Page 19 of A Hunt Bound in Blood

My mood remained thoroughly foul as I watched Glory wrestle with her absurdly large tent. On a better day, when my neck—and jawline, and earlobe, and shoulder—weren’t covered in burning blisters, maybe I would have found it amusing. The woman clearly had no idea what to do with any of the pieces she’d carted with her, and the set of written instructions only took her so far. I wasn’t about to help her, but the longer she carried on, the more infuriated I became that her king had dumped her on me.

I’d concede that Glory had so far tackled the clues with more finesse than I would have, but by the devils, there was more than one way to open a box. I would have suggested we smashed the thing open if I hadn’t thought her glare might, in fact, impale me.

The best I could say about her, aside from her beautiful enthusiasm, was that she looked good without her waistcoat on. Though what caught my attention more than her curves was her hair. After all our walking, her bun had loosened, and the stray tendrils fell around her face in soft curls. I saluted their bravery, certain that if she’d noticed them, Glory would have threatened to chop them off unless they returned to their proper place.

She finally wrangled the tent, and only then did I notice her bedroll and blanket. Even from here, I picked up the traces of magic emanating from the blanket in warm waves. Because of course the city mage couldn’t rough it for a few nights. I didn’t know whether to be impressed that she’d carried that garbage the entire day without complaint or disgusted that she’d bothered. I’d never met a mage who didn’t take advantage of their power to remove the most minor inconveniences, and this one was no exception. Over the next few weeks, we would be trudging through field and forest, mountain and muck. There was no place in the wilds for someone unprepared to face the hardships.

“Do you need me to look at that?”

Her hesitation—as though she were forcing every syllable—tugged me out of my grumbling judgements.

“What?” I snapped.

“Your neck. The rash. I might have something in my pack that—”

“It’s fine,” I lied. If I’d been able to make the salve for myself I would have done so already, but I wasn’t here to be pampered. “If I can’t handle a little itch, I have no business calling myself an explorer.” I shot a glower at her enchanted bedding to make my point clear. A bit harsh, maybe, but it was better she have her eyes opened now than when she was waist deep in bog water getting sucked on by arm-length leeches. Or maybe my mood was more foul because of this itch than I’d realized.

“Right.” Her voice had turned cold. “Good night, then.”

I grunted and rolled to put my back to both her and the fire. The night was quiet, the stars bright, the moon shining, not a whiff of predator to be detected. I was confident that this close to the city limits, we would pass the night safely.

I was less sure that my brush with the wingleaf would allow me to spend that time with any true rest.

As my eyelids sagged shut, all I could hear was the mage tossing and turning in her fancy tent, and I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be much fun for either of us.

Glory

XI

I woke up with grit in my eyes and a foul taste in my mouth. My head ached, my spine raged, and my muscles spasmed with shivers the moment I threw back the enchanted blanket and bared my arms to the morning chill.

I didn’t want to get up. The first two days of walking had been easy, but after carrying me so far, my feet were sore and my calves were stiff. I also would have killed for a real meal cooked on a stove. My stomach gurgled at the idea, and I sighed to cover it up. We’d made it through one day together. Only twenty-seven more to go.

Sounds from outside my tent reminded me I wasn’t alone, so I rushed to get dressed before Cammon felt the need to stick his head into my personal space. I tugged my heavy burgundy skirt over my black stockings, slid my white shirt over my black camisole and buttoned it to my chin, ensuring the buttons at my wrists were straight. Then I finished with my waistcoat and buttoned that, feeling safer and more like myself with every closed loop.

As cumbersome as I knew my heavy clothes to be, they served as another barrier between Cammon and me, physical as well as metaphorical. I was also certain I’d be grateful to have layers readily available once we entered dragon territory and had to climb the mountains—a part of our journey I wasn’t ready to think about yet.

After lacing my boots and scrubbing my teeth with my brush and a touch of mint powder, I stepped outside. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of a bare-backed Cammon standing next to the dark firepit, his shirt and suspenders hanging out of his breeches to drape over his hips. My gaze went first to the red welts on his neck from the wingleaf, but as soon as I registered that the rash was healing well, I couldn’t help but notice the rest of him. His chestnut hair was slicked back, and against my will, my eyes tracked the water droplets where they followed the line of his spine, between his shoulder blades where the muscles flexed and rippled, down into the divots above his hips.

“Like what you see?” he asked without turning around.

Confusion hit me first, followed by a spiking embarrassment when I realized he must have tasted my desire.

I scowled at his back. “Wondering if you saved any water for me, actually.”

“There might be a drop or two left in the river.” He knocked his head in the direction he’d gone to fill the small cooking pot and wash himself. With the gesture, his damp hair flopped in a messy tumble.

Annoyance flickered through me, and the tips of my fangs nicked the inside of my bottom lip. I walked to the river to wash my face and complete my necessaries, and took the chance away from Cammon to breathe until my canines retracted. When I returned, I channelled my emotions into taking down my tent—a much simpler task than putting it up. Until it came to repacking it, that is, which I tried and failed to do ten times before I figured it out. Cammon didn’t offer to help, and I didn’t ask for any, but I heard his impatience in every low huff and mutter as he stuffed his three belongings into a remarkably small pack.

“Have you figured out the next clue?” he finally asked. “If you haven’t, maybe I can work on it while you… finish that.”

I ground my teeth. “I translated enough to get an idea of where we’re going. If you’re familiar with Old Golthic, maybe you can figure out the rest?”

I’d seen his expression yesterday when I’d deciphered the clue and knew he didn’t have the first idea about interpreting the antiquated language. He must have tasted my smugness, because the next time he spoke, his tone was drier than a dusty lane.

“How about the location, then? I can at least get a head start on planning our route since we’ll be leaving late.”

The return shot hit me like a slap to the ass, and my entire body stiffened with irritation. Olodin, I disliked this man.