Defiance Read online

  “They haven’t bewitched me.” I scoff. “Have you lost your mind? I belong with them, in their world, whether you like it or not.”

  Jacob rolls his eyes. “You poor, simple girl. That’s what they would have you think.”

  You poor, simple girl. The words sting, but the poison of them flares into fury inside my gut, not pain.

  “It’s the truth, you imbecile,” I snap, sick of his posturing, of his masculine vitriol. As if I can’t take care of myself or know what’s best for my situation. He walked the woods with me for many months. He saw me fight off a bear who intended to eat my brother. Yet here we are, with him acting like I don’t have a brain in my head or free will to guide my steps.

  “Sage, listen to me.” Jacob sidles closer and takes my hand, still holding his knife in the other. “If they leave you alone—leave you here with us—you could stay on earth. Return to your old life. Everything could be normal.”

  “There is no going back to my normal life, Jacob,” I tell him on a sigh. I’m sure everyone in the yard can hear the utter weariness in my voice, though I’m sure some of the men probably see it as the mark of a defeated, defenseless maiden being taken away by evil demons, rather than a woman thoroughly fed up with her childhood friend’s behavior.

  “These are dangerous supernaturals,” Jacob declares, pointing his dagger at Paris’s face. “You are not safe with them.”

  Paris’s voice is dark and deadly when he speaks. “I suggest you lower your tiny weapon unless you wish to lose it—or something equally valuable.”

  “I dare you,” Jacob says haughtily, taking another step closer. The tip of his knife is nearly pressed against Paris’s smooth skin.

  In a movement so smooth and fast it looks almost like magic, Callum draws his sword as well. As one, he and Echo move in around Paris, backing up their brother.

  When they loom like this, all powerful brawn and deadly grace, their faces set in visages that promise torture, I am reminded how dangerous they are. Jacob isn’t wrong about that. All three messengers could slaughter this village in a matter of moments if they chose to. I have a feeling the only reason Jacob isn’t in pieces at my feet already is because I’m standing between my messengers and the foolish man.

  One of the other villagers, an older man who’s always been a farmer, not a hunter, steps up and grips Jacob’s shoulder gently in his hand. “Jake, it’s not worth it. Lower your weapon.”

  From his other side, Josef Noonan adds, “Aye, lad. Miss Thorne appears to be going with them quite willingly. We were mistaken. Stand down.”

  Jacob falters, stymied by the concerned voices at his back. But the hesitation only lasts a moment before he steels himself again and jabs the dagger toward Echo.

  There’s a flash and a sharp, metallic clang as torchlight glints off steel. Echo’s sword bats away the smaller knife with little effort. Jacob’s dagger sails off into the darkness and lands among the dried crabgrass, disappearing from sight. None of the messengers move a muscle beyond Echo’s small flick of the wrist, but they seem to grow larger and even more fearsome in that moment.

  Jacob’s eyes widen, fear and shock reflecting in their depths as he stares at my men.

  Then he leaps toward them, the fear instantly replaced by a feral wildness I’ve never seen there before.

  His shoulder connects with Paris’s torso, and Paris rocks back a step with the momentum. The blond messenger lifts his sword, and I cringe. His name is on my tongue to beg him to stop, but my own surprise and fright has taken my voice away. This will be far from a fair match. Paris will end him here and now, that sword slicing down with a mighty, deadly swing and sending Jacob’s head rolling across the hard-packed dirt road.

  But the sword never meets Jacob’s flesh.

  Instead, Paris brings his elbow down on the back of Jacob’s head, and the burly man pitches forward into the dirt with a grunt. Paris’s goodwill is not transferable, however, as Callum steps forward and presses the sharp point of his sword against Jacob’s neck. He doesn’t break the skin, but Jacob cries out anyway. He kicks, his leather boot catching Echo in the knee.

  Echo growls, more in annoyance than pain, and then he and Paris fall into formation beside Callum. They’re all three as hard as granite, ready to murder this impertinent human who doesn’t know when to admit defeat.

  A thin trail of blood leaks from around the blade held at Jacob’s throat, likely from the moment when he kicked Echo and jerked against Callum’s sword. But the sight of the blood spurs me into motion.

  “Callum, please!” I plead, rushing forward to grab his thick arm. He’s an immovable beast, his lips pressed into a tight, irritated line as he gazes down at Jacob as if the man were a bug on his shoe. “Please, don’t.”

  When he doesn’t move, I slide forward and gently angle my body until I’m in front of him. The sword’s blade brushes against my side as I plant my feet firmly to the ground and stare up at Callum with the same stony look he’s giving Jacob. I move my glare to Echo, then to Paris.

  They’re nothing but pure alpha male in this moment. I see only the warrior in them, but I’ll be damned if we’re going to leave here with the people of this village believing my messengers are the enemy.

  “Callum, stop,” I say sharply. Then I wrap my hand around his blade and gently shove it away from Jacob’s neck. I don’t think he’s going to give in and back off, because I know what a proud, dominant being he is. It probably grates him just to have me between him and his prey.

  But to my surprise, Callum doesn’t resist my hand. He lets the blade swivel up and away from the prone man on the ground. And as if his relenting was a secret cue, Echo and Paris sheath their swords and step away too. Then Callum gives me a single, short nod and slides his own weapon back into its sheath.

  I stand here stunned for a moment, trying to figure out the meaning behind Callum’s nod.

  Did he give in simply because I asked him to? Did he do it for me?

  If so, it appears miracles are still alive and well in the mortal realm.

  Now that Jacob is safe from the threat of imminent death, my anger at him flares hot and bright again. He risked not only his life, but the lives of the villagers he rounded up to have his back as he challenged the messengers.

  As he struggles to his feet, I round on him and punch him so hard in the face that he falls back to the ground.

  Sharp agony shoots up my wrist and into my arm. I let out a hiss, looking down at my knuckles to find I’ve broken the skin in two places. Jacob is on his side in the grass, groaning through his hands.

  “These men saved the life of every man, woman, and child in this village,” I say, raising my voice loud enough that the onlooking villagers can easily hear me. I crouch beside Jacob so he knows my next words are just for him. “How dare you treat them with anything short of respect? You ungrateful toad.”

  He peeks out from behind his fingers, and the feral glint in his eye has been chased away by abject terror. Jacob probably never even entertained the idea I would strike him. And maybe once I wouldn’t have. But my death, and everything that came after, has changed me. He’s so sure that Callum, Echo, and Paris are dangerous supernaturals, he never stopped to consider that maybe the girl who died and returned from the afterworld is one too.

  I stand up and spin on my heel, turning toward the messengers as I heft my satchel higher on my shoulder. Echo and Paris are still as stone-faced and tense as they’ve been since Jacob started his posturing, but even so, I can tell they’re both trying hard not to smile. When my gaze turns to Callum, he raises a single eyebrow.

  It’s almost like he’s impressed.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” I say, stepping forward and brushing between Callum and Echo. I’m already several paces down the wide dirt road before they join me, and nobody says a word as we head for the darkness beyond the village.

  I glance back one last time before we’re swallowed by the wilderness.

  The crowd of people in th
e street has vanished, and only two remain visible in the dim glow of firelight that shines from the huts. As the villagers dispersed, my family came to see us leave. My mother’s purple scarf flutters in the breeze as she clings to Nolan, the two of them watching us walk away.

  My heart aches.

  This feels somehow like it holds even more finality than my actual death. After all, death didn’t keep me from returning here to save my brother and protect my people from invaders. But now the men and I are headed toward new problems—a war between gods, and a furious Kaius. That mad god might just keep me from my family for good.

  My old life is gone, completely irretrievable.

  And I have no idea what my new one will hold.

  3

  Nobody speaks for a long time. The night is absolute, not even a single star above—much less the moon—to light our path. But the crickets are out, raising their chirruping song in a harmonious melody with the low moan of the wind whipping around the mountains.

  The day has been long and hard. It feels as if it has stretched into eons. Was it really so little time ago that I was nearly killed by the afterworld beast as I ventured through the Unclaimed Expanse? The creature tore the flesh of my chest into ugly, painful ribbons, only for my men to piece me back together. Then we raced off to the mortal realm to save my brother and village.

  For the first time since I saw the image of my brother dying through the magical reflection of Callum’s mirror, I feel a slight hint of peace. I’m aware that this peace is finite, because we’re walking back into something much bigger and more dangerous than a marauders’ raid when we return to Ironholde. But it’s peace, for now, and the night’s soft song adds to the atmosphere.

  When the village is nothing more than a dim glow on the horizon behind us, Paris reaches out to take my hand.

  My heartbeat speeds up at his touch, and I whip my head around to stare at him, floored by the casual show of affection… until I realize he’s not holding my hand. He’s healing it.

  We continue walking, though his eyes are now trained on my hand, his gaze warming my skin like the sun. His steps never waver or become unsure, as if he’s walked many roads without his sight. The man is as graceful as a predator and just as vicious with his sharp, metaphorical teeth.

  His fingers move back and forth over the two small lacerations in my knuckles. The telltale hum of the weave slides in and out of my skin as he cleans the wounds. I make a soft noise at the tickle of magic brushing over my bones deep inside, clearing away the bruising from my tendons. Then he deftly sews the skin back together until the ache from hitting Jacob in the face is gone completely.

  “It was a splendid hit,” Paris tells me, his grin pearly white in the darkness as he drops my hand.

  I squeeze my fist together and release it a few times, marveling at the lack of any lingering ache. “It was a painful hit.”

  “Bones aren’t made for punching,” he agrees. “Next time, aim for softer parts. Men have a fair few of those, you know.”

  “Here,” Callum grunts, interrupting our quiet conversation. He reaches into the weave and pulls on a strand. Magic sparks up the night as he tugs me unceremoniously against his body, pressing me tight against him, my smaller form flush against his larger one.

  Then we’re off.

  As a passenger, traveling the weave across the world is disorienting and a bit nauseating. The men tug on the strings of the universe to speed our progress, and everything passes too quickly to focus on any one thing. The passage of colors feels a bit like spinning around too fast in a spring field until your head is so dizzy and light you must collapse to the ground for something to cling to.

  But though my body is occupied traveling the weave toward the portal that will take us back to Ironholde, my mind is clear as a bell.

  And there are more thoughts churning in my head than I know what to do with.

  When Paris first took hold of my hand, the flush of emotion that came over me made me giddy. But the moment I realized he was only healing my wounds, I felt my heart crashing to the ground. Because I wanted Paris to hold my hand—not for the sake of healing, but for the sake of closeness. Just as right now, pressed against Callum’s hard muscles, I wish his arm was around me in an embrace, not simply to hold me in place like a bag of supplies.

  I don’t want to admit to myself what’s happening, but refusing the truth would make me no less of a coward than Jacob Godwin.

  And the truth is, I am beginning to develop feelings for all three of these men.

  It’s a terrifying admission, like I’m sinking into a deep body of water and I’ve forgotten how to swim. I’m drawn to them physically, I can’t deny that, but also on a soul level. We are so deeply intertwined that there are wild, reckless moments where I can’t tell where they end and I begin. Those moments are even more heightened by being in close proximity with them—like I was in the empty cabin back in the village.

  Maybe I’m pulled toward them for reasons even beyond the effects of having part of my soul inside each of them. Maybe I’m just drawn to them. To Callum and his fierce, commanding attitude; Echo and his playfulness, the way he seems to truly see me; and Paris’s smooth self-assurance, his competence and grace.

  I’m falling for them all. But as frightening as that is to contemplate, it’s even more terrifying to wonder if they feel the same for me.

  I’m not certain they do.

  But why did they help me if not? They literally put Ironholde at risk by coming here with me, and they never even told me that was a possibility. Why did they do it? Why go so far out of their way to aid me when I needed it? I certainly don’t have the answer to that.

  After traveling the weave for a short while, we pause in our journey. Once our feet are firmly planted on the ground, Callum releases me to scan the horizon. He’s always on alert for danger, maybe even in his own bed at night. I want to reach up and smooth away the worried line between his brows, but I honestly don’t know if doing so would lose me my hand.

  “Could I carry myself?” I ask when he makes a move to grab me again.

  He eyes me. “You think you can?”

  “I think I’d like a chance to try,” I shoot back coolly. Farse, the man knows how to push me from secret admirer and into defensive territory at the drop of a hat.

  “Suit yourself.” And then he’s gone, fingers plucking the air to pull him away.

  I don’t hesitate. I reach for the weave, and I follow.

  Despite my bravado, there was a part of me that worried I was taking on too much, but in truth, following Callum’s trail is quite simple. I fall into a routine, smiling as I perform the magic necessary to travel the weave with a grace and ease I’ve never quite experienced before. I feel Callum ahead of me and Echo and Paris behind me, their presences keeping me on track as I pluck on strand after strand, taking us closer to the portal.

  I get lost in the monotony of pulling on the threads of the weave until I realize Callum’s presence ahead of me has abruptly vanished. A split second later, I realize I’ve almost gone too far, past the portal we’ve been traveling toward.

  An arm catches me around the waist, stopping my forward momentum. I whirl in Echo’s arms and sink into his embrace as we come to a forceful stop, standing before the portal in the mortal realm.

  My hands are tucked against his hard chest as I lean against him, catching my breath. My heart beats hard in my chest, and I can feel the answering beat of his beneath my palms.

  “Well done, little soul. You’re a natural.” He gazes at me with hooded eyes, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  Without even meaning to, I lean into his touch. His words are an exaggeration. I’m far from a natural when it comes to manipulating the weave, but I am improving, and the pride in his voice makes me flush with warmth.

  Beside us, Callum clears his throat pointedly.

  Echo and I pull apart, and I immediately feel the cold spike of his absence. My soul wants to drag us b
ack together, to feel his arms around me again, making me feel a little more complete.

  But Callum clearly doesn’t care what my soul wants. The big warrior rarely seems to care what I need, much less what I desire.

  I follow the three of them to the portal, trying to gather my thoughts back together as we approach the entrance to the afterworld. Although I can feel power pulsing from the area ahead of us, the portal is completely invisible—its magic hidden away from the mundane world.

  We’re in a wide, open field beneath a sky blanketed in twinkling stars broken only by a handful of small floating clouds. This part of the world looks healthier than my hometown, the grass thicker and greener, vegetation blooming with tropical colors muted by the night.

  “So what does all of this mean?” I ask as Callum tugs the weave to awaken the portal. The air around his hand shimmers and wavers like heat waves on a sweltering day, and his fingers disappear through the portal.

  Echo looks at me, brow furrowed. “What does what mean?”

  I hate to even put the thought into words, but I know refusing to speak it won’t make it cease to exist. “A war between the gods.”

  All three men exchange glances, and then Callum answers me gruffly. “We’ve fought many wars for Kaius over the centuries. This will be no different than any of those that came before.”

  My teeth grind together in irritation.

  What a deliberately vague response. Is he so arrogant he thinks I won’t notice that he didn’t answer my question? Are they all so dismissive of me that they think I didn’t see that little look they shared?

  They’ve been hiding the truth from me since we received the summons to return. No, that’s not true. They’ve been hiding the truth since before that, maybe even as far back as when they agreed to take me home and save my brother.

  I know I’m not a true member of their team. I’m not a messenger—half god, half whatever they are. I’m not a man. I’m a soul who was foisted upon them. But I’m just as much a warrior as they are, and I deserve to be on even footing with them.