Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Death on four legs. And if I don’t stop them,” he quietly stated, “they’ll lead the trappers straight to us. Trust me when I say we do not want to deal with the trappers at night.”
After what they’d done to those drivers? No. No, I didn’t want to deal with trappers at any time.
“Do not move, Moriah. You’ll be safe here. I’ll make sure of it. Besides, no one but me will be foolish enough to approach this area with rabdogs nearby.” That said, he was gone, taking his light with him.
The fire died bit by bit, snuffed out as thick shadows crept in. My breath caught as total darkness consumed me. The burn erupted in my ring finger, and in that moment I knew. Yes, the burn alerted me to danger, helping me navigate this new world. A turn of events I couldn’t fathom. Especially now, while my brain tossed out a thousand and two ways to die.
Deep breath in. Out. Muted sounds left me gasping. The noises grew louder. Louder still. My heart thudded. I feared for Jasher. I feared for myself. Time passed. Minutes. An hour.
Another hour.
Then another and another.
Still another. Fatigue warred with a deluge of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Sleep never came. Eventually, faint rays of morning light filtered through the canopy of branches and leaves overhead. No sign of Jasher. I licked chapped lips and lumbered to my feet. I’d take care of business and wait.
“Hello, sweetcake.”
The unfamiliar voice reached my ears a split second before rock-hard arms locked around my throat and waist, pinning me against an unforgiving body that reeked of filth. Fear overwhelmed me, a single thought screaming through my brain. Trapper!
So much for no one being foolish enough to approach me. Instinct screeched: Run! But though I fought with all my might, I failed to gain release. My captor merely laughed.
“I think I’ll marinate this meat in something spicy,” a new voice purred. A grinning man glided up to me. In his fifties, with crows feet, a comb-over, a thick mustache and normal attire. A beige shirt paired with loose slacks. Old-fashioned iron keys jingled from his waistband.
He gently pinched my chin, turning my face from side to side before skimming the tip of his nose up the curve of my throat and inhaling sharply. “I don’t normally chase my meals, but you were worth it, I must admit. Even more delicious-looking up close.”
A manic laugh burst from me. Yep. Trappers. They planned to eat me. Eat. Me. As in take a fork and knife to my internal organs. Campsite to table. Yet they looked so average.
“She belong to an official?” my abductor asked.
Mr. Mustache grabbed my hand, lifted my palm into the light, and snickered. “Oh, yeah. She’s a sacrifice for Governor West.”
“Bounty hunters are pursuing her, then.”
“They won’t find anything but her bones.” He repeatedly flicked his tongue at me, and there was no hiding my cringe. “I’m Tommy. And you are?”
“Not on today’s dinner menu.” I had one option. Bluff. “My companion is currently killing your rabdogs. If you harm me, he’ll kill you next. I’d rather not have to mop up excess blood.”
“Sweetcake,” he repeated, and tsked as if he felt sorry for me. “Your companion is already dead.”
No! No, no, no. Jasher wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He was too strong, too capable.
Tommy canted his head to the side, deepening his study of me. “She reminds me of someone.”
“A feast you’ve enjoyed before?” his friend asked.
“Yeah. That’s gotta be it.” His grin returned and widened. “I claim first bite.”
CHAPTER 8
A TASTY SNACK
My legs shook from exertion, and my feet throbbed. With shackles around my wrists, four trappers on horseback paraded me and two other captives they’d picked up along the way through their camp. A clearing surrounded by towering trees, with a patchwork quilt of grass and sand. Men, women, and children dressed in clean but plain linens poured from well-made tents. The growing crowd cheered with delight. Murmurs of “banquet” arose, and many interested gazes landed on me.
I ground my teeth, combatting a surge of bile as I scanned the faces of the onlookers, noting the plumpness of their cheeks. They ate well, and they ate often.
Monstrous animals roamed the site, blasting aggression. They were some kind of wolf-hyena-humanoid hybrids. The so-called rabdogs? They were wiry and might have been as tall as the trappers if they’d stood to full height. Except, they prowled on all fours. Though the legs up front appeared to be claw-tipped arms. They possessed mid-size snouts, huge teeth, and abnormally arched spines.
Had this pack killed Jasher?
Reminded of the executioner’s fate, I bit my tongue to stop a whimper and tasted blood. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.
Distracted, I missed seeing the rock in my path. When my bare toe slammed into it, I winced, doing my best to stay silent, keep walking, and remain upright. I’d stealthily kicked off my boots a few miles back, when we’d come upon a briar patch, eager to leave a blood trail for easy tracking. Just in case. Although, Jasher’s survival wouldn’t change the words he’d spoken to me. On your own.