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“Good,” I whispered, taking a step toward him. I spotted the milky-white blade in the moonlight. Bending, I picked it up and glanced beyond him, to the darkened aisle. “Stay here. For real this time.”
The Lord didn’t answer as I inched past him and hurried back to the stall he’d been held in. The gas lamp was still on. I walked forward, hand tightening around theluneablade as I kicked over the buckets of blood.
CHAPTER 5
I was concerned.
The Hyhborn lord was strong, obviously, but he’d been able to take only a few steps outside of the stall before his breathing became labored. He stumbled. I shot forward, folding an arm around his waist, and held on to him as best as I could. My own strength was quickly cracking under his weight, but the wound on his chest was bleeding again and no longer just seeping. It also looked larger. I didn’t think his other injuries fared any better.
“Just a little further,” I assured him, hoping that Finn was right and Jac would be occupied till dawn, because if not . . .
It would be bad.
He nodded, the hair now hanging in stringy clumps around his face. That was the only response I got as we made it out of the barn. As we crossed the uneven ground, I looked to the woods and spotted Iris’s shadowy form grazing.
Gritting my teeth, I forged forward, fingers slipping over his now-slick waist. It felt like an eternity by the time we reached the back door of the blacksmith’s home. The Lord leaned against the cement siding typical of buildings of this age, head hanging limply on his shoulders. “Who lives . . . here? The blacksmith?”
“Yes. He shouldn’t be back for a while,” I assured him. “This isn’t a trap or anything.”
“I would . . . hope not,” he said, tipping his head against the wall, exposing his throat to the moonlight. “You’ve gone to . . . a lot of unnecessary . . . trouble if so.”
Biting the inside of my lip, I turned the handle. Or tried to. My shoulders slumped. “It’s locked.”
“That’s . . . an inconvenience.” He angled his body toward mine. Lifting a fist, he punched the door, just above the handle. Wood cracked and splintered, exploding as his fist went straight through.
My jaw dropped.
He reached into the ragged hole and turned the lock. “There you . . . go. No longer locked.”
I blinked as my fingers fluttered to my throat. That same hand he’d just put through a thick wooden door had been around my throat.
“If I weren’t . . . weakened,” he said, eyeing me from behind a curtain of hair, “I would’ve killed you the moment I had . . . your throat in my hand. You’re lucky.”
My hand lowered as my heart skipped. I wasn’t feeling very lucky at the moment. Instead, I was feeling like I’d really gotten myself in over my head this time.
The Lord pushed open the door, all but stumbling aside at the faint stench of sour ale and decaying food. I gave the space a quick look, making out a small table and unwashed pots and pans stacked in a sink. My gaze lifted to the archway and narrow hall that appeared to lead toward the front, which Jac likely used to meet with clients. Many of the buildings in this area of Archwood were several hundred years old, having survived the Great War. So, they were larger, and had a lot of chambers and were built entirely differently from the way they were today. I turned, spying another door on the other side of the table.
Figuring that led to bedchambers and hopefully a bathing space, I helped the Lord around the wooden table.
“You . . . you weren’t at the tavern,” he rasped.
“How do you know?”
“I would’ve seen . . . you.”
I arched a brow. “I was out for a walk when I overheard what had happened.”
“Where?”
I didn’t answer as I nudged the door open and led him down the narrow hall.
“You’ve . . . been somewhere near . . . a garden,” he said.
My head whipped toward him. “How do you know that?”
“I smell . . . the earth on you,” he said, and I frowned, having no idea if that meant I smelled bad or not. “Hints of . . . of catmint and . . .”
Surprise flickered through me. I had been messing around with the catmint earlier that day. I stared at him. “How do you smell that?”
