Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Wren takes my arm gently but firmly. “Come now, dear. Time to go.”
As Wren guides me away from the clearing, away from the glowing mushrooms and death moths and whatever confrontation is about to happen, I keep looking back over my shoulder.
Blue is already deep in conversation with Ash and the woman who shouldn’t exist, his plague doctor mask forgotten in his hand.
And I’m being escorted home like a child sent to bed while the adults handle the real problems.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Blue
The first crossbow bolt punches through the bark inches from my head, sending splinters into the night air like wooden shrapnel.
I shove Cordelia behind the nearest tree as chaos erupts across the celebration. Costumed dancers scatter in every direction, their screams cutting through the hypnotic music as black-clad figures emerge from the forest like Death itself stepping from shadow.
The Crow have come calling.
“How many?” Ash appears at my elbow, his casual linen shirt a stark contrast to the violence unfolding around us.
I count muzzle flashes between the trees, catalog the advancing shapes cutting through the bioluminescent maze like they’ve done this before. “Twenty. Maybe thirty.”
“Fuck.” Hans materializes on my other side, his medieval knight costume suddenly looking less theatrical and more practical. The chainmail across his chest could actually stop a blade, and the sword at his hip isn’t a prop. “We are very outnumbered, Boss.”
Another crossbow bolt shatters the glowing mushroom beside Cordelia’s head, spraying phosphorescent spores across her silver dress. She doesn’t scream or run like the other civilians. She just crouches lower, waiting for instructions.
“Go! Now!” I shout to her. I turn to Ash, “What about the residents?” I ask, already knowing the answer will complicate everything.
“Dame Gothel’s getting people out through the old logging road,” Ash reports, calm despite the gunfire now echoing through the trees. “But they’ll need time.”
Time we don’t have. The Crow are advancing in a coordinated pattern, driving people away from the paths that lead back to town. They’re herding us toward the heart of the clearing where the scattered trees provide cover but no escape routes.
I pull my axe from beneath my coat, the familiar weight settling into my palm like coming home. “How long can we hold them?”
“Long enough,” Hans says, but it seems he’s not fully convinced.
My plague doctor mask lies somewhere in the chaos behind me as I scan the tree line, forgotten the moment the first bolt flew. The Crow are positioned to cut off every escape route. Professional killers using a magical forest celebration as their hunting ground.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
“There!” Ash points toward a figure stepping into the clearing’s edge. “Brutus.”
Brutus “The Beast” Crow steps into the clearing, and I remember why they call him the Beast. He’s massive—six and a half feet of muscle and scar tissue wrapped in tactical gear. The man looks ready for war, which makes sense considering the circumstances.
The gunfire stops with the sudden finality of an orchestra conductor dropping his baton. Brutus raises his hand, and every Crow in the forest freezes in position. Discipline like that comes from years of working together, of trusting absolutely in your leader’s judgment.
We’re fucked.
“Blue!” Brutus booms across the clearing. “I hear you’ve been redecorating with my people. You need serious fucking help, my man. I thought I was sadistic but you . . .”
I step away from the tree, axe loose in my grip. “Brutus. Should have known you’d show up eventually.”
“Couldn’t let you have all the fun.” His laugh is exactly as unpleasant as I remember. “But I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.”
Brutus gestures to his men positioned throughout the forest. “We’ve got you completely surrounded. No way out except through us, and there’s a lot more of us than there are of you.” He pauses, apparently enjoying his moment of tactical superiority. “But I’m feeling generous tonight.”
“Generous how?”
“Fair fight. You, me, and whoever wants to dance. No guns.” Brutus pulls a massive machete from his belt, the blade gleaming in the mushroom light. “Just steel and skill. Old school.”
Hans steps up beside me. “Boss, this is obviously trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap.” I don’t take my eyes off Brutus. “But it’s the only chance we’ve got.”
Ash appears on my other side, and I notice he’s somehow acquired a knife that clearly was designed for killing rather than cake decorating. “What are the terms?”
“Simple,” Brutus calls back. “Last man standing wins. You kill us all, you walk away. We kill you . . .” He shrugs. “Well, we’ll make it quick. Professional courtesy.”
I consider our options, which is a short mental exercise since we don’t have any. Twenty trained killers versus the three of us and a forest full of panicking locals. The math isn’t encouraging.
Years of murder sobriety, gone in an instant. But if this buys Saylor and Wren time to get away, if this keeps her alive, then it’s worth it. Peter asked me to protect his daughter. Hans is willing to die for that promise. The least I can do is break my sobriety.