Rough Exile

I drew a shaky breath and tried to calm down enough to think. Maybe if he got close enough, I could jump out and garrote him with my leash. No. It was probably thin enough to just break, and all I would do was piss him off.

So stupid! Why had I left Ilya and Bron? Was making a point worth putting myself at risk like this?

I could hear him pacing on the path, gravel crunching under his shoes.

Rustling. A Snap.

My dress was dark enough to help me hide, but I couldn’t tell how visible the rest of me was. I felt like all the blood had drained from my face.

The man said something I didn’t understand and laughed quietly to himself. Shards of ice skated through my veins.

I crouched between a bush and a small tree, finding a hollow where a small animal had frequently made space for itself. I was too big to fit, but between the darkness and how small I could fold myself, maybe he wouldn’t be able to see me.

How long would it take for him to lose interest and leave? The grove of trees wasn’t large. Would he search it or assume I’d headed out the other side?

I closed my eyelids most of the way but peeked through my lashes, not wanting him to spot the whites of my eyes.

He swore—that much Russian I understood now. Sounding frustrated, he stomped around, beating at the bushes with a stick as though I were stupid enough to let that flush me out of hiding.

Grumbling to himself, he staggered closer, and I caught a strong whiff of alcohol.

The asshole was drunk? That changed things. Maybe I could outrun him, even with bare feet. As long as my ankle held up, I should be fine.

Shit, he was getting too close. When he turned his head for a moment, I made a desperate decision and burst from my hiding place, headed back for the path. He swung around and flailed with the stick. The end of it licked my skin with fire, catching my cheekbone. I suppressed a shriek and ran as he swore and ran after me.

How did a woman even yell ‘fire!’ in Russian?

I wanted to shout for Ilya and Bron, but they were so far away there was no way they’d hear.

The man caught at the back of my hair, ripped out a few strands, then got a better hold of it, jerking me back. My feet went out from under me, and I hit the ground right where the dirt met the cement path.

I tried to catch myself, and broke my fall with my hands, although a nasty ache ran through my wrist. I’d scraped flesh, but it was the vicious hand in my hair that made me screech. I tried to pull the hand closer to my scalp, trying to force him to release my hair, but either I sucked at self-defense, or he was too drunk to register that I was hurting him.

He hauled back a fist and launched it at my face, and I braced for it, turning my face away at the last moment.

The blow never landed.

There was a cacophony of growling shouts, and the man let go of me. A body hurled past me, and I scrambled to my feet, not sure what was going on, but willing to use it to my advantage.

Everything hurt.

In the dim light of the not-so-nearby park streetlight, I saw one figure beating the crap out of my attacker.

Holy shit. The man was cold-blooded. My attacker was on the ground begging for mercy, but the beating continued until the concrete path was black with what I assumed was blood. He was babbling, begging, spitting teeth.

When I tried to put some space between me and the carnage, the small rocks that littered the path were sharp against my soles.

A large hand caught my arm, and I gasped.

“No one touches you without our permission,” the man said simply. Coldly.

Ilya?

I looked up at him, not sure I was right. In the filtered lamplight he looked far more sinister, his eyes twin shadows.

When I tried to yank my arm away, he took a firmer grip.

“Did he harm you?” He sounded more like himself that time, but still not quite right.

“He hit me with a branch, and pulled my hair, but nothing earth shattering. You found me in time.”

Ilya said something to what I assumed had to be Bron, who stopped beating the man. They had a brief discussion, and it didn’t sound like Bron was happy.

“What?” I asked.

“We are deciding if we should kill him.”

Oh god, is he serious?

The moment felt surreal.