“Marcus,” I called urgently. “Marcus, please.”
He shook his head, his green eyes coming alert as he ran to his bag and carried it over with him. The scarred rider sat unmoving, watching the scene.
“Well, well, if we haven’t caught our three little mice,” he drawled, his eyes on me.
I glared at him before turning on Bronwyn who still stood hesitantly a few feet away. “What have you done?”
“It wasn’t exactly me,” she sighed, indicating behind her at the unrepentant rider.
“The two of you,” I rounded on Devyn. “You knew and kept going anyway.”
“It had been a while,” he said. “I wanted to see if she had improved any.”
He hissed as Marcus examined the hilt of the knife in his shoulder. Bronwyn watched worriedly.
“Dammit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t see his face. There were two men and we were looking for three of you. I thought they might be from the city in pursuit,” she gabbled, tripping over her words in an attempt to explain. “I’m sorry, Devyn.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t you who did it,” he snarled towards the now dismounted rider as we helped Devyn to the ground.
“What? Like I was going to sit there and let some Shadower scum scratch up my favourite princess,” Scar said as he stood over Devyn.
“I wasn’t going to harm her.”
“No way for me to know that,” he replied. Leaning down, Scar wrapped his hand around the knife where Marcus had removed Devyn’s shirt and was cleaning the entry site and pulled it roughly from where it sat just below Devyn’s shoulder.
The pain lanced through me, and I launched myself at the dark swirl of leather and cloak.
He caught me and we tumbled to the ground, his grip on my wrists holding my clawed hands at bay.
“Now, now, kitty cat, put your claws away… or do you want me to kiss it better?” he soothed, laughing in my face as he held me. I pulled and kicked ineffectually, wishing for a spark of magic to light within me. But with the real danger having dissipated, there was no sign of it.
“Let her go, Gideon, or I will end what’s left of your pretty-boy looks,” Devyn’s face growled from above us.
“Spoilsport.”
I was free and scrambled to stand and regain what dignity I had left.
I looked aghast at the blood trickling down Devyn’s torso before turning back to my recent wrestling partner. I pulled my arm back, tucked my thumb on the outside as Callum had taught me during a more practical session, and struck with full force right on his elegantly straight nose. His head reared back and when it righted, blood was pouring down his face, giving me the strongest sense of satisfaction I had known in a very long time.
“Ha,” he said, “it looks like your little kitten here can scratch, after all.”
“Good for you, Cass,” Bronwyn approved, turning to the tall, broad-shouldered warrior. “Enough, Gideon. Walk away.”
With a smirk in my direction he bowed out.
I glared at the oaf and, turning, caught the glance that Bronwyn and Devyn exchanged.
“It’s got to be said, I nearly had you.” Devyn smiled up at his recent opponent from where Marcus had seated him in order to tend his wound.
“Hardly,” she retorted.
“I held my own,” Devyn defended himself.
“Ha. Some champion,” Bronwyn bantered, while Marcus mopped blood from the wound to get a clear view.
A sadness haunted Devyn’s dark eyes as he watched the knife-throwing ass attend to his horse. “The path not walked.”
Bronwyn’s lids lowered to cover her eyes at her faux pas. “We’ll have to train you back up now though, hey?”
“He’s going to need stitches,” Marcus announced.
“You can’t just heal him?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head. “No, I’ve already tried. I don’t know how to treat open wounds with magic, and I don’t think I’ve recovered enough yet anyway. We’re going to need a fire,” he informed Bronwyn, her cold gaze reminding him that she hadn’t forgotten that they had unfinished business. “And a needle and thread.”
“Sounds fun,” Devyn murmured. His hand felt cold in mine and I wrapped both of mine around his, whether to warm him or reassure myself I wasn’t sure.
Devyn gritted his teeth and showed little sign of his pain as Marcus pulled the needle in and out of his flesh, stitching back together what Gideon had sundered. At Devyn’s warning glare, to show less concern I was forced to retreat out of the glade under the pretext that I was squeamish. Instead I walked off the tightness that wound every sinew and muscle in my body, before we mounted or doubled up on the horses to continue north.
I felt hollowed out as I watched Devyn sleep in the light of the fire while Bronwyn and scarface-ass Gideon argued over what to do in the morning. Frustrated by the pace of our travel with a wounded member, Gideon was arguing that we split up, with him taking Marcus and me ahead while Bronwyn could travel slowly behind with Devyn.
“No,” I said quietly across the fire, repeating it louder until they finally turned to look at me. “No, no, no.”
Gideon raised a brow, the arch pulling at the scar on his face.
“No?” he queried, the smirk
