Page 32 of The Iron Dagger
“I don’t like tall ones. You can have her,” said the other. “But I’ll take my share of the reward.”
The unpleasant prickling along his neck was replaced by a heat so sharp it almost felt cool as it washed under his skin. He didn’t need to hear another word. It was time to put a stop to this.
He slammed down his tankard and wheeled around, taking long strides until he stood before the soldiers. He leaned forward, his fists thudding on the table before them, causing their tankards to jostle and slosh.
“I could hear every word you were saying.”
The men appeared nonplussed by Gideon’s abrupt confrontation. They looked at him with their mouths agape, until slowly their brows furrowed.
“So what if you could?” said the one with a square jaw. His mouth lifted at the corner in a slight sneer. His eyes raked up and down Gideon’s towering form, assessing him.
“Neither of you will be taking my companion anywhere.”
“We have the authority to recover any stray witch that crosses our path,” said square jaw. He stood from the table and his companion did the same, his eyes darting between his friend and Gideon.
“You have no authority in Norwen,” said Gideon.
“Are you planning on crossing the border?” said the smaller soldier. “Then we are within our rights to question you.”
Now he was making up laws.
“I repeat, you have no authority,” said Gideon. “If you’re going to lie, I’d advise against doing it to your Commander’s son. I am Lord Gideon Falk.”
The soldiers eyed each other, then looked him up and down. Patronizing grins curved their mouths.
Gideon could have gone out to the saddlebags and brought forth the Falk crest from his cloak, but he did not need to prove himself to these imbeciles. He still wore his crested ring; he could simply leave his mark dented into their foreheads.
“Leave, now. Do not bother us, or you’ll find your heads parted from your necks when I return to the capital.”
“You’re nobody. You’re about as important as the sludge on my boots,” said the thinner of the soldiers. “You should know that here in the north, all magic-folk are subject to questioning. Never know if they might be an Ilmarinen sympathizer. She’s ours.”
Hara appeared at his side then, worry creasing her brow as her eyes darted from him to the soldiers. He reached for her, and she naturally slid into his side. The soldiers’ gazes snapped to her, and one said, “Why do you wear no hood, Mistress?”
“What does it matter to you?” she said.
Square-jaw grabbed for her arm, trying to yank her away from Gideon’s grasp.
Gideon reacted like a spark to pitch.
As the man’s fingertips brushed Hara’s sleeve, Gideon drew his fist back and brought it forth to slam into the soldier’s mouth. The man reeled back, not expecting such a visceral reaction, and the thinner soldier gave a shout of surprise.
Before the man could draw his sword—stupidly, Gideon thought, in such close quarters—Gideon had drawn the knife at the soldier’s waist and used it to make a shallow slash across the man’s cheek. The soldier staggered back, his hand coming up to cup the freely weeping wound.
The thickset soldier scrabbled to gain his feet, but Gideon sent a kick his way, and he heard the satisfyingcrunchof boot meeting nose. While the man howled, a burst of hot pain shattered against Gideon’s mouth. The thinner man had landed a blow before Gideon could block it; it was poorly aimed, but Gideon still tasted blood.
Before he could retaliate, both men staggered to their feet and were stumbling from the inn, bawling out curses and nursing their wounds.
There was hooting and laughter, and Gideon caught his breath, realizing that the rough patrons in the corner of the room had been watching the fight with glee. He felt his heart galloping in his chest, and then he remembered Hara.
She looked up at him with wide eyes, fear and shock playing over her features.
Damn it all.
Before she could say anything, he grabbed her hand and hauled her down the dark corridor and up the rickety stairs in search of their rooms. They needed to get away from prying eyes and, most importantly, away from the inn staff. With any luck, the other patrons would have been too occupied with the wounded soldiers to notice where he and Hara slipped off to.
With jerking hands, he found the key. Gideon opened the door and hastily pushed her inside. The room was dim, the banked fire giving very little light, and the only sense of Hara that he had was her rapid breaths and the sweet scent that worked on him like a drug.
His blood was still rushing loudly in his ears, but now that they were alone, it roared and gathered in his groin, the furious desire to claim her welling up from some animalistic place within him. The violence in his blood, having no more adversaries to unleash against, had transformed into raw desire. And it begged to be sated.
