Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

23. Vera

Chapter 23

Vera

W e rise early and continue our journey, and I admit that I’m proud for surviving my third night on my own as a true bounty hunter. My criminal didn’t kill me yet. That’s good. That emotional wall is back up around him, tall and thick as ever. His blue eyes are guarded but friendly enough. The longer we walk, the more my cheer fades, though, because I realized just hours ago that my magic, or me, or both, seems to be even more drawn to this man than on the first and second days. What does that say about me? Of course I’m drawn to a criminal. Typical. Doesn’t matter if he’s been on his best behavior these last few days to attempt to persuade me to uncuff him. I just know that’s why he’s been nice to me. There’s no other explanation. I definitely can’t trust him, and I need to distance myself to stay safe.

I don’t have the best track record in the judgement or magical departments, and here is a prime example of why . Magic has caused a lot of trouble for me in my life, mostly because, as a Tulip, my magic is broken, weak, however you want to describe it. It’s not enough . And on top of that, we’re hated. But this time, I will make the right choice. I wind the unruly magic tendrils up as tight as the braid I’m currently weaving my messy hair into and glare at Ikar’s very muscular back for good measure, effectively returning him to his place as my enemy. A Tulip killer, probably. Something is off with my magic, that is certain.

How did he take the lead again today without me noticing anyway? I blow a dirty strand of loose hair, that I apparently missed when rebraiding my hair this morning, from my face in exasperation. I assume it has something to do with the way magic is weakening, I don’t have enough experience to figure out why these strange things happen, the only other person I’d felt this draw toward was an ex-boyfriend, Drade, from my teen years. It hadn’t ended well. No one who isn’t a king can return the bridge that my magic begs to create, even though I’ve been told it’s not strong enough anyway. I’ve never felt that my magic is weak, but I’ll trust Tatania on this one. I plan to someday marry a regular man, which is why I’d had to break things off with Drade. He had become the fae king through challenge, and I could never marry a king, as it would entail bridging . Even low kings can bridge. I shiver, glad that I’ll never be part of such a dangerous connection.

I’m taken from my thoughts when I hear Rupi’s happy chirp as she glides through the air and settles on my shoulder, shuffling her wings and side-stepping until she gets comfortable. She still isn’t acting quite normal. Not once when Ikar has gotten close to her has she quilled up. I mean, she let him pet her yesterday three times, and that’s just not like her. She’s showing no symptoms of being sick, so I’ve reluctantly let her have her freedom today, but I watch her closely.

“Enjoy your morning fly?” I whisper, as I reach a finger up to stroke her small head.

Ikar glances at the two of us, and I see what looks like a flash of humor in his eyes. I know he thinks Rupi is a ridiculous pet.

“Do you have an animal?” I ask, truly curious. They say that people often choose animals that match their personality.

A wistful look touches his eyes. “Two. A hawk and a wolf-beast dog mix.”

I instinctively place a protective hand over Rupi’s soft back, hawks being one of her greatest predators—just as Ikar is to me.

“Fitting,” I say, saucily.

He grins proudly.

I continue with spite in my voice, “Both powerful, violent, murderous types like their owner.”

At that, he scowls, but it’s more of an irritated-looking smolder, which annoys me because I like it.

For a moment, I feel a pang of regret over what I said, that bit of camaraderie I’d felt between us yesterday having lent itself to today, and I’ve just squashed it. Then I remember again that I don’t need comfortable companionship with a criminal. I shouldn’t have cared about his shoulder pains, or his family, or had friendly conversations with him over the past two days. Nor should I be enjoying his ornery, handsome scowls. I raise my chin, unwilling to take it back. Ikar is not my friend. He is my criminal, who I arrested and who has committed horrendous crimes to have a reward so large attached to his name. I’d do well to start remembering it.

We continue walking the rest of the day, mostly in silence after that. I’ve only pulled the map out three times so far today, and as far as I can tell, we make good time, I think. Since I stubbornly won’t allow Ikar to look at the map again, I can’t know for sure, but to offer the map would be an invitation for him to step closer to look at it ‘cause I’m certainly not letting him have it. I certainly don’t want him stepping closer, either.

We stop for water at a tiny stream. The small streams, creeks, and pools are the only safe water to drink nowadays. The Lucent River is never used for its water anymore since it’s been overtaken by gloam. When I lift my waterskin to my lips, I pause. I push my magic out, searching. I take a quick drink before throwing it in my pack and scanning the forest around us. It’s quiet, but not in a peaceful way. My magic tells me there is gloam—there’s always gloam, small bits that haven’t conglomerated and created a monster yet, but what I sense isn’t gloam. It’s also not friendly.

“Something follows us,” I say quietly. Ikar frowns at the cuff on his wrist, and I’m sure he’s cursing it. It makes me wonder what kind of magic he has. Mercenaries and soldiers are usually hunters, and hunter magic would have sensed it even before mine. I assume he’s a hunter, then, based on his reaction.

“What is it?”

I shrug, and he frowns deeper. Another thing his possible hunter magic could have helped with. I resist the urge to apologize. Bounty hunters don’t apologize to their bounties for blocking their magic. We continue on our way, but Ikar scans and listens, and we move much more quietly now. I catch a glimpse of its black, lithe body here and there, so quick it could be mistaken for a shadow. Ikar is the first to identify it.

“Bantha,” he says under his breath.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve never seen a bantha in all your extensive bounty hunts?” He raises an eyebrow, a sarcastic tone now underlying his words .

I don’t like it, but what can I expect after the way I’ve treated him today? Anyway, it’s good, right? Distance.

“Like I said last night, I’m not a hunter . I assist.” And if I were to be completely honest, I’d tell him I usually choose jobs that are closer to home than this and there aren’t banthas in those areas.

“It’s a really big black cat with leathery wings, sharp claws, and teeth. And it’s a relentless tracker.”

“Is that all?” My voice is sarcastic, but my anxiety jumps up to the next level. I find I’ve suddenly had a change of heart, and I don’t mind if he hangs a little closer. Maybe I should pull that map out and offer a look now. I settle for walking beside him instead of ahead as I scold myself for my fear and set myself right.

We continue to spot it as we walk, never close enough to attack, but never losing it, either. It’s just always there, on the edge of our peripheral. Lingering and creepy and silent. Like the figures I keep seeing at random times.

I think for sure it will pounce or fly or whatever a bantha does to kill its prey. I try not to imagine what killing its prey looks like. I stop thinking about it since I’m sure that’s the opposite of helpful, but hours later we are still waiting for it to make its move, and my nerves are fried. I’m used to traversing the woods during my hunting contracts, but I’ve never been tracked by a bantha. I won’t deny that I sidle up a little closer to Ikar as the sunlight begins to fade and the shadows grow long beneath the tree tops. Close enough that my shoulder brushes his arm every so often. I have enough sense to maintain my dignity, and I refrain from wrapping my hand around it and clinging to his bicep, although I’ll admit the idea is tempting for much more than just safety.

“Do you think it’s still there?” I whisper, bumping my shoulder into his bicep for the millionth time because I walk too close.

He lets out a sigh. “Yes. Until it attacks, it will be there. Banthas don’t give up prey.”

“You say that like you’re familiar with them.”

“I am,” he says dryly.

“You’ve fought one?”

He ignores my question. “Do not let it stab or bite you. Both its claws and fangs contain venom and detach. Just, stay back,” he orders in an exasperated tone.

Great. Venomous, detachable fangs and claws. Thick leather wings, and a huge cat. But the tiny part of me that’s unrealistically optimistic is still hoping the bantha gets bored and leaves us alone. Most forest animals have a natural, friendly draw toward me, one of the benefits of Tulip magic that has been particularly difficult to hide from Ikar. Pretty sure that same squirrel Ikar spotted has been scurrying just out of sight since the Black Canyon. It better stay away, or it’ll be dead and cooked over the fire like the rabbit. But that same magic doesn’t apply to the gloam creatures, the ones that have seemingly multiplied in the last two years. In the past, enchanted weapons could easily kill them, and there weren’t many. It was rare to happen across one then. Now, it’s guaranteed you’ll see one of them if you travel any distance. Which is why I usually don’t.

I need a distraction. My eyes turn to Ikar, like the traitors they are. “Where is home for you?”

He seems to consider whether he’ll answer my question for a moment, then he finally speaks. But there’s none of the open friendliness I heard yesterday, today his voice is terse. “High Kingdom. ”

My brows raise in surprise. Not many criminals brave the High Kingdom, since it’s heavily patrolled and safeguarded.

“What keeps you there? I ask, genuinely curious and very surprised.

“Work.”

The conversation stops there, partly because it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t want to converse with me. Still not apologizing . I press my lips together. It’s not just that, though. He’s completely focused on listening and watching. And eventually, he stops.

“We can’t out-travel it.” He glances watchfully into the gathering darkness. “I prefer to fight it with some light left. We’ll stop here and hope it attacks soon. But it’ll probably wait until dark anyway.”

I almost wheeze. Hope it attacks soon? Spoken like a true mercenary, or criminal, or whatever he is. Personally, I’m more in the let’s run for it mood. I stare deep into the shadows of the forest. I don’t like that I don’t know what to believe about the man. He has defended himself from the start, and I would think by now he’d admit that he did something . Most criminals have an odd sense of pride about their criminal accomplishments, yet Ikar has mentioned nothing. I eye him as he removes his cloak, sets his pack down, and begins gathering wood and bunches of dry grass to build a fire. His leather armor is like a thick vest, he wears a shirt beneath that covers his arms, and bracers protect his forearms. He’s certainly built like some sort of fighter. It’s much too easy to appreciate the strong line of his broad shoulders, and the way his waist tapers hints at a muscled torso. I can easily see the strength of his arms move through the fabric of his shirt as he places the sticks and efficiently brings a flame to life.

I realize now, that never have I found fire building so enjoyable to watch. He glances up at me as he stands, brushing his hands off, and I look away, embarrassed for being caught staring. Then I catch a glimpse of the shadows around us again and remember we’re being stalked by a creature of death and I shouldn’t be getting distracted by the handsome criminal I’ve arrested. My traitorous gaze goes back to him anyway. I feel a niggle as my intuition persuades me to believe he’s a just a regular guy. I mentally snort. This guy is far from regular. Maybe a soldier? Not sure that would be better. I don’t work with anyone who works for the kings, even soldiers. Doesn’t matter, though, I shouldn’t want him to be a good person because I need the money I’ll earn from the reward of his capture.

We sit by the fire after we finish our meal, him looking entirely too calm and relaxed. And me, wound up like an anxious spring. I’m almost afraid to talk, worried I’ll miss the forest sounds that indicate the bantha is about to attack. Around us, though, I hear the titters and shuffles of nighttime creatures, most harmless, others apparently uninterested. I can only hope they stay that way. Rupi, unconcerned with the fact we will be attacked at any moment, hops around in the dirt and sparse grass, contentedly pecking for bugs and seeds.

“You need weapon training,” Ikar says bluntly, pulling my gaze from Rupi, as he pokes around the fire and sparks shoot up into the air.

“Easier said than done.” I shrug. I’m not offended, but it stings a bit. There are zero people who come to mind who could train me, and I can’t afford that type of thing with my pay anyway. But I’m not going to tell him that.

“If you insist on withholding my magic, you need to be able to protect yourself. You knowing how to use a weapon could mean the difference between us surviving this journey and dying. We’ll start tomorrow.”

I think that’s a bit dramatic, but I withhold the snort laugh that almost escapes my nose. From the look on his face, he’s quite serious. Does he underestimate his own skill?

“Okay, but don’t kill me,” I say, then beneath my breath I mutter to myself, “Don’t know what good a few days of training’ll do anyway.”

“You’d be surprised what I can teach you in a short amount of time.” His eyes glint, and suddenly, I’m worried. Can’t wait for that training. Not.

I leave my warm spot by the fire, unroll my bed, and warily take a seat. I’m scared of sleep and the vulnerability it brings, so I resist laying down, knowing my eyes will shut as soon as I do. The stress of the day has sapped my energy. Ikar notices.

“I’ll keep watch,” he says in a way that I think is meant to comfort me. It works, even though nothing he says or does should make me feel safe.

I nod. “Wake me when it’s my turn.”

“Go to sleep.”

Him and his orders. If I weren’t so scared, I’d tell him not to boss me around. Even though it doesn’t look like it, I’m in charge here. I’ll continue to attempt to convince myself.

He sits nearby, his arms braced on his strong thighs, his sword in hand, watching the fire that burns lower and lower, highlighting the angles of his face with the flickering movements of glowing light and deep shadows.

He makes it easy for me to forget that I’ve forced him to protect me, that he doesn’t do it out of any kind of regard for me. The cuff on his wrist reminds him every day that if I die, his magic is gone—blocked forever. I want to punch my pack with frustration. I won’t, because I don’t need to look or feel any more ridiculous than I already have this entire arrest. Instead, I obediently lay down and pull my covers over half my face, just how I like it, and sulkily wonder why I had to arrest this tempting criminal of all criminals.

Just as I’m getting sleepy, he speaks again. “Feel inclined to remove this?”

I peek my head from beneath my blanket, and he lifts his left wrist where the charmed cuff sits. It slides down his arm a bit with the movement, “I could really use my magic right now.”

“Nice try,” I grumble, as I begin to burrow back beneath my blanket, but then I realize I don’t even know what magic he has. I snap the blanket down once more. “What magic do you have, anyway?” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes as I consider him.

“Doesn’t matter if you won’t remove the cuff.” He smirks because he assumes it will irritate me to high heaven now that I’ve asked and he won’t tell. I refuse to play his game, and instead of replying, I burrow back beneath the blanket for the third time. Feeling irritated that I’m irritated that I don’t know his magic. He’s a rogue. I’ll continue to assume he’s a hunter.

Sometime later, I’m awoken by steps near my head. Or is it over me? The fuzziness of sleep hangs in my mind as I sort through the sound. Doesn’t seem like something Ikar would do. An overly friendly animal offering me protection? It’s happened before. My eyes fall sleepily closed again, peaceful and feeling safe. Then I hear the deep cat-like growl. My eyes jerk open. Growing realization has me trapping a scream in my throat as I attempt to lay still. Not a friendly forest animal, then—the bantha. Over me? My first inclination is to pull magic, since the dark creature should run from my magic if I pull enough, but there’s not just myself to consider. If I pull magic and create an orb, I make Ikar the prey, just like what happened with the murk.

Instead, I very carefully scramble for my short sword within my blanket. Rupi shifts but seems to sense the need to stay quiet, because though she gets irritated when I disrupt her sleep, not a noise escapes her. She merely shuffles further into my bedroll when I pull the knife toward the opening, ever so slowly.

I hear a strange combination of leathery shifts and another, odd sort of growl. Worst-case scenario, check . I am currently beneath the paralyzing poison-fanged bantha, and I cannot use my usual defenses. Sweat begins to form along my body. My blankets now constricting and hot instead of cozy. Sword in hand, I attempt to tamp down the panic and slowly peek from the blanket. As expected, I get an eyeful of black fur. Dread curls in my stomach, and I die a little before my brain starts functioning. I slowly lower the blanket, hyperaware of the breathing belly a foot above my face.

“Don’t move,” Ikar states from somewhere. It sounds like he’s barely moving his lips.

Like I’m going to allow this perfect kill position to disappear? I’ll show him just how capable I am. I’ve got to redeem myself. But just as I’m about to force myself to slide the sword into its vulnerable underbelly, it powerfully pushes off its back legs and launches across the camp, straight toward Ikar.

I scream and scramble from my blanket as Ikar darts to the side, and the hideous bat-cat narrowly misses a large bite of his calf. Scrambling to my feet, I reposition my sword into a more comfortable grip and watch as they circle each other. Suddenly, the bantha growls and takes flight, disappearing into the night sky with a powerful beat of its large wings, which I find is even more disconcerting than watching it face off with Ikar. Now that it’s above us, I have no idea what’s next or what direction to expect it from. Ikar holds out a hand, gesturing for me to stay where I am as he turns slowly, watching and listening.

Half a second later, it comes barreling out of the sky—a black streak of spinning silent fury—and bowls Ikar over from the side, taking him to the ground. My eyes widen in horror as they tumble together and come to a stop, the cat atop Ikar’s back. Almost faster than my eyes can track, a huge, clawed paw hooks into his upper back and drags down, and I watch in alarm as his armor parts easily with its force. At the same time, another claw hooks into the back of his thigh and Ikar yells out, thrusting an elbow back and catching the beast in the side of the head with the hilt of his sword, forcing it to release its hold. He rolls over, and with one expert swing of his sword, I watch with utter disgust as the head of the beast disconnects from its body, leaving a silvery, growing puddle of blood that soaks quickly into the earth.

I stand, jaw slack, at the fight I just witnessed. Shock fills my veins. I am honest with myself and readily acknowledge that my skills, size, and strength, are not in the same category as Ikar’s, and I would have died if not for him. For the second time, or is this the third? And he doesn’t even have access to magic. He’s facing me now, breathing heavily, one hand loosely on the hilt of one of his sheathed weapons and the blood drenched enchanted sword in the other as he catches his breath.

“You may thank your so-called powerful, violent, murderous criminal now.” A sardonic grin lifts one side of his lips.

He has a point, but I’m unwilling to admit it. “So you finally admit you’re a criminal?” I ask, as my eyes swiftly scan over him. I don’t catch sight of any serious injury.

“I’m admitting nothing, only making a point.” He notices my concern and frowns, then looks down his arms and legs while holding out his hands, sword included. “I’m fine.”

Then he turns away to wipe the silvery blood off his sword, and my jaw drops when I see the damage that apparently he feels is fine . His armor is shredded, but it seems to have protected his skin. There’s only a small tear where one of the claws reached through to the fabric of his shirt, not even any blood. But I’m not worried about that. My eyes focus on only one thing. I suck in a breath and hold back a retch. Amidst three other deep gashes, a long, disgusting, claw protrudes from the back of his thigh.

When he stands from wiping his sword, he stumbles. I almost miss it, it’s so small, but it’s not like him. Paralyzing venom at work, I’m sure. Well, that, and the claw imbedded in his muscle. He stands still for a moment, facing away from me still, then slowly limps to a nearby tree and braces an arm against its bark covered trunk, resting against it.

“Give me a minute, then we’ll go so you don’t have to sleep by the carcass,” he says when he hears me come up behind him. His voice sounds strained.

“Stay still,” I command in a firm tone, as I come up behind him.

I assume this won’t hurt as bad as what’s coming, so I kneel behind him, cringing as I wrap my fingers around the claw. He stiffens and jerks his head around to attempt to look over his shoulder.

“I said don’t move.”

“A claw?” He groans and rests his head against his forearm, then curses under his breath .

Look who’s in charge now. But I find no joy in giving the orders in this situation—the man could die.

“Just do it,” he growls.

Swallowing down my lunch from earlier, I grimace once more at the thought of what I’m holding, and then I pull. Harder than I thought I’d have to. A pained shout that turns to a growl comes from deep in his throat before he falls to a knee, one hand still pressed against the tree and a hand in the dirt to steady himself. He curses under his breath again and shakes his head like he’s trying to physically shake it off. I’m impressed… until he collapses on the ground.

I flutter around him in a panic for a full thirty seconds, attempting to weave my scattered thoughts into a plan. Rupi lands atop his shoulder, then hops forward to peck at the exposed earlobe his turned face offers. He offers no reaction, and I’m too flustered to overthink her offered affection and concern.

I think my bounty might be dead. I don’t even know if you still get paid for dead bounties. Then I feel a wallop of guilt for even thinking about pay and hastily press my fingers to his neck. He still has a pulse. I can heal him… but I can’t. The rule book says no. I war with myself as the poison Ikar told me about seeps through his body. Rupi gives me an indignant look as I stand there, doing nothing. I have no idea how long it takes until it will kill him. I pull a hand roughly along my braid in frustration, tugging and pulling on the end. If I heal him, he’ll know . No Originator is also a Healer. It’s unheard of. Add to that, he’s a mercenary. He can easily track me down after I hand him over to the authorities, but would he? I don’t know. Think, think, think. I pace around, my gaze darting back to where Ikar lays unmoving beside the tree. Then a plan forms. It’s not a very solid one, and it has more holes than a cracked strainer, but it’s a plan, and right now I don’t care how many holes it has.

I remember the vial of fae potion that rolled out of his pack two mornings ago, or three. Doesn’t matter. I hurry to his pack and rip it open, tossing things out haphazardly and completely ignoring how neatly he likes his things kept. We can make it nice and tidy again if he survives.

“ If he survives ?” I squeak.

When did I start to care so much? What state am I in if I kinda like the guy who I also don’t trust to not kill me next week? I shut the thoughts down. Now is not the time. I spot the vial in one of the pockets and snatch it out. I’ve never used a fae potion. I can’t afford luxuries such as these. I assume you just pour it on. Like water on a plant , I encourage myself, milk over oats . I gulp when I look at his leg, I may have ruined oats for the rest of my life. I hold back a gag. Bloody wounds and I don’t mesh. There’s a reason I would never choose to be a Healer. I glance at the vial in my hand. He told me it was expired, but maybe, hopefully , he was mistaken. If it truly is expired, I move to plan B.

I’m about to uncork it, but then I decide to shake it, because it just seems like something you should do, but I have no idea if it’s necessary. Though I’ve assisted fae potion makers by offering magic to create fae healing potions, I’ve never asked how to use one. I pop the cork off with my thumb nail and kneel in the dirt beside him. There’s no way I’m taking his clothes off, so the trousers are staying put. I simply tear the remaining strands of fabric from around the claw marks, but doing so loosens the fabric and reveals a well-healed scar on the side of his leg. It leaves me wondering just how many scars he has. My face heats at the direction of my thoughts, and I quickly shut them down .

My hands shake as I tip the bottle and carefully drip the liquid over each long gash and the deeper wound where the claw had been. I watch closely as the liquid absorbs with a few sparks and a somewhat loud sizzling sound. That’s odd. Maybe this stuff does go bad. I hold the bottle up for a closer inspection, sniff the opening, and then glance at Ikar’s face in worry. What does expired fae potion even do? Doesn’t matter. I toss the bottle to the side. If he finds out I’m a Tulip and comes after me, so be it. But something deep inside me cares, and I’m not letting him die. I’m not a murderer. Criminal or no. I pull cool, white magic through my veins and direct it toward his leg, watching as the flesh and muscle begin to knit back together and trying not to gag. As badly as I’d like to completely heal it, I know I can’t. One bottle of potent fae potion wouldn’t heal this severe of an injury. It would take more. I don’t know how many, but several. So, I let it get to a point where I think he’s going to be okay, hoping the poison is gone and he’s able to travel. Then I pull the magic back, wrap the wound in clean bandages, and wait.