A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 17
The curse thrilled at the idea as though it was its own separate thing inside of her. She felt its delight and it fed her own.
Mrithun let out a roar, swooping down over the other Bold Wings, forcing Brighton to duck down at their nearness, but then she was charging into the dragonis, edging it apart from the group. The connection between a rider and their dragon was always a marvel and a mystery. Mrithun understood Meira and desired what she desired, in ways that didn’t make sense when they couldn’t consciously communicate.
The leather straps of the harness dug into Meira’s thighs as Mrithun reared up, catching the dragonis with the razor-sharp points of her polished claws. The dragonis hissed, releasing flames that licked at the plated scales on Mrithun’s belly. Meira felt the warmth against the soles of her boots and clenched her teeth.
Smoke was building in Mrithun’s nostrils, making the visibility worse as it mingled with the incoming snow. The shape of the dragonis was all Meira could make out as its tail lashed out toward them. Mrithun was fast, snatching up its tail in her mouth, flames licking out around it. The dragonis let out a high-pitched keening noise before yanking its scorched tail away and fleeing.
Typically, Meira would be content to let it go and run back toward the mountains where it lived but today she needed a reason to be miles away from the others. So Mrithun gave chase. She hoped the noises that the dragonis let out and the sound of Mrithun growling as she went partnered well with the luck that befell them as the snow grew thicker yet. She could hardly make out the other scale riders, only getting a decent visual when their fire lit up the sky.
Her Bold Wing huffed, but it sounded more like a giddy laugh as the dragonis took off and Mrithun continued forward following the same tug of the curse that Meira felt in her chest. Meira held her breath as they put distance between her group and the others. She prayed they’d heard enough of the small battle to think that perhaps she’d been injured and stopped to nurse her wounds not far away. If they thought she was hurt then they wouldn’t consider her absence a dismissal of her duties.
Bram would be furious, but Bram’s rage was nothing in comparison to the need to have Remis. Want filled every fiber of Meira’s being. The spell that gripped her was a needy, wanting thing, and it craved Remis. It craved his blood.
Meira could practically smell Remis on the wind. Salt, copper, and an underlying scent of musk. She pulled her feet from the straps that held her and slid down Mrithun’s wing in a well-practiced move. She dropped onto the forest floor, let off just past the river in a small clearing of trees that Mrithun had been able to get into. The impact of the landing reverberated up through her heels, knees, and her hips which took the brunt of it. She ignored the spike of pain that screamed in her heels and moved swiftly into the trees.
With her back against a tree trunk, she took a moment to catch her breath and roll her facial covering up into her hood. The metal of her sword sang quietly as she pulled it from the sheath. Already she could hear the sound of voices, one rising higher than the others. If Remis did indeed come from the loins of a witch, it was possible he could feel the demands of the curse too. He’d know she was near. He’d run. But it was another voice, an unfamiliar one, that cried out.
Now, she needed to go now.
Her steps were soft and skilled as she made her way through the thicket with little sound to give her away. To move so quietly though was a slow approach. She slipped into the shadows, her footprints getting swallowed by fresh snow as she went. Their voices grew louder.
“We can’t move him!” Someone was shouting. “Not quickly.”
“She’s here, Merritt. Do you not understand? We’re all dead if we can’t get out of here.” That was Remis.
“Leave me then.” A third pained voice.
“I’m not leaving you!” Remis snarled, a dark threatening anger that sent a delighted spark of warmth through Meira’s body. Dragons, her body lit up like a bonfire, her core tightening with the sound. It’s only the curse, she tried to tell herself.
Meira pressed against another tree. Her chest rose and fell with the quickening of her breath. She’d heard three voices, including Remis. And she was only yards away. Peeking around the tree trunk, she caught a slight flicker of movement. The cloak Remis wore billowed behind him as he began pacing, his gaze flicking up into the woods a moment later. She hid herself behind the tree, not certain if she’d been seen.
“What do we do then?” Remis asked, his voice filled with defeat.
Good.
“Fight her?” the one he’d called Merritt said softly.
“You think you can fight a witch? Her magic might have you bound before you can even pull your sword.”
The trio was quiet once again. There was a rustling as though they were moving, shifting against the brush, but the sound of the movement never went far.
With her heart hammering in her chest, Meira took the last few steps that separated her and these men. She didn’t bother to mask these final footfalls because as quickly as she’d slipped around the tree she was at Remis’ throat, the tip of her blade poised against his flesh.
He pierced her with the never-ending depth of his gaze, his hands lifting from his sides. Behind him, both of his friends had gone utterly still. Meira only spared them a quick glance, to evaluate what sort of threat they might pose. One had thick bits of branches tied to his leg and leaned into the other man. The uninjured one let his hand stray to the hilt of a sword at his hips.
Her attention flicked back over to Remis, a sword resting against his belt. The worry that had tinted his words only moments before melted away from him as he stared at her, his eyes tracing her features as if he were memorizing them. Heat flooded her cheeks and suddenly she wanted to pull her face cover down, to hide from his curiosity and…approval?
Remis’ lips tipped up into a smile. A smile. She frowned in response.
“I was wondering when you might show yourself.” His throat bobbed, nearly catching against her blade, but he continued. Gone was that panicked tone from moments ago. “My name is Nikremis but my friends call me Remis. Though you know that. And your name is?”
“We are not friends.” Meira scoffed.
“We could be.” His smile widened as he leaned forward, letting her sword dig into his neck until a trickle of blood welled. “Or will you cut this friendship short and have me dead now?”
His arrogance threatened to pull a smile from her. She fought the urge by sinking her teeth into her lower lip and his attention flared as he followed the movement.
She should kill him. That was the entire point of the curse, wasn’t it? But with the majority of her memories still evading her, she couldn’t know why she ought to kill him. So close to him now she could feel life thrumming through him as surely as she could feel the magic coursing through this planet.
“If I kill you now that will end all of this fun we’re having.” She let the tip of her blade tip his chin upward giving her a pleasant view of the cut of his jaw. “Isn’t this fun, Remis?”
He let out a slow breath. “Almost more than I can bear.”
Now that she’d finally caught him, she wasn’t exactly sure what she should do with him. Did she actually want to kill him or was that strictly the curse telling her she should? The bigger question was why the curse existed in the first place. She couldn’t turn off the wheel of thoughts that warned her that there was more to this, that she was missing vital information.
“You’ll live. For now.” She lowered her sword. “Try anything and you’ll not get a second chance.” Tilting her head she motioned toward his friends. “Who are these two?”
“My friends.” A muscle in his jaw flexed.
“Do your friends have names?”
“Not ones that should matter at all to you. I’m the one you want, aren’t I?”
Meira narrowed her gaze on him, prowling a step closer. Remis stood taller, squaring his shoulders but didn’t reach for his weapon. To his credit, he didn’t look as fearful as he’d sounded when she’d seen him before. Men had pissed their pants in front of her knowing that she was a scale rider but the fear of witches was often triple that. She expected him to quiver at the end of her sword. Instead, he’d leaned into the blade as if begging her to slit his throat.
She swallowed, hating that flutter in her gut. Did she find this insanity attractive? Dragons, why was her skin so flushed? Why was he watching her with such intensity in those wicked onyx eyes of his? This was not a man afraid of death. This was a man who came to face his destiny.
“Where’s your dragon?” Remis asked when she didn’t answer.
Remis was a problem she could put off. But the other two…
What was she to do with them?
She lifted her sword and pointed it toward the pair. Remis stiffened at her side.
“It's unfortunate that they can’t live.”
The injured man paled and the other pulled his sword fully from its sheath.
“You’ve won. You’ve got me. Leave them be,” Remis pleaded, his voice suddenly dark and low.
Her mouth tilted into a smirk. With one gloved hand, she reached out to Remis, running a finger along the edge of his jaw and turning his head with the pressure of the movement. “Beg.”
That gaze of his widened a fraction as his throat bobbed. He gave one fleeting glance toward his friends before he lowered to his knees, snow and twigs crunching underneath him. He looked so good there, bent before her, head tilted up and snowflakes glistening as they melted against his skin. Something in her core tightened at the sight. “Please,” he whispered, “Spare my friends.”
Merritt growled under his breath.
“Louder.” Meira circled her hand around his throat, felt the thrum of his pulse under her fingers.
“Spare my friends.” His words vibrated in her hand. “Please.”
“You’re quite pretty when you beg,” Meira whispered down to him.
“There are better things I can do on my knees than this, if only you asked nicely.” A challenge shone in his gaze. His features were hardened with a mask of confidence though she could still feel how quickly his blood was rushing through his veins.
In turn, she ignored his quip, pretending the heat that consumed her body wasn’t real. “Your friend needs a healer.”
“Do you know of any who might be about?” Remis pressed, snow soaking through his pants legs.
“They’re free to go,” she said. She wasn’t totally heartless after all. “It may take them quite some time to hobble there but the nearest town is that way.” She pointed toward where she knew a humble city waited. “Now, you’ll come with me.”
“You’re crazy if you think we’re letting you take him.” Merritt, the blond with the busted lip and terrible dark bruises on the side of his face, puffed his chest in defiance as he spoke.
Her lip curled. She was being kind to them, helping them, and he was going to argue with her? Stupid man.
“Then I’ll gut you both and be on my way.” She lifted her sword again, moving toward the pair.
Remis rose swiftly and stepped into her path, the solid muscle of his body brushing against her side. She looked up into his face. His breath was ragged, fear clinging to his scent, but he didn’t move. “Leave them be,” he said softly, “I’ve done as you asked.”
She held his gaze, was sucked into the memory of his lips on hers before she shook it away and answered quietly. “Our fates are intertwined, Nikremis. Tell your friends to be on their way and to accept the mercy they are granted. My patience wanes.”
His smile was long gone now but he dipped his chin in agreement and turned enough to see his friends. “Please. I’ll forever be grateful for what you two have done for me. That you didn’t let me face death alone. But it isn’t your time. Percy has too many books still to read and Merritt, you’ve got a maiden to woo yet. You’re both due long healthy lives and you won’t be cutting it short on my behalf. I shouldn’t have let you come with me to begin with. So go.”
“Remis you can’t—”
“Go!”
His friends startled at the fierceness of his voice. The blond scowled but held himself tall. “We cannot leave you like this. To your death. With her.”
“It is as she said.” He tore his attention away from them looking down toward the ground. “Our fates are intertwined. Who am I to force the hand of destiny?”
“You’re making excuses. You’re giving up!”
“I’m not,” he rasped then said louder, “I’m not. I am accepting what I cannot fight. Let me save you, you idiots. Let me save you as you have saved me.”
There was a raw desperation in his voice that Meira recognized. He loved these two. She saw it in the way they glared at each other now, angry and fighting the unavoidable.
Remis gave Meira his back as he closed the distance between her and his friends. The injured friend grunted as he was wrapped up in a tight hug between him and the other man. He slapped their backs and pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads. Meira had to look away, emotion that wasn’t hers came barreling down the bridge of the curse and made tears gather in her eyes. She pushed at the feeling demanding it leave her alone. She didn’t know these men, didn’t care about them or their safety the way Remis had. She wasn’t lying; if they didn’t go now she’d be content to kill them and keep her secret safe with her. Though Remis might think her a monster, she wasn’t. Most witches weren’t unless they had to be. She could be wicked, yes, if he treated her in such a way that required her to be. Part of her wanted to be wicked to him, that tortured angry and confused piece of her that didn’t understand what he’d done or why.
When he pulled away from the other two, Meira looked up, catching the way their eyes had all gone glassy. The warring of his emotions was still there at the edges of her mind but she willed them away, forced some of her indifference through that bond as if that might help him part ways. Remis turned back to her looking more haggard than before. Dark circles dragged his face down, the stubble on his cheeks looking more carelessly grown out than purposeful. He pushed a hand through his hair, keeping it carefully out of his face.
“Let’s go.” Meira pointed in the direction opposite of where she’d suggested his friends go. Remis’ features firmed into a resilient sorrow as he marched forward. He didn’t give his friends another glance. She almost wished he had, perhaps it would make what was to come easier.
21
Remis
Remis wished that he hadn’t seen her face.
Before, when she was only sinful curves wrapped in leather and full lips spread in a sneer he could imagine that the rest of her was as ugly as he thought a witch should be. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't ugly at all.
Damn it all, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
How vicious was this fate that his death came to him wrapped in this sinfully gorgeous package?
She’d held him at the end of his sword and all he could think about was how stunning she was under the last of the day's light. He’d been near enough to see the freckles too small for him to notice at a distance splattered across her cheeks and nose. The witch had glared at him, and though he felt the menace she intended for him, she hardly looked threatening with those large green doe eyes of hers. It made it easier to slip into the confidence he did not feel.
Even hating her as he did, he couldn’t pretend she wasn’t pleasant to look at. Plus, she’d offered his friends a mercy he hadn’t expected, though Merritt, the stupidly loyal oaf he was, had tried his damnedest not to part ways. But they would be fine. Percy would get the help he needed and they’d stay safe. Or at least he prayed to whatever great being might be listening that they would. He’d never really believed in the god that his mother had prayed to when he was young, but if that god was listening now, he’d swear himself a servant for the rest of his short life.
Merritt and Percy would be far from them now. The more distance between his friends and the witch the better. They’d walked for what felt like miles pushing through the tangle of brush toward the unknown with her at his back. She’d put her sword back into its sheath but in exchange, she held the point of a dagger.
He’d tried, without any luck, to strike up a conversation. The witch was stubbornly quiet, and the farther they went the more restless he became. Night was consuming them now, though thankfully the snow had stopped. Remis was shivering under his cloak, his breath clouding up before him obscuring his vision further. His teeth were chattering so violently he feared he might accidentally bite his tongue clean off.
“Are we to walk all night?” Remis finally snapped, coming to a halt.
She pressed the blade into his back, it poked through his cloak, the tip a threatening prick between his shoulders. “Keep walking.”
Snow was in his boots. His feet were going numb. Exhaustion was dragging his body down, begging for him to finally rest. She’d found him what felt like less than an hour after he'd gone to her in his mind and that had been enough exerted energy that he’d thought he might fall into an eternal sleep. He swayed but didn’t move. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and gave her his best scowl.
“I’m tired.”
She snorted. “You poor thing.”
He sighed, rolling his eyes. If she was going to kill him he wished she’d just get it over with. Dragging it out like this was torture. “Why not take that blade to my throat now?”
Not even the snow crunched under her boot as she closed the space between them. She grinned, baring all her teeth as she let the blade settle at the base of his neck. His eyes darted to her mouth and lingered there longer than they should have.
Whatever words she might have said looked as though they withered on her tongue when his eyes met hers and her violent smile fell. She lowered the weapon.
“Why do you want me dead?” Remis pushed. “Why go through all this trouble when we don’t even know each other? How have I wronged you?”
