I awakened with a start the following day, sitting straight up in bed. It took me several moments to remember where I was. I’d had the normal nightmare, but worse. Each time it ended, I found myself back at the beginning. No matter what I tried, it led to the moment where the trigger was pulled.

Bile was hot and acrid along the back of my throat. Water. I needed water. I reached blindly for the bedside table, and I tipped back the the bottle only to find bourbon gliding down my throat. The bitter taste cut out the memory, and I drank greedily.

Not that there was much left.

I sighed, tasting the air around me. Herbs, lavender, and burning cedar wood fill my lungs as I tried to settle down. Sweat covered me despite the chill, and a bead of it rolled down my face.

I looked around my bedroom. The walls were a natural deep wood. The bay window, complete with loveseat, was next to an old desk with hand-carved symbols of every culture. All of it was familiar, yet distant. Like I had heard a stranger describe it instead of living here myself.

Sighing, I looked back down at the bed.

And suppressed a scream.

I saw a head of reddish-brown curls next to me within the blankets. The chest went up and down evenly with sleep. My heart thundered as I recognized the birthmark on the shoulder. I raised a hand to the figure, my entire body going cold.

I blinked, and the figure was gone, replaced with a large section of bunched up blanket. My hand traced one of the embroidered lilies on the black fabric.

I stared at it a moment longer, then reach to the bottle at the nightstand again.

A prickling pain danced across my wrist, and I looked down.

“Fuck,” I muttered. My shadow ward tattoo, the picture of an ornate skull inside a flame, was glowing bright red. I had stumbled into the house at nearly daybreak, but the habit of setting up my shadow wards had kicked in. Now, staring at the glowing image, my mind centered on one thing.

Someone was on my property.

I was out of the bed in an instant. I ripped my satchel open and pulled out a small glass bottle. A red liquid floated inside. The cap was a small eyedropper with a small label.

Hunter’s eye.

Without hesitation, I pulled it out, and put a single drop in each of my eyes. I hissed as the viscous liquid hit them. It burned like a bitch.

I traced my tattoo, and the world became a dazzling array of colors. The walls became a cool gray, but anywhere that gave off heat became a varying shade of red, yellow, blue, or orange. Living things showed up white in this spectrum, their bright outlines visible even through walls.

I looked around, and finally saw the form of a crouched man near the front porch.

There you are, I thought as I pulled my gun belt on over my hips. I was still in my loose shirt and underwear, but I didn’t want to waste the time getting dressed.

He wasn’t going to be looking at my body anyway.

I crept through the house, triggers cocked, and flatted myself against the wall next to the front door. Counting to three, I wrenched the door open and prepared to shoot.

“Morning,” said a male voice dryly, cracking a bit. I paused, knowing that voice.

“Zachariah?” I asked. I looked his way, but could only see the blazing white form of a man, his clothing a scorching red. I traced the lines of my shadow ward tattoo, and the effect went away.

Sure enough, Zachariah was crouched over the small herb garden next to the porch. His sleeves were pushed up, and he held some shears for trimming the plants. He checked over his shoulder at me, taking in my exposed legs and loose shirt. Then he looked me in the face, a brow raised.

Rolling my eyes, I holstered my pistols and turned back toward the door.

“I’m going in to get dressed. And then we are having words,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him. He shrugged, returning his attention to the garden, as if to say Whatever you say, so long as you put something on.

After I cleaned up, Zachariah and I sat down for a late breakfast. He surprised me by producing some eggs and fresh ingredients for biscuits. He cooked the whole thing, permeating the house with the smell of a homemade meal.

“Zachariah, have you been guarding the house while I was gone?” I asked bluntly, gulping coffee down. It was all extremely good. Better than any breakfast at the inns I’d stayed at. I looked around, and saw that the stable and gardens had been well-tended. I had expected some holes in the roof and mice to have moved in by now. But no. The house, and the property it stood on, was exactly as I had left it three years ago.

Zachariah shrugged as he took another bite.

“Fayra loved this place. You two were happy here,” he said, as if it were the simplest matter in the world.

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“I…I don’t know what to say except…well…thank you,” I said soberly, and stood to pour more coffee into his mug.

He continued eating in silence for a while.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he muttered suddenly, taking me by surprise. Despite the heavy heart, I felt myself smile.

“I’m happy to see you too. I missed you,” I said. We both looked at the other and, as always with Zachariah, no other words were necessary. I finished my second biscuit as he finished his first.

“Is your brother still visiting you?” I asked, and Zachariah nodded, his eyes going distant.

“Have you learned--”

A fist hammered on my front door as rapidly as a woodpecker looking for mealworms. Zachariah and I exchanged a look as he reached into his jacket, but I waved him off.

“I think I know who this is.”

He nodded, and looked out the window. He angled his head, and a moment later, he dashed into the guest bedroom. My guess confirmed, I didn’t need to look to know whose buggy would be parked outside.

“Myra, if you don’t stop trying to beat my door down, I’ll use your dress as kindling for the fireplace,” I called through the door. The hammering paused, and I opened it to reveal a scandalized-looking Myra. Her hands clasped a parasol, which I had no doubt she had been using to make all the racket.

“Did you just threaten to burn me?!?” Myra hissed, her face nearly the same color as her pink and red day dress. I leaned against the doorway, blocking her entry.

“Who said you’d still be wearing the dress?” I said, making her face flush even more before she schooled her features into narrowed-eyed loathing.

“Why are you here?” I asked finally as I heard Zachariah close the door to hide himself in the guest bedroom. I didn’t blame him.

Myra looked at me as if I’d just asked if water was wet.

“You are my body guard,” she said slowly, as if explaining it to a child.

“Guard. Me.”

“Last time I checked, I had two weeks until I had to give a shit about that,” I replied, not moving an inch. I could already feel a headache brewing. Violently.

Myra rolled her eyes.

“Father says I’m to be with you for the remainder of time leading up to the ceremony. You can’t guard me from all the way across town.”

I stared at her blankly.

“I’ll make this simple. No.”

Myra blinked at me in surprise.

“Father didn’t tell you about this?”

“Nope.”

The chickenshit didn’t say a damn word, I thought privately. Myra looked unsure, checking over her shoulder at her buggy. I took the moment to start to close the door.

“And with that, I bid you a good day. Don’t let the door hit you where the gods split you,” I said, sarcasm dripping from each word. Myra wedged her shoe in it to stop me.

“Miss Rowena, if it were up to me, I’d be a thousand miles away from you at all times. But here we are. Can we simply make this easy on one another? For once?” she said and reached into her handbag. After a moment of digging, she pulled out a sealed letter with the Beaufoutonte crest on it.

“Here. Father said if you were difficult to have you read this.”

I stared at her before breaking the seal, thinking of every possible way to skewer Lord Beaufoutonte alive. Then I read:

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Lady Rowena McAlister,

I would like to first impress upon you my sincere appreciation of you consenting to care for my daughter as her protector.

Since our previous correspondences, there has been a change in circumstances which I hope you will accommodate.

Last week, three assassination attempts were made directly upon my family, They killed no less than twenty of my best personal guards. I am sure that Myra would not think to explain this to you, because one of these attempts nearly succeeded. This event has terrified her.

Moreover, some of my associates have been victim to successful attempts on their lives, and this has spread to their families. We are collecting our efforts to protect one another. However, I fear that MyraBelle’s safest place is away from me for the time being.

Given your wide talents and abilities, I entrust her safety to you. And I ask, as a loving father, please keep my daughter safe. Give her the protection I cannot in the days to come.

With Earnest,

Lord Henry Beaufoutonte

P.S. I am prepared to double your fee if you consent to this.

I stared at the paper as if it were snake.

The wily old bastard. I knew what ploy this was. He had waited to tell me this until Myra showed up at my doorstep. He clearly hoped I would feel awkward and agree.

I partially crumpled the letter as I finished reading and looked at Myra. Really looked at her. There were shadows beneath her eyes she had made a vain attempt to cover. There were worry lines on her face that hadn’t been there when I left. Here she was, barely twenty-five, and already forming wrinkles from strife. I reread the letter again, focusing on one paragraph.

Moreover, some of my associates have been victim to successful attempts of their lives, and this has spread to their families…

And then I thought of Stone’s warning about the dying Deified.

“Fuck,” I murmured under my breath, putting the paper back in its envelope.

“What?” Myra asked. She reached for the letter, but I held the envelope out of her reach.

“The word I said was fuck. Get used to it. You will hear it a lot while you stay here. I don’t want to hear a gods damned word of complaint. Go unhitch your horse,” I said, and shut the door on Myra. I immediately went to my desk and wrote a quick reply.

Triple it, and we have a deal,

Your most esteemed body guard

I grabbed a McAlister bullet shell casing and pressed it into the melted wax seal as my signature. Then I threw the Lord’s letter into the fire. I watched as the paper curled, and the words faded.

*******

Myra did complain as we unloaded her things. Frequently. She had brought several, and I do mean several, trunks full of gods knew what. There was also no shortage of comments about my “humble” home and how the guest room was “quaint” and “cozy”.

Tch. I knew that was her way of saying my log cabin house was a far cry from the estate she came from.

Eventually though, Myra had simply fallen silent and unpacked her belongings. It was well into the afternoon by the time we finished.

The worst part was stabling Myra’s horse. She was a rare breed of mountain mare named Belle. Much like her owner, her coat was a rich auburn with fiery tones of red in the right light.

Also like her owner, Belle disliked me with a vengeance. She tried to bite me no less than five times as I closed the gate to her stall. She only stopped when I threatened to sell her to the butcher.

Myra came back onto the porch as I put Dusk’s saddle on him and tightened the strap.

“We’re going into town. Get on Dusk. Belle is too tired to carry you for now,” I called to Myra, swinging myself into Dusk’s saddle. Myra stood on the porch and crossed her arms.

“But its past lunch time. I need to eat soon!” Myra said, as if it were perfectly obvious.

“Sounds like you should have eaten before you tried to beat my door down,” I said as I pulled my gloves on. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and tied it loosely near the ends of the strands.

“I had assumed there would be a meal when I got here,” she said, looking back toward my kitchen. My eyes tracked the motion, then returned to her.

“Oh no. No,” I said quietly, “I know you did not just suggest that I cook for you.”

“Oh my dear goodness!” Myra said, giggling, “No my dear Miss Rowena. I suggested someone else cook for the pair of us. Someone tall, rugged, and possibly owns a tavern. Someone who, apparently, has been setting his boots under your bed.”

Despite everything, I smiled.

“This just keeps getting better. You think Zachariah and I are sleeping together?” I asked. She sent me a saucy smile in reply, her fingers drumming on her cheek.

“Hun, you don’t know how wrong you are. And I don’t have time for this. Get on,” I said, chuckling a bit. Myra’s facetious smile vanished, her game cut short. Wordlessly, she turned away from me and walked into the house. A minute later, she emerged, carrying one of Zachariah’s biscuits in a napkin. Finally, she pulled herself on Dusk and sat side-saddle. She took a tiny bite as I urged him forward.

*******

The wind was biting along the road. A wind that promised longer nights, hoarfrost, and ice-crusted snow. My ears pricked with the cold before long, and my uncovered hair held little warmth against it. Winter would definitely be in full swing early this year. Myra shivered against my back, but for once she kept quiet. My house was several miles from town. Court Road gave dazzling views of the landscape as we rode.

Tumblend was a small town settled along the western planes of Luradia. There were a series of side streets leading to overreaching farms of golden wheat, corn, and cattle. Trees were seldom around this area. What few there were had short and thick trunks with far-reaching braches to cast large pools of shade. A few leaves clung to their branches now, the deep red and orange carpeting the ground beneath them.

Other than the sparse trees, there was largely flat landscape of ranches and farms until you reached the Mirth hills closer to the Yari mountains, but that was over eighty miles west from here.

Flowing toward town was the Silkendale river, which fed into the Borobelly lake. Even from the road, it glittered in the sunlight. A huge white ferry could be seen belching steam into sky. Its red turnstile wheel at the back rotated lazily in the current. The wheel alone was taller than two men.

And of course, to the northwest, was the Kenshi Ethereal Forest, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Many people from Tumblend lived and died without seeing the other side, or even stepping within the black thunderwood trees.

I kept Dusk closer to Court Road, which ran along the river. We were still around a half-mile outside town when we came upon the gallows, which had a large crowd surrounding it today.

“Miss Rowena, I have a strange question,” Myra said abruptly. I looked over my shoulder and raised a brow at her. Myra squirmed a bit under my stare.

“Erm…What…What does using a Mark feel like?”

I went still, every muscle in my body feeling like iron. I waited several moments to reply to her.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked as I turned back forward to hide my face from her.

I heard Myra answer, but it was drowned out by the roar of the crowd around the gallows. My attention stolen, I looked more closely at the people as Dusk approached.

The gallows looked like a large stage with an apparatus hanging three nooses. Three prisoners, their hands bound with chains behind their backs, stood behind each noose. Each prisoner had an unearthly beauty about them. Every hair was perfectly tousled. Their muscular bodies boasted sensuality, even though they were notably dirty from days in jail. The dirt did nothing to detract from their beauty, however. It just made them more rugged. They each had curved horns protruding from their scalps, and large leathery wings extending from their backs, which were chained as well.

Incubi.

Sherriff Stone was off to the side with a lever for the trapdoors. A man stood next to Stone, his simple clothing identifying him as working class. Even from the back of the crowd, I could see his eyes were a raw red from tears. The man was thin, but he had thick arms and calloused hands. Those hands were shaking as his head bowed low, his chest heaving a bit more.

“Oh no. I didn’t know today was the day,” Myra said, her voice somber. I felt her lift her hands to her lips.

“What did those men do?” I asked, not taking my eyes from the scene. Stone called for silence, but it had little effect on the excited crowd.

“They’re the sons of Levira Casanaddi, the owner of the Blue Flame,” Myra said. I nodded, recognizing that place. Since the war ended, many of the other races had started to mix with humanity. That is, every race except for the Elemancers. They mostly kept to themselves. Mostly.

The Blue Flame was the only casino in Tumblend. It was run by Levira Casanaddi, a succubus. Her family helped to run it with her.

“They went to collect a debt ran up by the butcher’s sons, but ended up killing them. But what’s worse is what they did to the butcher’s daughter.”

My veins turned to ice.

“They caught the brothers and made them watch while they took turns…they…” Myra’s voice became thick, and I heard her swallow.

“They raped her. Then they killed her,” I finished for her in a deadly quiet. I felt Myra nod against my back.

“SILENCE!” Stone bellowed, his deep voice booming over the crowd. His face was set in a grim mask. This time he managed to calm everyone down, and eventually there was only feint murmurings as people returned their attention to him.

“Casanaddi brothers, you stand today sentenced to die in retribution for the murders of Liam, Peter, and Simon Tensin. In addition, you stand to die for the rape and murder of Melissa Tensin.”

At this, the crowd stirred up again. Stone plowed on, and they quieted once more.

“In accordance to standard law, the family of those whom you have wronged may deliver your punishment. Here stands John Tensin, who has stated his desire to do so.”

Stone paused to look at the Incubi calmly.

“May you rot in Death’s darkest hell for all time.”

I raised a brow because Stone had deviated from the usual script. He was supposed to say "May the Gods have mercy on your souls."

Well, I supposed after Fay died he felt differently for cases like this. The crowd noticed his breach of conduct too, and murmured more as the man next to Stone stepped forward, his face lifted for the first time. He and Stone glanced at one another, then Stone looked at the brothers. I did as well, and stifled a growl.

All three of them were smirking. There was no fear or remorse to be seen.

Ba-dum. My heart thudded in my chest.

Ba-dum. The black pool inside me stirred again, my hands reaching for my pistols.

Ba-Dum. I could already see the way I would kill them. I would do it slowly. I wouldn’t stop their torment. Even when they begged for mercy, I would--

I hissed, and my mind returned to the present.

I focused on the gallows again. The butcher had noticed the Incubi’s smirks as well, and his expression went dark. He seemed to consider something, then turned back toward Stone.

“Sherriff, I have a request,” he said in a surprisingly strong tone. His voice echoed over the crowd.

“I would like to kill these men myself. In hand to hand combat rather than hanging. If they kill me, they can go free.”

Shock rippled over the crowd, everyone whispering to one another. They all knew one man stood no chance against a single Incubus. Let alone three. Even the Incubi looked shocked.

Stone stepped forward, his jaw set, and I could see the “no” on his lips already. The butcher turned and whispered something in Stone’s ear.

Stone went still. His eyes flecked from the butcher, then to the brothers, and back again. Finally, he looked fully at the butcher, who nodded. I was shocked when I saw him step back.

“So be it. Guards, undo their bonds,” Stone said. His eyes found me in the crowd, and then I knew what was about to happen.

The Casnaddi brothers each rolled their wrists as their chains hit the wooden stage. Just then, I realized how tall each of them were. The butcher looked like a child by comparison. He patiently stood off to the other side of the stage. The brothers regarded one another, chuckling darkly.

With inhuman speed, two of them pinned the butcher’s arms behind his back. His face twisted with pain as they did it. The third came to stand in front of him and let out that beautiful laugh again.

“All you humans are the same. Grief makes you stupid,” the Incubus said in a melodic voice. Before the butcher could respond, he punched him in the face. He slumped, but the Incubi at his arms hauled him up again. One pulled on his hair to force his face into view.

“Rowena, I don’t want to see this!” Myra hissed at my back. I didn’t move.

“Just wait,” I muttered, my eyes never leaving the butcher.

The second punch landed, and the Incubi pulled the butcher up again. They yanked his head back once more.

All three stopped.

The butcher’s eyes gave off a radiant blue light. Growing brighter by the second, it trailed from a unseen Mark on his neck. The Incubi let go of him as if they had been burned. They looked at one another, and their wings extended to fly. In moments they were over twenty feet in the air.

The butcher watched them, then jumped.

In a flash he was back on the stage, pinning the Incubi to it by their wings. The Incubi howled in pain and tried to struggle.

The butcher, John Tensin, smiled.

“Myra,” I said, looking back at her. She met my eyes, her face a horrified mask.

“You wanted to know what it’s like to burn a Mark? Well, study closely.”