Hunted(30)

“You gave your word,” snarled the voice, his breath hot against her cheek. His weight, fur coat warmed by the fire, pinned her underneath him.

Her heart pounded with fear and longing both, knowing that Ivan’s face was only a hand’s breadth from hers. Yeva turned her head, the knot loosening yet more—and the silk slipped down from her eyes.

Inches from her face was a nightmarish visage, snarling fangs and red-gold eyes. She screamed, every muscle going rigid as she tried to struggle free, but claws dug into her skin on all sides, giving her no room to move. She stretched out with one arm anyway, ignoring the tearing pain of it, fingers brushing the hilt of her fletching knife.

“YOU GAVE US YOUR WORD.” The voice was almost unrecognizable, the roar tangible against her face as the teeth flashed in the firelight. The claws tightened, piercing her skin all over and causing her to cry out in pain and terror.

Yeva’s hand closed around the knife, and with a scream she brought her arm up in an arc, sinking the knife to its hilt in the Beast’s shoulder. Its roar of rage and pain overtook hers, and she let her arm fall again as the room spun into blackness.

Yeva woke once more in darkness, body cold and stiff. She dragged herself to her knees, her aching body prompting recognition—she was back in the cell. Her fingers found multiple puncture marks across her shoulders and chest and legs. The blindfold was gone, but she was in darkness again. She explored the confines of the cell by feel and found nothing, no manacle and chain, no blanket, and no tray—and no lamp. This time, the door was locked.

No fire, no blanket, no lamp; she had little heat to conserve, but little was better than none. She sank onto the floor and drew her knees up to her body, ignoring the way the movement sent aches screaming down her limbs. She dropped her head, clenching her teeth together.

I am locked in a cell, she said to herself, mind stuttering and unfocused as she tried to follow her father’s advice, with no food and no light and no hope of escape. And the one friend I had is the monster that killed my father.

Her eyes burned, but when she lifted her head they were dry. Carefully she stretched out her legs one at a time, biting her lips when the movements tugged at sore muscles and punctured skin alike. Then her arms, then her back, then her neck. She had no weapons and no plan but she was quick, and maybe—just maybe—if the Beast thought she was wounded it would give her a chance to run.

She was doing her best to clean the dried blood from her skin when the door swung open, a huge blackness filling the space. She had never seen the massive shadow before, but then, she had not been looking for it. She had been looking for a shape the size of a man.

“Get up,” said the Beast.

Every muscle was rigid. The voice was still the one she knew, the musical bass with hints of wildness. But she recognized its ferocity now—and the voice no longer warmed her. Her bones were like ice.

“No.”

“Get up or we kill you now.”

Yeva clenched her jaw so tightly it ached. She dragged herself to her feet, playing up the soreness of her muscles and acting more stiffly than she felt.

“Come.” The shadow threw the blindfold at her and then moved from the doorway.

Now was her chance. Its back was turned, and she could try to run. Yeva glanced at the lighter area of shadow that told of the empty corridor. I am the captive of the monster who killed my father, she thought with sudden crystal clarity.

She hadn’t left her sisters behind for nothing. She hadn’t tracked her father and discovered him dead, only to die herself the captive of a Beast.

She knew now why she was here. She would see the monster dead.

Yeva fell into step behind it, following it by smell and sound down the corridor. From the sound of its steps it was limping. Her knife had wounded it. She felt a surge of satisfaction so strong her ears rang with the triumph.

“Where are you taking me?” she whispered, lifting the blindfold into place and securing it behind her head.

Into the quiet came its despicable voice once more. “Training.”





BEAST


We were wrong. There is no animal in her. The way she speaks to us now, so full of fury, is more human than anything we have experienced in many long years. Animals don’t hate. That is the rightful domain of humanity.

It is better this way, that she see us for what we are. We are pleased. She is strong still, despite her illness, and skilled. She will do what we require of her, and it will be done. We will be free.

There is no more subterfuge, no more pretending at humanity. We do not have to provide her assistance or hide in the shadows. We do not have to listen to her voice or her stories, we do not have to suffer her giving us a name as though we are a man. We do not have to feign feeling.

It is better this way. She has seen us and that, too, is freedom. It will go quickly now. We know this.

It is better.

It is better.

It is better.





EIGHT


YEVA FOLLOWED THE BEAST as it led her through a maze of corridors. She stumbled more than once, but the Beast did not offer its shoulder to guide her, and she did not ask. She thought there was a slight upward slant to their path, but she could not be sure until cold, clear light burst upon her, bright enough to see even through the blindfold.

The sensation of the heavy underground fell away, the air coming alive again with movement, smells, and distant sounds of life. The sun, pale and cold in the winter sky, was tangible on her skin.