Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Blast. Blast blast blast!
From directly behind her, the least welcome voice in all of Galoth whispered, “What are we hiding from?”
Lurching around, Sarya slapped her hand over Bannin the Blowhard’s mouth. Thick eyebrows as red as his hair shot upward and he stared at Sarya over her fingers.
Then his green eyes crinkled at the corners and the tip of his tongue tickled her palm.
Despite the racing of her pulse and the danger nearby—or perhaps because of them—Sarya felt that teasing lick over every inch of her skin. Her breath caught in her throat, and her wide eyes locked with his for a few endless beats of her heart.
Then she remembered. Fas Lergin…and that thing.
With a warning look, Sarya removed her hand—then swiftly raised her index finger in front of Bannin’s stupidly handsome face. No man who’d had a mother and who was still in possession of any bollocks he’d been born with had ever mistaken that signal to stay quiet.
Bannin apparently still had his bollocks, because his firm lips sealed shut. The gods knew, the silence wouldn’t last long. She didn’t think of him as the Blowhard without reason.
Quickly she gave him a once-over. Tall, thick, dense. Bannin was a giant oak of a man, but would his strength be enough against the thing she’d seen? Her gaze halted on his woodcutter’s axe.
That might be enough.
Putting her raised finger to her lips, she set down her basket and gestured for him to follow her.
He opened his mouth—likely to say something about following Sarya to her bed, because in the three years since she’d met Bannin, he seemed to blurt each thought straight from his cock. Then his gaze fell on the drag marks and trail of blood left behind by Fas Lergin’s body. Every bit of humor dropped away from his expression.
Sarya’s heart stuttered. Suddenly disoriented, she stared at his face, not recognizing the man in front of her.
But she knew this unfamiliar man, didn’t she? She’d heard stories about him…most of them told to her by the Blowhard himself. Bannin had traveled the world searching for the Stars of Anhera, hoping to break the curse that transformed many of Galoth’s citizens into statues; he was the now-legendary hero who’d slaughtered monsters and tyrants in his travels with Warrick the Cursebreaker.
In truth, Sarya had assumed that Warrick had done all the work while Bannin told all the jokes. Now, as his gaze hardened and a deadly intensity came over his features, she wasn’t so certain.
She could think on it later, however. After they’d stopped that thing.
Dragging the body had created a clear path through the trees. Moving as swiftly as caution allowed, Sarya followed with Bannin on her heels—his steps as quiet as hers, despite his great size. Perhaps she ought not to have been surprised. At the oak, he’d come upon her without making a sound.
Ahead, the bloodied trail approached a small clearing. Sarya slowed—then stopped.
The track had abruptly ended. From one step to the next, the trail disappeared. Yet no body remained. And the thing was gone, too.
Sarya’s breath hissed through her teeth. She turned a slow circle, searching. Nothing. Perhaps the thing had picked up the body and carried it. That would explain why the drag marks ended. Yet she’d heard its heavy, ponderous footsteps. Those would leave some track in the dirt. Even Sarya’s boots left an impression, though she was of slighter weight.
She looked to Bannin, who was eyeing the canopy of branches and leaves. Did he wonder whether the thing had hauled the body up there so there’d be no tracks to follow?
Uneasy, she studied the trees overhead. Again, nothing.
Voice low, Bannin asked, “What did you see?”
With anyone else, she might have hesitated before answering. But with anyone else, Sarya could imagine exactly how the conversation would go. She’d say that she saw Fas Lergin being dragged through the woods. They’d ask if she was certain it wasn’t a hunter with a deer. She’d point out the drag marks weren’t deer-sized. They’d suggest that she’d seen a hunter with a boar, instead. She’d say it wasn’t a human hunter, but a monster of some kind. They’d ask how much ale she’d drunk the previous night. She’d tell them she hadn’t drunk any ale (it had been cider) and not that much (only a mug with her supper)—because the past three years had been difficult and she hadn’t handled her losses well, but she was doing better now.
And she truly was. This last year had been much easier. Not fully good, but easier.
Then they’d say that everyone in Galoth had had a difficult time because of the stone sickness, and they hadn’t run off to hide in the forest and pickle their brains with ale until they were seeing monsters dragging dead people through the woods.