Chapter 2: The Gorge Floor
Violet took her first step.
The moment her right foot pressed down, pain shot from her arch to her knee like a hot blade. Her knee buckled. Her right hand slammed against the rock beside her, nails digging into stone.
She didn't kneel.
She stood there, gasping. Mud and blood dripped from her forehead, past the gash on her cheekbone, into the corner of her mouth. Salty. Metallic.
She looked down at her right foot. Blood was already seeping through the cloth. A small dark red dot on the sand.
She thought of her office in Manhattan. The big walnut desk. Deals with a hundred and thirty-seven stores. What she always told herself in the bathroom mirror before a big meeting—
"Stand when it hurts."
She took her second step.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
She walked north along the dry riverbed. Every time her right foot hit the ground, pain shot from her arch to her knee, to her thigh, to her spine. Her breathing got heavier. Faster. Sweat dripped from her nose.
She counted her steps. Not for any reason. Just because if she didn't count, she was afraid she'd stop. Afraid she'd sit down in the sand, bury her face in her knees, and say she was done.
Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five—
A sharp pain stabbed through her left ribs. Her body bent forward. Her left hand pressed against the spot below her ribs. She could feel something moving under her fingers. The broken rib. Grinding with every breath.
She stopped. Bent over. Waited for the pain to ease.
The sky of Thornveil Gorge spun above her. Two suns. One red. One gold. The sky looked like it was bleeding.
It all felt ridiculous. She was a woman who had built a company into a hundred and thirty-seven stores. Her hands had never touched blood. Her feet had never walked through mud. Her body had never been ripped open by thorns.
She should be in a Manhattan conference room signing papers. She should be raising a paddle at Sotheby's. She should be on her couch every Friday night eating cheesecake and watching bad movies.
But she was here. In this godforsaken place. Covered in wounds. Barefoot. Wearing a shredded dress. Standing in a dry riverbed. Counting steps.
She wanted to cry. Her eyes burned. Her lips trembled.
She didn't cry. She took a deep breath—the pain from her ribs whited out her vision for a second—and straightened up.
Fiftieth step. She kept walking. Fifty-first. Fifty-second.
The thorn bushes on both sides of the riverbed grew taller. Denser. Dark purple bristles shivered in the wind like living walls. She knew those thorns were poisonous. The book had said it. Thornveil Gorge's briars carried a paralytic toxin. If you didn't clean the wound in time, the muscles around it would go numb in a few hours.
Her right foot was already going numb. Not good.
Sixty-third step. She stepped on a loose rock. Her ankle twisted hard. Pain exploded from her arch. A taste of copper filled her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue.
She stumbled two steps and hit a large boulder by the riverbed. Her back slammed against it. Pain shot down her spine. Her vision went black for a second.
She braced against the rock. She didn't fall.
Then she heard it.
A low growl. Deep from a throat. And the crunch of bone breaking.
Violet's body locked up. The sound was close. Just past the boulder at the bend of the riverbed. She pressed her back to the rock and peered around.
She saw Leon Hart.
Lion beastman. Lead warrior of the Gray Rock Tribe. Over two meters tall. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. He wore a dark brown leather vest, torn open across the chest. Muscle underneath.
But his right arm was bleeding. A deep gash from elbow to wrist.
In front of him stood a Thorn Wolf. The size of a full-grown bull. Dark purple bristles. Spines along its back like a row of daggers. Its jaws were clamped around Leon's left forearm. Squeezing.
Crunch.
Bone breaking.
Leon grunted. His knee slammed into the ground.
He didn't fall. He knelt on one knee. His right hand still gripped his long blade, tip pressed into the sand. His slit-pupil eyes stared hard at the beast. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
He was smiling. Mouth full of blood. Left arm ruined. Right arm bleeding so much the hilt was soaked. Smiling.
"Come on." Low and rough. "Take another bite."
The Thorn Wolf hesitated.
Violet leaned against the rock. Heart pounding. This wasn't in the book. In the original story, Leon entered Thornveil Gorge with Seraphina. Smooth. Easy. The plot had changed.
Her eyes dropped to the ground by her foot. A dried thornvine. About an arm's length. One end snapped into a sharp point. Like a spear.
She bent and picked it up.
Her hands shook. She was scared of the wolf. Scared of dying. She'd almost died at the bottom of that cliff. She didn't want to go through it again.
She stepped out from behind the rock anyway.
The Thorn Wolf's ears snapped up. Its blood-red eyes shifted from Leon to her. Leon saw her too. A woman covered in blood. Barefoot. Wearing a torn white dress. Walking toward a beast that could kill him. Holding a dried thornvine.
Leon's slit pupils shrank. "Run!" he roared. "This is no place for you!"
Violet didn't stop.
The Thorn Wolf's attention flicked between them. It chose the one still standing. Its hind legs shoved off the ground. It lunged at Violet.
Eighty kilos of muscle and bone. The stench of rot and blood. Coming straight at her.
In Violet's eyes, the beast's shadow grew fast. Her heart felt squeezed. Her breath stopped for that one second. She wanted to run. Her body screamed at her to run.
She didn't run.
She took half a step forward.
Just as the Thorn Wolf leaped, she shoved the thornvine forward and drove the sharp end into its throat.
Then she let go.
The wolf's momentum carried it forward. The thornvine lodged sideways in its throat. The spines dug into the soft flesh inside. The wolf's howl turned into a wet, choked gurgle. Its front claws slashed wildly. One paw grazed Violet's shoulder—
Close. Too close.
The curved claw slid past the skin on the left side of her neck. She felt it. Cold. Hard. Like a blade. Less than a finger's width from her carotid.
A little closer. Just a little closer, and her throat would have opened.
The force knocked her back. She stumbled and hit the boulder behind her. Pain exploded down her spine. Copper taste filled her mouth.
She didn't fall.
The Thorn Wolf tumbled away and crashed into another rock. It struggled to its feet, trying to cough out the thing in its throat. But every time it swallowed, the spines dug deeper.
The Thorn Wolf looked at Violet. No killing intent in that look. Only fear.
Then it turned and ran.
The gorge went quiet.
Violet stood there. Her whole body shook. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst. Her knees went weak.
She braced against the rock. She didn't kneel.
Leon knelt on the ground, looking up at her. His amber slit pupils held no gratitude. Only assessment.
"You knew there's no bone in that thing's throat," he said.
"I knew."
"How?"
Violet didn't answer. She bent down and grabbed his left arm, draping it over her shoulder. "Get up."
Leon didn't move.
"Your left ulna is fractured. Your right arm is losing too much blood." Her voice was rough but steady. "The camp is four miles north. Without me, you can't even crawl back."
"So?"
"So you've got two choices." Violet looked down at him. Her gray-blue eyes held no fear. No flattery. "One. You refuse my help. You bleed out here. By the time your hunting party finds you tomorrow, you might already be burning with fever. Thornveil Gorge drops below freezing at night. You're wearing soaked clothes. Add the blood loss. Your odds of living are about thirty percent."
Leon's slit pupils narrowed.
"Two. You accept my help. I get you back to camp. I treat your wounds. In exchange, you give me one night. Just one night. To prove my worth."
"What worth?"
"I know things you don't. For example. There's a gap in your tribe's eastern defense line. And within three months, someone will enter your tribe through that gap."
She didn't say a name. A hook shouldn't be given all at once.
Leon's slit pupils tightened. "You're making a deal with me."
"I'm giving you a choice. It's yours. Accept. Or don't."
Leon stared at her. Something churned in those amber slit pupils. A male used to being in control. Now cornered by a female covered in wounds.
He didn't like it.
But he didn't refuse.
He stood up.
End of Chapter Two
She saved him with a dried vine. She bought her survival with a secret. But how long can this fragile alliance last? Don't forget. The one who pushed her off the cliff is still up there. Waiting to confirm her death.