It was the next night when Azabela was in the woods again. She'd left from her grandmother's house to go hunt for some more food. Usually, it relaxed her to do so. It set her mind to work when Rhalla wasn't home, but that was when the game was good. Tonight? No matter how hard she looked or how long she waited, she saw nothing. Something had likely disturbed all the game that night because there wasn't an animal in sight.
What a waste. Azabela looked up at the moon to see how high it was in the sky. She cursed... it had to be well past midnight now. Shaking her head, the huntress strapped her bow back to her back and reached down to her satchel to find some rope. Azabela decided it would be best to just set some rabbit snares and call it a night. She'd have to come out again tomorrow night and try again for something larger that she could preserve.
It took about twenty minutes to set the snares, and once she did, she packed up all of her things. For a moment, she thought about whether or not she should go back to her grandmother's to get Dane. He'd stayed to have dinner with her while Azabela had hunted. After a few seconds, she just headed home. Both Dane and her grandmother were sure to be asleep by now. She'd have to go get him in the morning.
With a deep breath, she trod through the undergrowth, taking care to remain silent. As she walked, she remembered the dinner she'd had the night before. A small smile played on her lips. She truly liked Iris. There were no words for how excited she was that her betrothed finally had someone to go to besides herself --someone that knew that Rhalla was different from everyone else and still accepted her.
That went for herself too. Iris was still as genuine to her as she'd been the last time they'd met. Gods, she might have another real friend as well. Azabela sighed, wishing they'd have both stayed just one more night instead of rushing back to the sanctuary earlier that day.
But one couldn't always get what they wanted.
She finally moved completely out of the woods and into her yard, a grin still present on her face despite the fact that she'd be alone tonight.
And then her smile fell. Azabela stopped in her tracks, almost immediately after the front door was in sight.
Something was wrong.
She didn't know why it was... it just was. Her house looked normal enough; it looked just like any other time she'd come home late at night. But tonight, as soon as she stepped into her yard, a sickly feeling came over her... just like an instinct deep in her belly. She hadn't gotten this feeling since the night her mother had died. Azabela's eyes narrowed and found that her door looked as if it hadn't been tampered with.
But still, her senses screamed run.
Her hand hovered near her bow, and she took a few steps toward her cabin. It was when she took the fourth step that some movement caught her eye. She whipped her head to where it had come from and watched as someone slowly stepped from the tree-line. It was a man --a man with greasy hair and a disturbing look in his eyes.
He was alone... or appeared to be. Azabela's breath died in her throat and she wondered only for a moment if she was seeing things. Her nerves lit themselves on fire. This... this situation was too much like...
No no.
He grinned at her with teeth made of rotting banana peels, but said nothing. He just got closer, little by little.
Azabela unfroze and her lips drew a scowl. Anger coursed a steady stream of blood through her heart. The next words were a snarl. "Get out of my yard."
He took another step, but then stopped at the wild look in her eyes. He cocked his head to the side, and Azabela watched as a look of honest to gods confusion came over his eyes... like he hadn't expected her to talk. Or maybe he hadn't expected her to stand her ground. Whatever the case, she watched as he surveyed her.
"We can do this two ways, pretty miss." His voice was the raspy nastiness of wind in dead leaves. "You come easily and you don't get hurt. I have no wish to cause a beautiful woman such as yourself any physical harm. That's the first way. The second way, you try your hand at running and I catch you." It was an ultimatum that ended with a calling whistle from his lips. From the dark thicket of trees, a dog appeared. He was large and savage... a primal, slobbering thing that was bred to hunt. "So choose."
"This is my home," Azabela began. "So why would I run?" She took a daring step forward. Her next words were a startling whisper, only loud enough for him to hear. "How about the third option? How about the option where you leave my property or I'll send an arrow through your eye and right out the back of your skull." She pulled the bow from her back and nocked an arrow with surprising swiftness.
The presence of the weapon sent the nasty man into motion. He took a step back and gestured for his dog to charge, and it happily obliged. It was a hunter. A predator. But so was Azabela --and she was faster. The rehearsed bowstring drew and snapped, shooting an arrow through the bloodhound's left eye. It landed at her feet, dead in a second.
She looked up at him. No remorse. No second thoughts. Another arrow drawn... another arrow released. It burrowed right between his ribs and into his heart with a thick crunch, sending him backwards on his feet and onto the ground. A gurgled scream left his throat and ended abruptly as he tried for a futile second to rip the projectile from his chest. Azabela felt no guilt as he writhed in throes of death --she had no time to feel anything.
As soon as he was dead, a sickening howl hit the air. It was a sound that came from behind her. Azabela didn't hesitate, but twisted around in time to hear a group of answering howls. She began backing away toward her front door.
More silhouettes stepped from the tree-line, and all too suddenly, Azabela realized that he had not been alone. There was at least a dozen men standing around her property, and at least four of them sported a hunting dog on a leash. Each of the dogs had the baron's sigil inscribed onto them. It was a turn of events that had Azabela feeling a lot more like the prey.
For a millisecond, she imagined her life as a forced whore. She imagined the life Rhalla had described.
No. The archer grit her teeth. They were never going to take her alive. Without another thought, she bolted, knowing full well she had about two seconds to get off the ground or she was as good as gone. She didn't see the intruders let go of their leashes, but she felt the thudding pursuit of the dogs on the ground behind her right before she jumped as high as she could.
She slammed against the trunk of the closest tree just as her heart slammed in her chest. With more strength than she knew she had, she quickly shimmied up two feet and grabbed the first large branch. With a burst of strength, she pulled herself up just as the dogs jumped for her dangling feet.
She didn't have time to do much at all. Just because the bloodhounds couldn't scale the trees didn't mean their owners couldn't. Even still, she had to get rid of the dogs. She drew another arrow, leaving her with eleven left in her quiver, and shot down one of the ravaging beasts. A ripping pain hit her directly in the meat of her shoulder and nearly knocked her off her feet.
She gasped in pain and wasn't surprised to find an arrow lodged in her shoulder.
She had to get out. Bracing herself through the shock, she quickly disappeared into the thick part of the tree. Another arrow grazed her foot as she moved upward, and Azabela didn't have time to wonder what they might've hit if she hadn't started climbing. The foliage of the leaves granted her cover... which was extremely important. But it wouldn't be enough, not if they tried to scale the tree and find her. She needed distance, but three dogs still lingered hungrily underfoot.
She threw herself upward where the leaves were thicker with all the grace she could muster, and she did her best to still her body once she'd gotten into a better spot. Her shoulder bled considerably from where she'd been shot. Now that she was hidden well enough, the first course of action was to get the arrow out. With a deep breath, Azabela wrapped her hand around the shaft. She'd practiced removing them from animals long enough to know that she needed to pull straight or it'd do more damage. The archer steadied herself and grit her teeth. With one swift yank, it slid undamaged from her body in a bloody mess.
For a moment, she lost herself to the pain. She almost screamed. A last second thought killed the yell in her throat, as it reminded her that it would give her location in the tree away. Her position right now was just about her only advantage.
She clasped a hand over the wound to stem the flow and used her other to place the arrow in her own quiver. The silver lining of getting shot, as it were. With all haste, she ripped a piece from her tunic and wrapped it around the injury.
Now, she had to get out. But she couldn't do that... not with the archer that waited on her.
Azabela drew another arrow and counted her chances as she rested her back against the trunk of the tree. This was her land, and she was its savage heart, not they. This was her home and she was its huntress. She was its keeper. Her eyes narrowed and her body whisked around to face the direction she'd been shot from.
The group of men still stood in place, away from the biting dogs that treed her. Her eyes fell from person to person. There were two with bows, but only one with it drawn and readied. Things went surreal. Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe because she realized she was about to take her third human life. She hadn't even thought about the second life; it had been a quick instinct hard-wired to her survival.
This one... this one she knew was coming.
Evil or not, knowing that last bit wasn't easy. Not for a very long moment. Who was she to decide who lived... who died? Who was she to decide that these men weren't beyond redemption? She was not one of the gods. But she'd decide, wouldn't she? And one of the choices was her. It was kill or be killed. She would choose herself to live. So she drew her weapon slowly and tapped into the vein that fueled the rage that took the light from pairs of eyes --that took the final breath from sets of lungs.
She remembered. She made herself remember everything. She drew from every time Rhalla had woken from a nightmare short of breath and sick; she reminded herself what it was like to watch her beloved hit the ground in panic. She thought about how broken Rhalla had always been. Now, like always, Azabela forced herself to remember every single time Hench had ever felt unworthy... felt not good enough. Azabela thought about every single time Rhalla had ever felt less than whole.
These people were the reason.
"For you," Azabela mouthed, "love of mine." And she killed him.
It was a quick death, right to the eye and with his own arrow. She quickly drew another one for the second bowman and delivered it promptly. The soldiers went crazy and started shouting at each other, and the dogs barked even louder.
Now the group approached the tree one-by-one.
It was time to go. The archer stood from her spot and started to balance among the branches. She needed to lead them away from the house... she needed to lead them in the opposite direction of Sorella and Dane too. Azabela walked as far as she could go and then jumped to the next tree. She did the same five times after that. They pursued. Of course they did.
The archer could hardly hear her own thoughts over the barking dogs and militia.
"Get that fucking girl!" She heard one of them call to another down below. "Climb that fucking tree and rip her skin from her bones!"
Azabela cringed at the thought, but for a second, she stopped moving. She pulled another arrow from her back and waited. She didn't nock it, but rather, palmed it. One of the baron's soldiers began to climb up. She knew it because she felt the tree shaking with his every move. The archer swallowed hard and watched as he appeared and made his ascent.
He got close to her. Because of the darkness, he didn't know how close. He looked the hellcat in the eyes for only one second before she used the tip of her arrow like a dagger to end his gaze forever. The sharp point dug into both of his eyes with pinpoint accuracy, popping them in their sockets. He fell from the tree in surprise, his bellowing only ceasing with the snap in his neck when he hit the bottom.
She sheathed the arrow as the dogs ripped apart whatever was left of him.
They were hungry. They were mad. He was meat. And she had spared an arrow.
There were three dogs and eleven men left to kill. She had to do it with ten arrows and a severe injury to boot. What sodding luck.
She made a judgment call and used three more to kill the rest of the dogs as they ate from their old master. Now, she could run on the ground once she got far enough away from the rest of them --if she could get far enough away.
She still knew that she needed to lead them away from home. But she had to be careful about doing that. One wrong move and she was dead... or worse. One wrong move and she'd never get to see the sun tomorrow. How to kill eleven men with seven arrows? That was the question of the night.
As the worry passed her mind, she began to feel light-headed. Now, a loss of consciousness threatened also to take her. Azabela gritted her teeth and willed herself to get through the haze... for whatever good that did. If the blood loss took her into a black embrace, she'd never wake up again. She knew it, too.
Azabela vomited. Oh, she suddenly felt very sick. She was tingly and clammy, and flashes of heat surged her entire figure.
She knew two things with incredible certainty as she swooned again. She was almost out of time.
It was only the beginning.
A/N -- Hey guys, you know the drill, this is unedited for now. I'm tired and will do it later. Regardless, hope you enjoyed!