Page 54 of Choke Me, Darling (Lyres & Thieves #1)
T he thick underbrush parts with a rustle as I shove aside a tangle of brush limbs, letting Hayes duck through the opening behind me. “Fuckin’ hate these soddin’ woods,” he grumbles, swiping away a cobweb clinging to his arm.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I chuckle under my breath. “Poor baby,” I snark, falling into step beside his hulking frame. “Don’t worry, not much longer now. Two hours, tops.”
Hayes shoots me a withering look from the corner of his eye. “Two more fuckin’ hours sloggin’ through this shite? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I open my mouth to retort, but any quip dies on my lips as the unmistakable sound of splashing water reaches my ears from somewhere up ahead. Exchanging a loaded glance with Hayes, we silently adjust our trajectory, prowling towards the source with measured strides.
Crouching behind a dense thicket, I carefully part the foliage just enough to peek out at our surroundings. A small brook trickles through the glade, the tranquil current disturbed as a bedraggled figure drags herself from the muddy shallows—Briar.
Sopping wet strands of chestnut cling to her flushed cheeks, chest heaving from exertion. Those clingy leggings are torn halfway down her thighs, baring toned legs glistening with each rivulet sluicing along silky flesh. Teeth grinding, I tear my stare from the tantalising glimpses of inner thigh visible through the tattered material.
Movement beside me draws my focus as Hayes crouches down, gaze locked on the sight before us. A mere flick of his stare meets mine, conveying far more than words in that single weighted look. Arius must’ve gotten his claws into her again.
Briar frantically looks around as she tries to pull the fabric of her leggings back up over her hips, that elegant neck craning as if awaiting an attack from any direction. Seemingly reassured she’s alone, she slumps to her knees on the banks, shoulders sagging in posture of utter defeat.
Fucking hell, she already looks so broken.
A phantom chill ripples along my spine as realisation dawns—Arius must’ve unleashed one of his “special” toys on the poor lass. The bastard likely subjected her to that sodding violet wand, if her haggard state is any indication.
Surveying our surroundings through narrowed eyes, I spot no immediate sign of any other threats lingering. A nudge against Hayes’ bicep has him glancing up, and I jerk my chin towards the treeline in a silent gesture to split up and flank from opposing sides.
His expression remains impassive, but the terse nod and low grunt tells me all I need. With an indelicate shove against my shoulder to brace himself upright, Hayes breaks away towards the opposite end of the brook.
I keep low to the damp earth, sticking to the deeper shadows and vegetation clusters as I gradually circle wider around Briar. Deadfall and snapped twigs crunch beneath my boots, every measured footfall slow and calculated to avoid giving away my position.
From this new vantage, I locate the silhouette of Hayes skulking on the opposite bank, nearly invisible amidst the gloom. A tilt of my head conveys a message, and we move in synchronicity, advancing on our cornered prey from both flanks.
Too late, I realise Briar has already snapped to full alert, those piercing azure eyes roving wildly as something prickles those uncanny prey instincts. She whips around, gaze instantly locking onto my form mere yards away.
“Shite!”
The curse bursts from between clenched teeth as she scrambles upright, boots slipping on the slimy rocks before finding purchase. With a sharp inhale, Briar darts off like a bloody gazelle, all lithesome grace and rapid strides devouring the distance in a blur.
“Fuckin’ rabbit,” I growl under my breath, rolling my eyes heavenward as I reluctantly give chase. This woman never makes it easy, does she?
I plunge into the underbrush after Briar, shoving aside brambles and low-hanging branches as her lithe form weaves through the foliage ahead. Each rasping gasp and rustle of disturbed leaves pinpoints her trajectory with uncanny accuracy. The lass might be fleet of foot, but she’s leaving a bloody trail a blind nun could follow.
“Can’t run forever, kitten!” I bellow, snapping a twig underfoot as I switch tactics. Rather than futilely give chase, I alter my angle to loop around and cut her off.
Up ahead, Briar veers sharply to her left without slowing. Clever girl, skirting the brook to use the current as an obstacle. Bursting from a clump of waist-high ferns directly in her newfound path, I skid to an abrupt halt, hands planted on my knees as I gulp down greedy draughts of air.
There’s no need to keep up the pursuit. Not when Hayes is undoubtedly lying in wait downstream precisely where I’d predicted. Briar’s attempts at evasion have merely guided her straight into our pincer manoeuvre like a hapless insect ensnared in a spider’s web.
Straightening with a grunt, I scan the treeline and glimpse a brief flicker of movement through the shadows—Hayes, giving a subtle nod to confirm he’s in position. Smirking to myself, I close the remaining distance at a casual stroll, entirely unconcerned by Briar’s supposed head start now.
The steady trickle of the brook grows louder, blending with Briar’s laboured panting as her footfalls slow to an exhausted trudge. A few final strides, and I breach the overgrowth on the water’s edge to find Briar dragging herself knee-deep through the shallows.
It’s almost pitiful, watching the usually defiant wildcat so utterly drained and reduced to such a pathetic display. Briar grips a gnarled tree root with one hand, using it as an anchor to haul herself a few more feet before staggering and planting both palms in the silty bottom for balance.
Her breath escapes in shuddering pants, chest heaving with the exertion. Dripping strands of dull blonde plaster her cheeks, narrowed gaze flitting back and forth as she continuously sweeps the perimeter for our location. Sinewy limbs shudder with fatigue and strain, rendering each leaden movement more sluggish than the last.
A twinge of remorse flickers through my chest at witnessing her in such an utterly spent state. Briar’s stubbornly indomitable spirit should rage unquenched and fierce, not peter out in dribbles until this pale shadow remains, clinging to shallow dregs of defiance.
Shoving aside the inexplicable pang, I draw up short at the brook’s muddy shore and simply watch, arms folded over my chest as I gauge her dwindling resolve. With each passing second, those hooded eyes seem to dim a fraction more, shoulders slouching incrementally lower into the current.
At last, Briar sways on weakening legs, taking a few steps further up onto the bank… before sinking abruptly to her knees in the muck with a despairing whimper. The once-fiery vixen slumps forward, palms braced on her thighs and dripping strands obscuring her bowed features as she pants like an overexerted mare.
Movement in my peripheral vision draws my stare, lips quirking as Hayes silently emerges from the underbrush a few metres upstream to cross over to Briar’s bank. His hulking frame sways with a lazy confidence, hands stuffed in pockets as hooded eyes settle on Briar’s prone form. One minute chin jerk conveys the entirety of his thoughts on the matter—quite the comedown for such a fierce little wildebeest.
I incline my head in a subtle nod of agreement before shifting position to better address the woman in question. “Need a hand out there?” I call out in a lazy drawl, watching with no small degree of smug satisfaction as Briar’s entire body goes rigid at the sound of my voice.
Her head snaps up, tangled damp tresses whipping to the side and baring a defiant stare that blazes with rekindled embers. “Go fuck yourself,” she snarls, upper lip curling in a derisive sneer as those piercing blue irises bore into mine.
A low chuckle rumbles from my chest, undeterred by the hostility dripping from each syllable. Not even the venom in that tone can mask the utter bone-weariness leaching all potency from her words. “Still hasty, I see,” I snicker, languidly unfurling my crossed arms to begin picking my way through the stream. “Bold choice, given your… situation.”
Despite the jibe, Briar merely glares balefully, seeming to summon what dregs of strength remain to maintain that withering stare. With a shrug of feigned nonchalance, I angle a sidelong glance towards Hayes loitering nearby. “Think we should give her a hand, mate?” I goad, smirking outright at the disdainful scoff huffing past Briar’s full lips. “Or does a night wallowing in that muck sound enticing?”
Hayes purses his mouth in consideration, squinting as he sizes up the quagmire Briar finds herself reluctantly anchored within. His stare traces the rippled surface, following each false, sun-baked crack until coming to rest on the patch of earth she occupies—distinctly different in colour and texture. With a thoughtful grunt, he removes one hand from his pocket and extends his boot to prod at the bank encircling that section.
The instant his toe sinks several inches into the saturated soil, comprehension dawns across his rugged features. “Mud trap,” he mutters under his breath, snapping his gaze towards where I stand with one brow cocked expectantly. “Should’ve figured Hansley would lay those around the streams.”
I bob my chin in a solemn nod, gaze slicing back to Briar—she’s ceased her idle struggling, seeming to grasp that the harder she fights, the deeper she’ll sink. Christ, if her expression didn’t scream abject defeat loud enough, those slumped shoulders positively drip with dejection.
Clucking my tongue, I shake my head in mild disdain at the entire dismal scene. Perhaps it’s morbid curiosity piqued by her earlier ferocious obstinance. Or some primal sense of intrigue about those complex contradictions chafing against her porcelain facade. Whatever the catalyst, I can’t resist pushing for one final flicker of that smouldering defiance.
“As entertaining as it would be watching you inevitably lose that battle of wills…” I pause, trailing off as her irises reluctantly drag up to meet my stare. “We might as well yank you out. No fun in letting you sit there all night, is there?”
Her nostrils flare with a sharp inhale, lips pursing as Briar visibly bites back the first caustic retort perched there. For several taut heartbeats, that willful gaze bores into me as if gauging whether this overture carries ulterior motives or hidden barbs.
Seemingly satisfied by whatever conclusions her meticulous scrutiny derives, Briar gives the barest dip of her chin in a subtle nod of acquiescence. Message received, loud and clear—she may be backed into a corner, but her pride remains wholly intact.
Swallowing a snort of dark amusement at her uncompromising nature, I turn to where Hayes hovers at the periphery of the mud field. “Oi,” I grunt, jabbing my chin at the nearest section of solid ground separating us from Briar’s position. “Mind the stones, yeah?”
Rolling his eyes in silent rebuke, Hayes circles the outer ring until locating the starting point of what appears to be a winding path of stepping stones through the mire. Each cautious step seems to map out the safest route towards the centre mass where Briar kneels, back tensing with each stuttering advancement as he tests his footing.
By the time he draws within arm’s reach of her, I’ve already traced the path he’s taken—eight or nine irregularly-spaced stones strategically angled to provide the most direct line. Hayes waits until he’s identified the next stone closest to her location before halting, leaning over to wrap one meaty hand around Briar’s bicep in an iron grip.
In a single, fluid motion, he hauls her bodily upwards, seeming to disregard her startled yelp as she instinctively grapples against his chest to steady herself. Her nails scrabble against the worn fabric of his shirt, desperately seeking purchase as Hayes unceremoniously hoists her over his shoulder.
With his forearm firmly securing her thighs draped down his chest, Hayes straightens to his full height, eliciting a second muted squeak from Briar’s lips. They both sway slightly until regaining their balance, Hayes grunting as he shifts her weight more securely against his torso.
Unbidden, my gaze roves hungrily over her form, lingering on the rivulets trailing from her hair to dampen her shirt in deliciously translucent patches. The tattered remnants of those skintight leggings cling obscenely to every curve, moisture beading along the tanned canvas of her thighs and calves.
A sudden flare of heat coils low in my abdomen, scorching through my veins as my cock gives an intrigued twitch. Fucking Christ, I’d be lying if I said the sight of her so utterly debauched and debased doesn’t stoke that insatiable flame of lust perpetually simmering.