*Ella*
By all accounts, the village we arrive in under a cloak of inky, starless darkness looks like a small town somewhere in my brother’s territory. Streetlights cast a wide, crumbling gravel street in muted light, and buildings made of wood and stone rise in the distance along curved roads. A narrow, lazy river winds through the village. We cross several bridges, our footsteps the only sound. Our group has been broken into smaller parties of three or four people, everyone in their human forms, everyone acting like they’re simply out on a midnight stroll.
As we walk further into the village, the buildings start to group closer together, and noise begins to cut through the hushed night air. There are no cars to be seen, but lighted signs and the sound of electricity buzz as we pass shops and what I believe are apartments.
It’s like home, but… different. Less polished, less refined. Less modern, I realize. I stare up at one streetlight as I pass beneath it and see the same strange, swirling ether within that I noticed at Amanda’s house back in Granite Rise.
“Where are we?” I ask Ryatt, who walks at a slow, but steady, pass behind me, only a few feet of distance between us. The rest of the group walks ahead. A shiver of understanding licks up my spine as I slowly turn to glance at him over my shoulder.
His hood is up, his body cloaked in darkness. I can only see the outline of his sharp jaw as he replies, “Twin Rivers.”
“Where’s the other river?” I ask with a laugh.
He says nothing, but I see the faint flicker of a smile pull on the visible side of his mouth.
When I turn back to the group, we’re cresting a hill, the gravel road turning to cobble stone that’s worn and chipped with age. At the top, my breath is stolen from my lungs, and I let out a short, strangled gasp.
The village spans another mile or so. A soft golden haze lifts above the short stone buildings and winding streets. But beyond the village is a river so wide it can fit several large boats end to end at one time, and beyond that?
“What is that?” I whisper, more to myself than anyone around me.
Ryatt steps up to my side, his hand pressed on the small of my back. I arch into his touch on impulse, my heart racing at the landscape beyond, like I’m seeking comfort and reassurance in his touch against my will.
“Rifthold,” he says with no emotion whatsoever.
Rifthold. It stretches as far as the eye can see. Towering buildings of shadow and darkness touch the sky. Below those gnarled, jagged skyscrapers is a city blanketed in a blue haze. Lights flicker across the river, and smoke rises from the buildings along the edge–the only ones totally visible. Warehouses, I think. It’s too far to see the details clearly.
My skin prickles with gooseflesh. This place is unlike any city I’ve ever seen.
“Your father’s territory?” I ask, my voice somehow steady as the words leave my lips.
“Past the river, yes. Twin Rivers is… neutral territory.”
Lawless, that’s what he means.
“We need to keep up with the rest of the group.”
“I have questions.”
“I likely have answers, but you’re not safe here–”
“Am I safe anywhere?” I lift my chin to look up at him.
“No,” he answers, the word short and clipped. He gives my back a little pat, a motion that says, “Get moving.”
I huff a breath and follow the rest of the group, which is now fanned out in front of us and across another narrow stone bridge.
I watch Thorne and his group go in one direction and the rest of the party in another, splitting down two different streets. I look down at the dark red cloak and pale cream dress Quinn gave me to change into once we reached the outskirts of the city and shifted back to our human forms.
“What should I expect to see at this auction?”
“Have you never seen one?”
“I’ve only heard of them. They’re highly illegal in my homeland.”
We round a corner, and I’m struck by noise and light. A sprawling night market spreads out in front of us, and I quickly lose sight of our group in the crowd. Ryatt’s fingers curl around my forearm. He pulls me closer, closing the distance between us as we wade through the market. The scent of food–fatty and rich–hits me hard, and my stomach curls around the hunger there. I haven’t eaten a real meal in days.
“We’ll eat afterward, I promise.”
“Are you reading my mind?” I growl, trying to yank free of him.
Beneath his hood, I see that cocky smile dust over his lips again. “It’s the bond. I can feel things, sense things about you.”
“Like what?” I ask sharply.
He tilts his head in thought as he guides me around a group of women bartering at a stall selling a huge variety of fish. “Like now, when your hate for me is so strong I can nearly taste it,” he rasps, leaning down to brush the words over my ear.
I flinch away from him, glaring at the boyish gleam in his smile. “I do hate you.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual, Princess.”
He guides us into an alleyway, and the sounds of the busy street fade, replaced by the clattering mechanics of pipes that stick out of the stone and brick walls that hug us as we walk deeper into the darkness.
Granger appears in the darkness, standing next to Quinn, who is dressed similarly to me. She looks incredibly beautiful–feminine–in the creamy dress and woven navy cloak that shields half of her face in shadow.
Ryatt lets go of my arm and backs away. “You do the talking,” he says to Granger and then disappears. I look around for him and frown.
“Where–”
“Follow my lead.” With that, Granger pulls open a door and ushers us inside.
Unease shoots over my skin as the smell of sweat, smoke, and liquor drifts toward me. Music plays somewhere below us as we stop out onto a metal balcony overlooking a riotous bar beneath us. There’s a stage, amber light spilling over the wooden platform, and my throat closes around my shock as a wiry elderly man turns a scantily clad young woman in a circle, her eyes covered by a blindfold.
“We’re fine. Come on,” Quinn whispers before taking my hand.
We follow Granger down the stairs into the throng of people pushing and shoving to get closer to the stage to watch the auction.
Granger seems to know exactly who he’s looking for to help us find Amanda. He stops in front of a short, stout man puffing on a cigar and leans down to speak to him. The man peaks around Granger, eyeing me and Quinn with interest.
“I’m not normally in the business of accepting Breeders off the street, ya here,” the man says, but his beady eyes rove over Quinn, then me. “But the tall one… yes, I have a client looking for someone like her. Big guy who wants his offspring to be born strong and tall. The other….” He purses his lips and examines Quinn more closely. “Not tonight, but we can hold her until the next auction. They like them small and dainty in Rifthold. She’ll fetch a better price there–”
The man lurches, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as his weight stumbles into Granger. Granger pulls his arm back, and I catch a gleam of metal as a blood coated knife comes free of the man’s stomach. Granger chuckles low in his throat and steadies the man. “You’ve had a bit too much to drink there, friend. Best sit down.” Granger takes the man by the shoulders and shoves him against the wall where he sways and then falls to the ground.
Quinn’s grip on my hand tightens, and then she’s moving me behind her. Shouts of panic and alarm crash through the auction. Dark shadows cut through the crowd, and people scream as six wolves start wreaking havoc.
I don’t see Ryatt anywhere.
“Go, now! They keep the girls in the back, behind the stage,” Granger shouts in our direction.
I’m moving before my mind has a chance to catch up. Quinn is behind me, ripping her cloak from her head to reveal her buzzcut hair and the murderous look in her eyes. We sprint onto the stage and behind the curtain. I nearly get knocked down by one of the wolves, but Quinn catches me by the arm and shoves me toward a darkened hallway.
I’m not prepared for what’s inside.
Blindfolded women–some very young–sit along benches with their wrists bound in iron manacles that are attached to the wall above their heads.
My mouth dries out, my mind going numb from shock and anger.
“Gods, where are the keys?” Quinn cries out and then grunts.
I turn to her just in time to see Quinn take a guard down, flipping him up and over her head like he weighs nothing. He lands on the wet stone floor, his head cracking with a juicy crunch that makes me want to throw up. “I don’t see Amanda. She’s not here,” Quinn continues.
“How do you even know what she looks like?” I snap. I go to the first woman and start trying to pry her wrists free of her restraints.
A crash echoes down the hallway, and shouts reach us. More guards.
“We need to go, now!” Quinn says sharply, drawing two long blades from the holsters around her thighs.
“I’m not leaving these women here like this,” I choke out. I can’t get the restraints off. They’re locked tight, but there’s something more. Something that’s binding them in place. Something like magic.
Ryatt be damned, I’m not leaving without freeing these women.
Red light snakes from my fingertips, my eyes glowing from the power I’ve kept a damper on for far too long. Damn his father and his hunt for me. Damn the consequences. Damn it all.
I whirl toward the approaching guards and scream, letting my light flood the room. The snapping of metal and the shouts and agonized cries of the guards blur my senses as wave after wave of power washes through my veins, illuminating the room.
‘Enough,’ Ryatt says through the mind-link, his voice cool and calm. ‘They’re free. Look.”
I open my eyes, expecting him to be right in front of me, but instead, I’m met with piles of smoldering guards, a shocked looking Quinn, and at least a dozen young, crying women shoving their blindfolds off to look down at their unbound wrists.
My mouth forms a perfect O as I look around. “Oh, shit,” I whisper, coming back to my senses. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“We need to go, now,” Quinn says hurriedly. She snaps her fingers at the women. “Get out of here!”
The women scatter, sprinting down the hallway, their bare feet clapping against the stone.
“Where are the rest of the men?” I ask as we ran down the hallway after them.
I’m given the answer within seconds as we run out onto the stage. The bar, once loud and full of people, is nearly empty save for a few bodies lying beneath overturned tables. Shattered glass reflects like diamonds from the buzzing lights high on the ceiling, and in the center of the room, Granger and Ryatt are getting dressed, surrounded by the rest of the group.
“Princess Amanda wasn’t here,” Quinn says, slightly out of breath.
Ryatt looks up at the stage, his face splattered with blood. Not his own, I hope.
I open my mouth to ask what we need to do next, but the words are stolen as something small and swift rushes between my legs and I screech in alarm.
A small red fox darts off the stage and lunges for Thorne, of all people. Thorne yelps in surprise.
Ryatt rushes him, saying, “Do not let her–”
But then a flash of golden hair covers Thorne from my view, and he crashes to the ground with a young woman in his arms. She’s beating the hell out of him, I realize.
Amanda, naked as the day she was born, wraps an arm around Thorne’s neck and pins him against her so he’s shielding her body from view. Her free hand has his own dagger pressed to his temple. Teeth bared, she looks around at the group of men, then up at me.
“About time you showed up, witch,” she grins.