Chapter 21: A Hunter's Mercy

Liria's consciousness returned in a slow, disoriented wave. Her eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of a dying fire casting shadows over the rugged figure sitting nearby.

She wasn't alone.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she blinked, her vision adjusting to the dim glow of the dying campfire. Then, she saw him.

The assassin.

A gasp tore from her lips, and she scrambled back, her body weak yet fuelled by panic. "What did you do to me? Where am I?"

A sharp pang shot through her forehead, making her wince. She raised trembling fingers to the wound, expecting the sticky warmth of blood, but found only clean, rough-unhealed skin. The pain lingered, but the gash had been treated.

"I treated it," the assassin said, his voice devoid of warmth. He didn't even bother looking at her. "Tomorrow, I hand you over. And then, I get paid."

Liria's breath hitched. Her stomach twisted as the weight of his words crashed over her. Hand her over.

Fear clamped around her throat, but beneath it, something else stirred—anger.

"They?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "More than one person ordered the attack?"

He finally glanced at her, his blue eyes sharp and unreadable. "I don't care who they are or how many," he said simply. "All that matters to me is the gold."

Liria's stomach churned. She forced herself to think past the terror threatening to suffocate her.

"If you don't know them," she said, grasping for something—anything—that might shake him, "how can you be sure they won't deceive you? What if they refuse to pay? What if they plan to kill you instead?"

The assassin let out a low chuckle, dark amusement flickering across his face. "Mind your tongue, little fox," he murmured. "You're not as clever as you think."

He tilted his head, studying her with a slow, calculated gaze. Then, a smirk twisted his lips. "The only fool here is you—thinking I can be tricked." His voice dropped to something quieter. More dangerous. "We, Alassins, are not ones to be played with."

Liria's breath caught in her throat.

Alash. The forest that stretched between Midland and Bratzar, known for birthing killers and mercenaries. The infamous Alassins, trained under the scorching sun and freezing nights, sharpened into weapons before they were even old enough to wield one. They were relentless. Unforgiving. And the most feared in the realm.

And she was trapped with one.

Suddenly, a sound sliced through the night.

Hoofbeats.

The assassin went rigid.

Before Liria could react, in one swift motion, he snuffed out the campfire and dragged Liria behind a fallen log. Smoke still curled in the air, too visible. Without hesitation, he ripped the cloak from her shoulders, smothering the embers and burying them beneath twigs.

Liria sat frozen. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her back pressed hard against the rough bark, as if she was begging the log to swallow her, to protect her from the danger that lurked behind her. Her mind racing, "Who—?"

A hand clamped over her mouth.

She froze.

The assassin's palm was cold against her lips, his grip firm. "Quiet," he hissed, his breath warm against her temple.

Her pulse pounded, her body rigid beneath his hold. He was close—too close—but it wasn't his proximity that sent ice through her veins. It was the danger. The realization that whoever was out there wasn't just passing through.

They were looking for her.

The hoofbeats slowed. Voices followed, low and gruff, just beyond the log.

"Her head's worth more than what they promised," one of them sneered. "Triple the price, at least."

"Triple?" another scoffed. "Hell, I say we double that triple."

They laughed, their voices sharp and grating against the soft hush of the thickening snowfall.

Liria felt her stomach plummet.

They were talking about her.

Terror clawed up her throat, choking her. The weight of it was unbearable, suffocating.

The assassin's grip tightened as if sensing her panic. His free hand moved, fingers threading into her hair, and before she could react, he pulled her head against his shoulder. Not gently. Not kindly. But enough to steady her. Enough to keep her silent. Hidden.

Liria barely breathed, her cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his cloak. She could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her, steady and controlled, while her own heartbeat raced like a caged animal.

"Think she ran this way?" one of the men muttered.

"Has to be," another answered. "Tracks lead here. We'll find her."

A pause. Then—

"Or we wait. She's alone. No food, no weapon. She won't last till morning."

Liria's fingers curled into the assassin's cloak, her nails digging into the fabric as the words settled into her bones.

If they didn't find her now, they would come back.

Hunt her.

Trap her.

Kill her.

She bit her lip, willing herself not to tremble.

Then—

A sound. A shift in the wind.

One of the men turned his horse slightly, and the assassin's body tensed beneath her hands.

Liria felt it, the stillness of him, the sharp inhale.

If they were spotted—

If they were caught—

It would be over.

Her fingers tightened. Her breath hitched.

"Let's move. If she's out here, she won't make it far."

The hoofbeats started again. Slow. Then faster.

Then, silence.

Liria's body remained taut, waiting, expecting the voices to return. But they didn't.

Still, the assassin didn't move. Not until the last echo of hoofbeats disappeared completely into the night.

Only then did he release her.

Liria stumbled back, inhaling sharply as air rushed into her lungs.

She turned to him, eyes wide, searching his face for something—anything.

"Why did you protect me?" she asked, her voice barely steady.

He laughed. A cold, humorless sound. "Protect you?" His smirk was sharp. "I was protecting my bounty."

Her stomach twisted. "But weren't you one of them?"

His expression darkened. "Yes."

"Then why didn't you turn me in?"

A beat of silence. Then, with a slow, predatory smile, he said, "Because if they knew I had you, I'd have to share the reward. And I don't share."

Liria's blood boiled.

"You filthy, greedy little pig," she spat.

The assassin wiped his cheek where her spit had landed, his movements slow, deliberate. Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward.

"Yes, I am," he murmured. His grip tightened. "Now move. I won't let you freeze to death before I get what I'm owed."

Liria had no choice.

With his hand wrapped around her arm, dragging her into the dark forrest, she realized one thing.

She might have escaped the assassins in the woods.

But she was still trapped with one.

And the worst part?

She wasn't sure which fate was worse.