Page 8 of Ravaged Saints

I lower myself and step slowly into the sun, feeling the heat of it on my skin, and what I see is the complete opposite of what I was expecting: two women are there, one of them, blond, with legs for years, stands tall with a trunk in hand, breathing uncontrollably, knuckles white on the wood trunk as she looks around.

The other one got caught in the triggered leg snare trap and is standing upside down, her long dark hair dangling almost to the floor; there is a look in her eyes that isn’t fear; she is pissed, and she thrashes around the rope trying to get free, but there is no use, not with Max knots.

“It’s not the type of animal you were hoping for,” I warn Max, whistling to get him to come from behind the tree. “It’s something more interesting.”

Max walks to my left, gun still pointing to the front, and his eyes widen. “Oh fuck!” he whispers.

The two flinch, their eyes darting between us; the blond swings the trunk around.

“Stay back!” she yells, her words cracking as her fingers tighten around the wood. Her movements are clumsy, stumbling under its weight.

But the brunette freezes, her piercing gaze fixed on me, every move I make and every breath I take.

Max holsters the gun back, raising his hands, but I see her, the brunette, reaching for something in her back, “Gun,” I grunt; we both roll to the ground as she pulls the gun and shoots. Adrenaline spikes as the bullet grazes too damn close, forcing me to roll behind the nearest tree.

Fucking hell!

A tense pause settles over us, the air thick with danger, and Max’s voice rises, sharp and commanding.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he yells, “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

She shoots again in Max’s direction, hitting the tree he is standing behind. The girl has good aim, even standing upside down.

“I don’t think she cares,” I hiss at Max, but he shakes his head.

“Come on now, you can’t stay hanging by your leg all day,” Max pushes. “I swear we won’t hurt you.”

“You Hunters always say that!” She screams back, her words cutting through the air, sharp and defiant.

The blond one is kneeling on the floor, covering her ears.

They think we’re hunters; that explains the reaction. “We’re not fucking hunters,” I say through gritted teeth, keeping my gun steady.

“Right,” one of them snaps, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “With that gear on you, what are you? Bird watchers?”

I turn my head slightly, locking eyes with the fucking brunette. She’s the one mouthing off; she has got balls, that’s for sure!

“We’re soldiers,” Max says, peeking around the tree. His tone is calm, like he’s trying to defuse a bomb.

There’s a tense silence before the blonde speaks, “Like… army soldiers?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Max replies, stepping out slowly from behind the tree, but my rifle stays trained on the brunette, whose finger has finally moved off the trigger. I don’t care; even if she twitches, I’ll put a bullet through her skull.

“Can you release her without hurting her?” the blonde asks softer now, but she’s still clutching that damn trunk like her life depends on it.

Max nods and steps closer, always playing the hero, and I step forward too, my tone cutting through the air. “He’ll help, but only if your friend there tosses the gun to the ground.”

The blonde glances at me, then at her friend. I gesture toward the dirt with my rifle, but the brunette’s emerald-green eyes stay fixed on mine; she doesn’t move.

I wouldn’t drop it either, I think to myself, but still, she doesn’t have a choice. “You drop it, or you stay hanging there.”

The blonde turns to the brunette, almost pleading now. “Let them help. They’re soldiers.”

The brunette huffs, her jaw tight as she snaps, “And? Aren’t most hunters ex-soldiers too?”

She’s not wrong.

“Drop the gun,” I bark, my patience wearing thin. “Or we leave you here for the bears.”

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