“Find someone else to grope, Rune,” I snap at him, yanking his hand off me and scrambling away. “I’m not yours, remember?”
After a pause, Rune answers me. “I remember. Fuck!”
**
The next day our small river gradually shrinks back into a stream. We fill our flagons where it pours from a cleft in the rocky hillside and then leave it behind. The hills recede with the thinning woods, the terrain flattening. Rune and I stand at the forest’s edge while Ram consults his scouts and decides our route. Ahead of us stretches a wasteland of stunted trees and scrub, gnarled branches clawing at the sky as the wind slithers through golden grass. A red fox, not a dog after all, scampers into the strewn rock and wildflowers littering the landscape.
“Why is it called the waste?” I ask Rune. “It looks no worse than the rest of the world.”
“Over that way there’s a dead city.” He points west. “Shy tells stories about buildings high as clouds and wide as forests that could swallow a man whole, loot to make a pack rich as kings. But the place is cursed, full of ghosts crawling out of the earth.”
“Does anyone ever go there?”
“Only them in a hurry for the grave. Shy says the People there burned up, and them that make it out crawl on their bellies and eat dust all the days of their lives, which are damn short to my thinking.” He waves his fingers, imitating Shy. “‘The land is parched and pastures in the wilderness is withered, a desolate waste without inhabitants.’ That’s what she says.”
“How far to the Tradepost?” The landscape ahead offers me nothing, a desolate expanse without protection, without options.
“Ten days, depending.”
“Rune, if something were to happen to Greeb…Is there a way…could you…own me?” I almost choke on the words as they whisper innocently from my lips. My eyes stay fixed on the horizon, my heart juddering in my chest, my breath deep with longing he can’t mistake. I feel him studying me, weighing my words like a handful of glittering bounty.
“If Greeb’s a dead man,” he replies carefully. “Depends on how he died.”
“I don’t want my first time to be his,” I whisper. “He’ll never know.”
“Mag would kill me,” he says, but I sense his mind churning over the possibility.
My sigh breathes my disappointment. I spare him a wistful smile, a sultry glance, seeking to ignite his heart and desire, and then I walk away as Ram calls for us to make camp. Tonight we sleep at the forest’s edge. Tomorrow we enter the waste where I’ll never escape.
While Heaven’s men dig fire pits, Angel and I collect wood, straying deeper into the forest, toting armfuls of kindling to each hole, returning to the woods for another load. I saunter by Greeb, narrow my eyes to slits, mouthing a quiet, “Fuck you,” a challenge he can’t miss. I want his furious black eyes on me, his lust boiling over. Rune watches me too, sharing a smile as I brush by him, touch him, tease him, not quite daring a kiss, but beckoning with an unsubtle tilt of my head as I return to the trees.
“What are you doing?” Angel asks urgently, trotting after me. “You’re taunting those men.”
“So,” I reply, snapping a branch on my knee. “Someone’s going to fuck me, Angel, now or later. We’re slaves to Biters. I’m accepting my fate.”
“Oh, not you, Rimma.” She shakes her head angrily, gray eyes flashing fire. “You’ll fight this to your grave.”
“Keep me safe then,” I suggest. “Stay by my side and guide me. Everyone thinks you’re…an angel.”
“Sometimes they don’t see me,” she murmurs, worry nagging at her. We rarely discuss our “magic,” but I know it troubles her.
“They always see me,” I mutter as I fill my arms with dead sticks. “I’d enjoy that about now...if I disappeared.”
“I just want you to stop fighting,” she sighs. “Peace, Sister. A little space for something besides vengeance. Papa is dead. Our mother is Brothers Scar. Heaven no longer exists.”
“And God abandoned us, if there ever was one,” I add, my arms full.
“Maybe God is just different from what the deacons decided,” she argues. “Maybe God isn’t like a person.”
“Then what is He?” I ask, peering at her. “What use is a God if we don’t know what He is or what He does or what He wants?”
“Maybe He wants us to…” Angel bites her lip, unable to guess.
“Heal the broken world?” I offer with a snort. “He leaves it all up to us to figure out, doesn’t He? Well, I know what I need to do, sister, and if no one else believes in you, at least I do, so stick close.”
Back at the fire pits, Greeb’s waiting for me, tracking me from beneath his black eyebrows, one hand resting on the hilt of his long knife, the other tracing the scar by his eye. Unbuttoned in the late-day heat, his shirt hangs open, dark chest slick with sweat and thick with muscle. My sticks clatter into the growing pile as he grips my arm and spins me to face him. “Playing dangerous games, Dove?”
In the corner of my eye, I catch Rune watching us, a smile creeping to his lips, a decision pressing on his skull. Across the camp, Mag perks up, her neck craning, face pinched, listening with her Touch. Her beaded and feathered braids sway as she seeks me in the camp’s chaos. I meet Greeb’s eyes. “No games, Biter.”
He ignores the slight. “You’re mine, Dove. No young blood changes that.”
“I’m not yours until you win me at auction,” I sneer at him. “Until then, I’m simply an investment and my price is rising.” I jerk my arm from his grasp and waltz away across the packed earth, between the fire pits, straight to Rune. I stand before him, my back to Greeb.
A bead of sweat glistens on Rune’s forehead as he studies me, the hint of a smile quirking up the corner of his lips. Behind his green eyes, I glimpse thoughts running like the wild river, coursing beyond control, tugging him into the torrent. I don’t dare touch him, but I lean close and breath into his ear. “I’ve more wood to collect, deeper in the forest. Maybe you should follow me, so I don’t run away.”
“Rimma,” Angel whimpers, pulling on my hand.
“Of course, we may have unwanted company.” I step back, all the savage desire I can muster gleaming on my skin, my head canted, pale hair thrown back and cascading over my shoulder. Angel yanks on my hand and I relent. My heart hammers in my ears, my chest tight, breath rapid and veins streaming with fear and excitement. Angel can’t stop me, can’t stand in front of this boulder I’ve kicked into a roll. Whatever happens I’ll live with it and so will she.
“Rimma,” Angel begs me. “Stop. Where are we going?”
My hand around her wrist, I lead her between the trees. “Only a little farther.”
“Why? What are you planning? What have you done?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her, glancing quickly behind us. “I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.” Dragging her behind me, I find the place of my earlier foraging, a pool of sunlight dappling a grassy glade. A massive tree lies on its side, roots twisting up in a tangled fan, dirt still clinging to the coarse weave, broken branches in a clutter of browning needles and jumbled twigs. “Hide behind the roots,” I instruct her.
“Why?” Her voice is shrill with panic now.
“Angel.” I slow my breath, soften my words, ease the pressure building in my body. Her face in my hands, I kiss her cheeks and offer a warm smile. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I just don’t want you to watch me fucking. Maybe that’s all.”
“Or…” She can’t finish, fear flooding her eyes, tears welling in the corners.
“Please, Angel, just hide for me. A little while, please.”
“Rimma, no,” she begs, but she backs away at my warning gaze and climbs through the web of limbs, vanishing behind the screen of roots. I sit on a large rock exposed by the fallen tree, elbows on my knees, waiting as minutes lumber by in lethargic slowness. When I think no one is coming, I almost sigh with relief, then a dark shape approaches through the evergreen. Greeb.
On my feet, I wait, ice flooding my veins, so chilled I shake. Part of me insists I should kneel, grovel and beg for my life, open my mouth and blouse and legs and pant with sickening desire. Greeb isn’t who I expected. The last thing I meant to happen.
My body shakes as Greeb comes for me, his face eager, baring his brown teeth, a sinister smile glittering in his eyes. Grabbing ahold of my blouse, he backhands me, cutting the inside of my mouth. I stumble aside, gasping, but his fist in my clothes keeps me from falling. He swings again, slapping the other cheek, not as hard but with enough force to whip my head. I spit the salty taste of blood from my mouth as he holds me up.
“Fucking dove,” he growls and rips my blouse, every button tearing from its hole. “You’re mine, one way or another.” He kicks my legs out from under me, slamming me to my back, his bulk on top of me, ignoring my fists, my cursing whimpers. I hear Angel crying, calling my name, begging Greeb to stop. His knife slides to my throat, pressed down as he leers at me, my fingers around his wrist. “Time for a little cooperation.”
“Fuck you!” I shout and spit in his face. With a roar, he rears back, twisting around, his face contorted. Behind him, Rune crouches, bloodied knife gripped in his fist. Rune jams the knife into Greeb’s ribs, stabs him again before the man can roll off me. Greeb slashes at Rune from his knees, blood running from the deep wounds in his back, blood in his spittle and spraying with his breath. Rune jumps back with a feral grin and Greeb turns on me. I scramble back on my elbows, kicking myself away with my feet. Angel stands by the roots, screaming, hands clutching her head. Greeb raises his knife as Rune grabs him by his hair and jabs his knife into Greeb’s throat, sinking it to the hilt. Blood splatters, slick and warm as Greeb falls on top of me, gouting his life out on my naked chest, rivulets of red gore tickling down my sides.
With a grunt, Rune kicks the Biter’s body off me. I roll, Greeb’s knife under me as I struggle to my knees, my stomach lurching. While Rune cleans his blade on Greeb’s shirt, I slip the knife in my pocket and stagger to my feet, holding my blouse closed around me, wiping blood from my face with a sleeve. Angel grips my arm, her face wet with tears, her breath shuddering.
“Now what?” I ask Rune, shaking Angel off. I uselessly stuff the few dangling buttons I have left through their torn holes, ready to run before anyone finds out what we’ve done.
A grin brightens his face. “Now I own you, half of you anyway. Get Mag to change your claim.” He reaches up and gently fingers the bead on my earring.
“But…but you…killed Greeb,” I stammer, his words making no sense to me.
“Without a scratch on me,” he gloats. “Figure I’ll get a good price for you and see about that crossbow.”
“But we should run,” I argue, staring at the corpse lying on its back near my feet, its skin waxen and gray beneath the high canopy. “You stabbed him. What about Mag and Ram? They’ll kill us.”
His chin drawn back with disbelief, he grins at me, dark eyes full of mirth. “Now that wouldn’t make much sense. Ram told him to stay off you. And he could have just as easily stabbed me.” He touches my cheek, fingering aside my sticky hair. “Don’t worry, Dove. You’re with me now.”
“Rune…” No words come. “I thought we would leave, escape to the Fortress. They’ll let us in and…”
“Shush, shush.” His finger rises to my lip like a parent to a petulant child, like a patient master to his foolish slave. “I’d keep you, I would. You’re a fiery dove and pretty as the morning. But Mag’s right, you’ll bring a good trade and I’m not about to have another chance like it. I can’t pass on a good bow. Maybe a decent sword too for you and Xavia if my luck’s right.”
The way he looks at me, I realize there’s no need to finish my thought. There’s nothing left to say. We don’t speak the same language. I glance at Angel, an apology in my eyes, a farewell perhaps, wishing she would face away.
I raise my bloody hands to Rune’s chest, closing the gap between us, my blouse falling open as I lean in with my hips, my head lifted for his kiss. He finds my mouth, my tongue, his breath quickening, his fingers cupping my bloody breast. My hand slides down to his trousers, feeling him hard against my stomach. My other hand finds the sharp edge in my pocket, carefully withdrawing the knife as I melt into him, entrapping him, my arms around his beautiful body, holding him tight. I rotate the blade in my fist, grip it with both hands and drive it into his back. He tries to lurch away from me, horror in his eyes, a long wail on his lips. Clinging to him, I hold on, sliding the blade out and in under his ribs, digging up, deeper, my fingers pressing against his skin. He cries out, hands rising to my throat, forcing me away. Angel claws at me, pleading and babbling, trying to save him or me, I’m not certain.
“Rune,” I cry, unable to think. “Rune, I’m sorry.” I let him go, tears falling at the sight of what I’ve done. He stands for only a moment, looking down at the blood draining through his fingers. His eyes meet mine, broken with pain and confusion. He breathes out a desolate sigh, sags to his knees and crumples to the pool of sunlit ground.
16
~Angel~
When Rune falls, his blood emptying, I raise my eyes to my sister, my world reeling. Hell’s hounds bark madly back at the camp, overpowering the shouts of men. “Rimma! What have you done? Rimma!” Her name surges out of me in shock. My breath strangles in my chest, nothing left to scream. Then I see Mag at the glade’s edge, leaning on her stick, Glory behind her, hugging himself and rocking side to side, his eyes closed, a terrified wail rising from his heart.