I locate my bag I dropped to deal with the Bonewalker. It takes some serious finagling to dig the vial out with my currently clawed hands. Not nearly as dexterous as a human hand. I uncork the bottle with a canine. I have to bite the vial between my teeth and roll onto my back to empty it in my mouth.
This time, it’s like being pulverized as my bones and skin decompress, and I alter back into my natural form. I lie on my back, panting, completely naked…in the fucking Blood Wood. That thought has me scrambling off the ground in a flurry.
Among the leaves is the Bonewalker’s clawed arm, blood dripping from the stump. A gleam catches my eye, and I lean over. Three dirty yet definitely fine jeweled rings decorate bony fingers. A Scion? No time to spare thought to it, I dig my pants out of the bag and tug them on, saying fuck it to all the rest as I sprint after her. The fuck does she even think she’s doing?
Unraveling a bag fromaround his arm, he tugs out a shirt in jerky motions. He doesn’t speak as he stuffs his arms into the sleeves, only glaring as he works at the buttons. He digs in the bag, extracts a pair of boots, and throws them at the ground. “You’re turning out to be a real pain in the ass.”
I grip the hilt of the knife tighter in a shaking hand, forcing the terror climbing my parched throat down with a thick swallow. “W—what are you doing here?” I ask, hating the way my voice quavers.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks, throwing out a hand. “I’m saving your stupid ass.”
They must need me for something.I take another hefty step back. “What do you want with me?”
He makes an incredulous sound, halfway between a laugh and a growl, and points a single finger. “You think I asked for you? I didn’t. I don’t want you, nought.”
“Then—just—let me go.”
His gaze drifts over me, lingering on my arms, which are dripping blood across the leaves. The intensity in his eyes lessens a fraction as he heaves a breath. “You’ve made a real mess of yourself,” he says taking a step forward.
“Don’t!” I warn, lifting the knife higher as I back up several more paces.
He eyes the knife in my outstretched hand and quirks a brow, completely unfazed. “What are you going to do, nought? Kill me?”
He doesn’t think I’ll do it, butI will.I don’t take my eyes away from him for a second. His fingers twitch into a motion that’s already become familiar to me, and he frowns, searching until he lands on the locket around my neck. An angry recognition lights in his eyes.
Shit.
He knows.
I need to be smart about this.
I lower the knife in feigned resignation, and he nods once, seemingly pleased with that. Stupid asshole. He looks down to fumble in his bag again, and I use the moment to my advantage, rear the knife back, and hurl it as hard as I can at his face. I imagine it making a home there, embedding deep in his eye. It merely slices him across the temple and clatters to the ground.
“Fuck,” he swears, pulling a hand up to the line of blood beading against his skin. I turn on my heel and book it, rustling in my bag to draw the last knife out.
It’s not long before his thunderous footsteps close in behind me. Lungs bursting with sharp heaves, I urge my body to move harder, faster. The damage from the roots has cost me and my vision starts to haze. A panicked yelp spews from my lips as his footsteps sound closer…closer. In a last ditch effort, I feign left and dart right. My legs are suddenly ripped out from underneath me as he tackles me.
We crash to the ground hard, hot, fiery pain lancing up my injured shoulder and roll in a tangle of flailing limbs. I end up laid out on my back with him crawling over me to straddle my hips.
Somehow, I’ve managed to keep hold of the knife. I lodge it back, using all my strength to launch my arm forward. With the knife mere inches from his face he catches my wrist, snaps my hand to the side and pries it from my fingers before tossing it. “Gods, you’re really going to stab—“ A strangled groan works up from deep in his throat as I tear at him, sink my nails into the cut across his temple, and dig as hard as I can.
Wrenching my hands from his face, he pins them to the ground above my head. I thrash against him with wails that are more animal than human. “Stop it,” he demands, voice booming with authority. He leans forward, aligning his seething face with mine. “I’mtryingnot to hurt you.”
He’s still panting, trying to catch his breath, and I’m assaulted by the warm wafts of air. “Get the fuck off of me!” I scream, lifting my legs and my hips in an attempt to kick him, buck him off—anything. It’s futile as he simply shifts his hips forward, planting his massive form more firmly against me.
“Stop--Gods, don’t do that,” he chides. I continue thrashing for a moment, but my aggravation riles up the daemon, and I fall still, muscles tensing as it begins shooting swift, painful shocks through my body.
His hands shift around mine, and I wrestle against him with a snarl. He holds them pinned in one hand as he uses the other to swipe at my neck. Realizing his intention, I throw my face forward and sink my teeth into his arm. Ripping his hand back with a grunt he flings it a few times with a look that’s outright incredulous. He can’t believe I’d do such a thing. He goes for the locket again, managing to restrain me by my hair as he tugs at the chain and rips it free.
He fumbles with it, manages to pry it open one-handed before he scrutinizes it in his palm.
“That’s mine,” I snarl. “Give it back.” Blood drips down his face where I’ve cut and clawed him, and a drop splatters against my cheek. I shake my head with a frenzied noise of disgust.
“I should’ve known,” he mutters to himself, squeezing the locket in his hand. “This! This is what’s been making me feel so fucking awful.”
I dig my nails further into the hand restraining my wrists.
“Gods. Calm. Down,” he demands. He lodges his hand back and throws the locket into the nearby woods.
