my hands, unsure if I’m trying to calm them or me. Every instinct screams to get away, that these men are dangerous. I’m moving up the side of the hill, but the thick grass tangles around my legs and makes it hard.
“Best if you give us what we want,” light-hair says.
Their twisted grins and the gleam in their eyes leaves no doubt what it is they want. I swallow hard. They’re coming closer.
I’m in trouble.
I shake my head. “Not happening.”
I’m proud that my voice sounds steady since I’m anything but. The two men exchange a dark look then continue forward. They separate as they walk, cutting off escape routes.
This can’t be happening. Maybe if I scream? Run? Run where? Scream to who? Where are my friends and the others?
The men’s intentions are clear. The only question is what am I going to do about it? Fear is an ice storm in my chest but then the cold becomes clear, and a strange calm settles my nerves. In an instant, the panic is gone.
I’m not going to be a victim.
These two men are bigger than I am by far and I won’t beat them in pure physicality, but I can outthink them. Somehow. I don’t want to take my eyes off them so I dart glances to the sides trying to find something, anything, I can use to my advantage.
Nothing.
Icy fingers trail down my spine as no bright ideas come. My best hope is to find my group. If I’m in a group, they won’t dare attack. They’ll most likely run away rather than get caught. Find my group and the odds shift dramatically.
Where in the hell are they?
