ADJUSTING THE knife, the thief stepped over the slain creature and strolled casually over to the one still on the ground.
The remaining creature rolled over, a veil of crimson over its monstrous face. It saw the thief’s approach and scrambled to lift itself from the ground. But the thief was on it too quickly.
Hunter’s stomach heaved, and involuntarily, he turned his head from what was coming. But that did not protect him from the sound of the knife entering flesh and an almost gentle sigh that came from the creature as it died. He braced his hand against the natural wall to prevent himself from falling over. His head swam, and his knees were ready to buckle.
“Fucking hell!” He dropped his head low as he tried to get his breathing under control. Bile reached up to burn the back of his throat.
“You’re welcome,” the thief said.
Hunter shot him an acidic glare over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”
The thief wiped the blade clean on the body and tucked it into his belt as he walked off. The hooded cape from last night was gone, giving Hunter his first real look at him. He was about the size of Billy the Hobbit, the squad’s scrum half, a full head shorter than Hunter, and like Billy, he had a tight, muscular frame. But his hair was coal-black, and he had eyes to match. He wore a brown leather vest buckled over his chest, with a sleeveless linen shirt beneath it, exposing arms that would make an Olympic gymnast put on a sweater in shame. He had loose brown pants buckled just below the knees, and high black boots.
Using the heel of his boot, the thief rolled one of the beasts over onto its back. Thick arms flopped out at its sides. The beast’s mouth was open in death, and its tongue protruded out like a rotting tenderloin. The thief removed a pouch from its wide belt, loosened the drawstrings, and dumped the contents into his hand.
A few crude-looking coins spilled out first. Then what looked like a collection of teeth. Lastly, the broach he’d stolen dropped into his palm.
Hunter sprang from the wall. “I’ll be taking that back now.”
He grabbed for the thief’s wrist. Strength alone would be enough to overpower this little shit. His arm was deflected with surprising ease, and a fraction of a second later, a sharp pain materialized under his chin. He glanced down to find the point of the knife at his throat.
The thief glared up at Hunter, his hand steady as iron and ready to thrust.
“That’s mine,” Hunter growled.
“I just saved your life. I’d say we’re square.” His voice was rich and oddly melodious. Hunter couldn’t place the accent. It seemed a strange amalgamation of dialects. British maybe. Eastern Europe too. The thief lowered the knife from the Hunter’s throat and tucked it away again in his belt as if Hunter posed no threat to him.
“Bullshit,” Hunter replied. He touched the skin under his chin with two fingers and looked at it. No blood. The knifepoint hadn’t broken the surface. “These things would have slit your throat if not for me.”
“I had it under control,” the thief said.
“You were flopping about like a fish.”
“The amulet stays with me.” His voice had a tenor of finality. He turned his back on Hunter dismissively and tucked the broach into a leather pouch at his belt.
Hunter stared at the thief as he circled about the campsite, pulling lids off crates and opening sacks. The cold arrogance of this guy made Hunter’s blood seethe. Hunter weighed his options with a tight jaw. Should he try again? But he’d anticipated Hunter’s first attempt with ease and reacted faster than Hunter would have thought possible.
Hunter looked around at the carnage. “Where am I?”
The thief tugged things out of a sack and tossed them onto the ground. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“You broke into my place, thief!”
“And if you had gone to his dwelling like you were supposed to, I would have been long gone.”
Was Darren in on this somehow? He’d wanted them to head out to his place in the suburbs. Hunter’s apartment was closer. “With my mother’s broach.”
“You would never have noticed it was gone. For years, probably.”
“Because you were so careful how you ransacked my apartment.”
“That amulet is important. It has a greater purpose than sitting in a box in your bedchamber.”
Amulet. A dim memory from his youth blossomed in his mind. His mother had called it that too.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He stomped closer, fists clenched. He was losing his patience and was ready to start pounding on him, regardless of that knife he carried. He’d take his chances. In the past, most people had the good sense to look concerned or step back when Hunter was like this, but the thief didn’t even seem to notice. “Start answering my questions, thief.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
The thief, looking almost bored, paused his search to look at Hunter. “Fine. We needed the relic returned. It has powers that—”
“Powers?”
“Yes, powers.”
Hunter’s brow tightened. “As in magic?”
“Call it what you will.”
He was right. Hunter didn’t believe him. “Look, I may not be in line for any Nobel Prizes, but if you think I’m going to fall for—”
“Look around you,” the thief snapped, his patience with Hunter clearly thinning. He kicked the head of one of the creatures. “Do you have these in your world?”
Hunter was stunned into silence for a heartbeat. “My world?”
The thief stared at Hunter with a slow shake of his head. “Zefora’s hammer, you are dense. You obviously saw the portal hole yourself because you jumped through it. And you ended up here.” The thief leaned in and raised eyebrows at him, as if waiting for Hunter to connect the dots. “If you are not going to believe your own senses, I cannot help you.”
The cold weight of conviction landed in his gut. His logic fought against it, trying to cling to any shred of rationality, anything that might explain this in some other way. But he had nothing. He opened his mouth and somehow managed to force words from his constricted throat. “How do I get home?”
The thief turned and put his attention on the contents of a crate. “You don’t.”
“Excuse me?’”
“There is no way home for you.” His voice tempered, lost some of its edge. “Two portal stones. That is all I had. One to get me there; one to get me back.”
“Then find another one of those stones.”
The thief closed his eyes as if mining for patience. “Not that easy. Even if I could find another portal stone, it wouldn’t matter. It’s too late for you.”
Too late? What did that mean?
Hunter’s hands began to shake. The thief’s casual indifference to how Hunter’s entire life was now in shambles made his vision blur with rage. He could no longer restrain himself. He sprang for the guy’s neck—but again, the thief was faster than Hunter. He twisted aside with ease, and this time the sharp edge of the blade was pressed against the side of Hunter’s neck.
“Try that again and I will not stay my hand,” the thief said quietly.
Hunter shoved the thief’s hand away and stepped back, his insides roiling.
“I have no desire to kill you,” the thief added. “But I will not hesitate if you interfere in my mission.”
“What mission?”
The thief ignored him. He returned to his search of the campsite, and piece by piece threw items he found into a canvas sack. He acted as if Hunter was not even there.
After a few minutes, he tossed the sack at Hunter, who caught it against his chest.
“We don’t want to be in this region when it gets dark,” the thief said. “Let’s move. I’ll explain what I can as we walk.”
“What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you, thief?” Hunter growled.
“Because if you stay here, you will die.” He picked up a leather pack and hung the strap over his shoulder. “And the name is Dax. Not thief.”