Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

19. Vera

Chapter 19

Vera

I hadn’t believed my eyes when I saw the Class A criminal Rhette was supposed to cuff, the Tulip-killing mercenary, drop into the goblin’s nest. At first, I’d thought that somehow he’d discovered I’m a Tulip and he was here to capture me for the reward. But instead, apparently, he’s only here to rescue me. And now I’m following him, more like being pulled, toward what looks very much like a steep drop-off. The edge looms quickly closer, but he isn’t slowing, and neither are his friends, which means neither am I. My feet miss a step for every three with the way the large men are practically lifting me to run faster. The four of us are linked by hands, so I don’t really have a choice. Even if I tried to stop them, I couldn’t. And if I could, I wouldn’t. Jump in the deadly river with the mercenary and his friends, or be skinned and killed by goblins? Horrid options. I keep pace with them the best I can.

Just before the drop off, the criminal shouts over his shoulder, “No matter what, don’t let go!”

Then he and the others pull me off the edge. I’m not sure which is louder—the blood rushing in my ears or the river below. A panic-induced scream rips from my throat, but the two men holding my hands keep them wrapped tightly enclosed in theirs. A steep, short hill leads directly into the river—there is nowhere else to go. Images of dark, hungry river creatures flash through my mind. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I instinctively grasp their hands tighter, knowing that my best chance of survival is with these awful criminals, at least for now. They seem willing to rescue me at this point, so I’ll go with that. Without them, I’ll likely end up ripped apart and shared between river creatures as a midnight snack.

We slide through a steep mix of dirt and mud. I slide down on my back, hitting all sorts of rocks, sticks, and plant life that have found a way to grow out of the hill. My body aches, and I’m sure I’ll have bruises and scratches, if I survive. Somehow, toward the bottom, my hands are still in theirs. And then we are free-falling, cool air rushing around my body before I hit breathtakingly cold water with a loud clap.

Heavy silence fills my ears, the pressure of our drop beneath the deep water pressing against my body, and it begins to ache as we sink lower and lower in the darkness. It’s murky black, but it doesn’t stop me from searching the depths for the reptilian, monstrous creatures who inhabit these waters. All I see are big blotches of darkness appearing and disappearing at random, and I feel the darkness of the magic that gives them life. My lungs feel pressed to my spine, and dots begin to dance in my eyes, then after what feels like too long, my arms are yanked above me, and I begin sluggishly kicking to help in reaching the surface. The added weight of my wet clothing and boots are like literal anchors at my feet as we kick our way up, but finally, we break the surface. I take in a single lungful of air before I’m drug beneath again. Once more, two hands are pulling mine to get me above the surface .

I hate water. I’m not a confident swimmer, and it shows. I feel the current of the river pulling us, and though it seems like we are moving in the same direction as the current, when we climb out, we could be hundreds of miles in the opposite direction with no explanation. The river has a mind of its own.

I look behind and see desperate goblins falling into the river behind us, screeching and flailing. They can’t swim, so I know they can’t hurt us in the water, but I watch in horror as they begin to disappear under the surface, snatched away too quickly for them to have drowned. A shiver of disgust runs down my spine, and I kick faster, hoping my flailing feet don’t make contact with anything solid beneath the surface of this cursed river. Other goblins disappear, seemingly into thin air, and I assume the river decides to send them somewhere else. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

My attention returns to the men at my sides, the criminal still grasps my left hand, his dark-haired friend my right. The friend with light brown hair, who looks more innocent than he can possibly be, is on the end, to the right of the dark-haired man. It’s difficult to stay above the surface with the awkward swimming I’m forced to endure while hand holding, but I know if we let go, we’ll probably be separated. I certainly can’t have my bounty escaping now that he’s so conveniently in my hands. Quite literally.

Suddenly, the man on the end shouts and struggles. He pulls his sword from its sheath and stabs it into the water with a grunt. I see darkness bloom beneath the water and stare with wide eyes. Nothing happens for a moment, and just as I think it’s safe to assume he’s killed whatever attempted to attack, he’s yanked beneath the surface. The dark-haired man jerks and strains to keep hold of his friend and stay above the surface, but in his effort, he, I, and the criminal begin to struggle and slip beneath, as well. The first man’s head bobs above the surface with a strangled gasp and then disappears, dragging us beneath once again.

This is the beginning of what it feels like to die in the depths of the river. I know it. I’m screaming, choking, kicking frantically. I almost don’t hear the dark-haired friend next to me when he speaks.

He spits out a mouthful of water as he gains the surface again. “We’ll find you.” He gasps out as he struggles to stay above. And then I know he’s going to let go, sacrificing himself to help their friend, so the criminal and I have a better chance of survival.

The panic and fear, and the strange camaraderie that’s only built during situations such as these between strangers has me feeling a sudden wave of compassion toward these supposedly evil mercenaries who decided to rescue me, and who will probably die in this river tonight.

“Moneyre.” I shout. “Meet us in Moneyre!” It’s where Rhette was meant to deliver Ikar—the criminal—to the officials. They can find him there. Reducing their need to search for each other is the least I can do for their aid in rescuing me. I hope I don’t come to regret it, but we all know it’s not likely they’ll be meeting us anywhere. I don’t even know if he heard me, but he lets go of my hand and immediately disappears beneath the surface.

“Rhosse! Darvy!” Ikar shouts, his voice strangled. “No!”

He scans the river in every direction, searching, but we never see them rise again. I don’t know if the river took us away, took them away, or if they died.

Besides our splashing and heavy breathing, and my teeth beginning to chatter, Ikar and I are silent. I feel numb inside and out. Two men, likely dead. Ikar pulls me along, fighting the current and heading toward the opposite shore from where we entered. I’m content to let him lead—for now. I wait for a bump against my leg, a bite that will dig in to my soft flesh and drag me under the dark surface, something the likes of what Darvy and Rhosse experienced. But besides my blood seemingly freezing to ice in my veins and my chest tight with shock and sorrow, nothing happens. After what seems like hours, we make our way out of the river and onto a gradual incline, still muddy, but not so steep it’s difficult to climb. Ikar doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re both completely out of the water and several feet away from the river’s edge. Then he sits down heavily in some patchy grass, rests his arms on his knees, and lets his head hang. I fall flat on my back, breathing hard and shivering a couple feet away.

A light breeze blows over my chilled body, and my shivering increases. And while all I want to do is close my eyes, sink into the dark blackness of sleep, and pretend this night never happened, I’m forced to face reality. I can’t help but feel sorrow, and a hefty dose of guilt, for the two men who died in the river tonight while rescuing me . I feel strangely empty at the thought. They can’t truly be gone, can they? But I saw them go down and never come up. I try not to imagine what they suffered. More guilt spreads through my body. All this because I broke the rules and didn’t wait for Rhette. Not only that, but I don’t know if Rupi will be able to find me now that the river has carried us who-knows-how-far-away. I hope she can find her way home without me. I take a deep breath, trying to relieve the tight worry in my chest. It doesn’t help much.

I turn my head to the side and look at the criminal that sits beside me. He carries a commanding presence around like it radiates from his core, but his shoulders have dropped, and he presses a thumb and finger to his eyes like he might be stopping— No . Mercenaries are heartless and violent. They don’t cry, or mourn, or have friends. He probably just has silt and river creature blood in his eyes and is simply clearing his vision so he can continue with his dishonorable life.

Even with that explanation filling in the cracks of my guilt and sorrow, it feels like the ultimate lack of gratitude to now place a cuff on him, the criminal who has become my rescuer. I scramble to sort through all the rules I’ve been taught, but none of them shed light on this bizarre situation. Law says he should be captured, but it feels so wrong. Then I remember that he’s not just any man. He’s a mercenary, and if he knew that I’m a Tulip, he’d capture me in a heartbeat and kill me. I feel the resolution building. I already tipped his supposed friends off to his future destination, in a weak-hearted act of compassion, so if they survive, they can find each other that way. That’s as far as my gratitude goes. My heart hardens further. He’s the one who broke an agreement with a noble and hunts Tulips. And on top of all that, the reward money is staggering, and I need it badly. Hence, why I’m here on this dreadful river bank in the first place.

He speaks and snaps me out of my thoughts.

“You okay?” His voice is smooth and deep.

“Yeah.” My voice is raspy from screaming earlier, and I swallow to try to moisten it, all while telling myself it’s not true concern I hear in his voice.

The cuff that I’ve never had to use before practically burns my chest through the fabric of my shirt. It’s supposed to be for emergencies. I think this counts. I realize that it’s now or never, and right now, he isn’t expecting anything besides gratitude and weakness from me. I shift to pull the cuff bead from my vest pocket, then reach over like I’m going to lay my hand on his in a thankful or comforting sort of way. Instead, I touch the bead to his bare skin, and it sizes itself to his wrist like an inky, slithering snake. It glows a bit before it turns a matte black of interconnected chain links.

He lifts his wrist and takes in the presence of the cuff. “What the he?—”

Faster than I can blink, he has secured both my hands above my head with one hand and straddles me, my throat at the mercy of his other large hand. He looms over me, all concern and kindness now eerily absent. His face is a handsome mask of dark ice, and I can almost tangibly feel the magic behind the cuff pushing against its brand new lock. I tremble, and I want to blame it on my cold, drenched state, but I’m terrified. Here is the Class A criminal in all his glory.

I find very quickly that it is quite difficult to speak while half-strangled, but I force the words out before he finishes the job. I have never actually made an arrest, but I’ve seen Rhette and others do it, so I do my best to copy them.

“You are under arrest.” I suck in air with an attractive wheeze. “Letter. In my pocket.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. He gives me a prolonged, murderous look before he removes his hand from my throat, and I breathe in lungfuls of air. As much as I can with his weight still atop me.

“Which one?”

“Left side of my coat.”

He is careful to touch me as little as possible. I’m not sure if that implies he’s a gentleman to a point or that I’m so disgusting right now even a loose-moraled mercenary doesn’t want to touch me. I assume it’s the latter. He pulls the remains of a document from my pocket, now heavy and dripping with river water. His lips flatten. He does a quick pat down to check for weapons within my reach before he releases my arms. Treating me as though I am the criminal. The nerve. His weight effectively holds me prisoner while he carefully pries open the sopping parchment. I can only hope it’s still readable. His brow furrows as he scans the page in the moonlight. Then he stands, his intimidating figure towering above me in a way that has me scrambling quickly to my feet to decrease the difference in our height. Not that it does much—he still stands almost a foot taller than me.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he growls.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me.” I fold my arms across my chest and try to stop my teeth from chattering. Chattering teeth aren’t professional.

“I’m not explaining anything.” His eyes darken. “Remove the cuff.”

There is something so forceful in his command that I actually feel the urge to obey, but I won’t. He is a criminal, and I need to protect the Tulips… and I need the money for Renna.

“You are under arrest,” I repeat. “If you hurt me, kill me, or run off, your magic is gone.” I surprise myself by making a poofing gesture for good measure, and his face drops to a handsome scowl. Having him under my cuff has me feeling all sorts of powerful tonight. I begin to see why bounty hunters do what they do.

“I am familiar with charmed cuffs,” he says, frustrated.

I raise my brows at him. “That comment doesn’t improve my opinion.”

He’s got the dark and broody look down pat. I swallow.

I’m left wondering how many times this man has been arrested. Nothing has gone as I expected with this contract. In fact, that original contract is now void. I’m on my own. In addition to that, I expected some drunk, filthy, half-starved ex-soldier of some sort. Like I said, the bounty sketches usually give a lot in the looks department. In his case, it didn’t give nearly enough. I purse my lips.

I refuse to admit he is handsome even as my eyes linger on the planes of his face, accentuated by the shadow of night and the full moon’s light. His nose has a bit of a bump, but somehow it’s still perfect, and that has me frowning. To complete the combo are a set of dark brows and a strong jaw. I can’t see his eyes in the dim light, but I know from our conversation yesterday that they are a stormy blue. His hair is a medium length on top, short on the sides, and is currently drying in a messy sort of way that I find highly attractive. Strangely, it only adds to his dangerous air, whereas I am positive I look like a half-drowned kitten. Add to all that his tall frame and what I assume—from his skill and strength—to be muscle beneath his long coat, along with some sort of leather armor and an assortment of weapons I’ve glimpsed.

I do not feel prepared to handle this man or his heavy, commanding presence for days. Even hours. I’m simply a Tulip masquerading as an Originator, bounty hunting for the first time. I only ever assist people in these sorts of jobs.

“I assume you already know my name, so I will skip my introduction and ask for yours.” His voice is cultured, smooth, and ice-cold.

“Vera.” I blurt out without thinking. I cringe inside, knowing he had that list with my full name, hopefully he doesn’t make the connection.

“I can’t say that I’m pleased to meet you, but I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’m not interested,” I say quickly, before he can say anything further. I’ll adopt a deathstalker before I make a shady deal with a Class A criminal. Something splashes loudly, and I decide it’s time we get some distance between us and that cursed river. I turn and stride away, stopping only to use two hands to climb up and over a very large boulder. He hops over one handed right behind me. And once again, his long strides have him easily keeping pace beside me while I’m still out of breath from the river fiasco.

“My friends and I have already rescued you from being skinned alive by goblins, and they possibly died because of it.” His voice is so sharp it could slice through the steel of an enchanted sword. “In addition to their sacrifice, I will offer you the same amount as the reward money for my immediate release.”

The hinges of my jaw seem to lose all control, and my mouth sags for a second before I snap it back and give him what I think is my most bounty-hunter-tough don’t mess with me look. I don’t want his murder money, no matter how much it is. Though I do feel guilty about the rescue part and possible death of his friends. I didn’t want anyone to die. But still…

“I don’t make deals with criminals . ”

“Even lucrative ones?”

“No. Because I am not a criminal .” I grind out and start walking.

“Neither am I,” he states angrily, easily matching my stride.

“You’re acting like one.” I give him a pointed look.

He lets out a frustrated breath. “I’m looking for something. It’s urgent.”

“What? A Tulip to kill?” I almost slap a hand over my mouth. I shouldn’t know anything about that, but in my anger and weariness, the words slipped out without thinking.

He stills, and a sardonic smile lifts one side of his handsome mouth. “I knew you knew something.”

And cue the Tulip killer. He doesn’t even have the sense to sound ashamed. Dirtbag. “Yes, I know about that ,” I reply saucily, casting a glare in his direction for good measure. I may not be able to help my magic sisters right now, but I can scold the heck out of this mercenary while I keep him from finding any of them.

“You’ve got me all wrong.” His deep voice comes from behind me now, the path too narrow for us to walk side-by-side. He must not realize that literally every criminal tries that line, but it makes my skin crawl to think that if he finds out who I am, he won’t be making small talk. He’s a dangerous package, this one. Too handsome. Too strong. Too tall. Too good of a liar. I know if I’d seen him passing on the street, I woulda looked twice—maybe even three times—and my body reacts accordingly. I don’t usually have this problem. Most criminals I help capture are dirty, smelly, raggedy, or handsome with a heavy dose of evil in their eyes, making them easy to place in the criminal category in my brain. This guy doesn’t fit the molds, and I don’t like it.

I turn from him with a huff and continue my march through thick forest that gradually turns into what appears to be wasteland desert. I realize after several minutes of walking that I headed off without any sort of direction in my moment of powerful confidence brought on by my first arrest. That flame of confidence is quickly doused. Again. I have no idea what direction we should be heading, nor do I know how to find out. I admit I always intended to learn, but it’s easy to put aside when the hunters who contract me are supposed to take care of all that. I’m basically there to power their magic and help them survive, getting a cut of the bounty as payment. And when I’m not with a hunter on a contract, I travel the main thoroughfares as a matter of personal protection since I don’t have much skill with weapons. Never any need for map reading.

I shove all the doubts down. What’s done is done, and hopefully it pays off. I don’t want to show any weakness, including the fact that I don’t know where we are, but I smother my pride and take a moment to kneel down and dig through my pack for my never-before-used map. He stops a few feet away, and I feel his gaze on me. It makes me feel clumsy and hyperaware, and I fumble with the folded parchment in my attempt to get it open. Doesn’t help that it’s sopping wet. I finally pry it open, grateful to see that the map markings are all intact. I scan the page in the weak light of dawn and see the main river we just escaped, but the river is long, and the amount of land where we could have ended up is incredibly vast, including no less than three different desert-looking areas. I have no idea how to pinpoint our location.