Chapter 2: Borderline
1205 Words
Petra’s POV
HOPPIN PUT the Kibosh on me when I least saw it coming. I had invited the full wrath of the Kayai spies into the tavern but Marcus let it slide. He said there was a limit to the hits he could take and when I overstepped, he walked me through the door.
At the brewery while mixing baileys and sorghum, Liam said he could hand me back my job but it was too late. I had gone way too out of line to deserve another chance to work. Not for Marcus nor anybody else in West Gate.
Even my scent wasn't supposed to be perceived by anything breathing. I became outbound.
It's a long story but it started when the strange figure who bullied the Yakai Chief showed up again, asking for a goblet of ale. He held that same look that could be mistaken for weakness. That evening, he ordered a goblet of ale and dropped ten silvercrests on the counter.
“It’s five per shot,” I said, shooting him a sharp stare. “Except you'd want one more shot later.”
He winked. “Barely have more than a shot. You can keep the change,” he said coldly.
Stealthily, I leaned against the counter, getting a better glimpse of his clean shaven face. I had never had a better look until then. All I could see were his steely brown eyes and the dangling hem of his jet-black hair. The neck gaiter concealed his face but I could tell what his bare face would look like from the contours of his jawline.
“Is that all you do?” I asked, avoiding his eyes.
He didn't see that coming. “You mean this?” he nodded to the goblet. “Drink?” he asked.
I shook my head in the negative. “Bullying big guys and tipping hot tavern keepers?”
“Is that all you see?” he asked carelessly, pulling the goblet to himself and the coins to me.
I rolled my eyes. “I suck at figuring that out. Maybe, because I just take people to be who they say they are. Tying them to stereotypes doesn't sit well for me.
He gawked at me for a few seconds and then snapped. “I can be what I have to be when I have to,” he grumbled, looking over his shoulder.
“Good or bad?”
He chuckled. “It doesn't matter. I just need to see reasons to see where to pitch my tent.”
I pulled a frown. “Did you have to get us on a fast run with the King by beating up a Yakai Chief?”
He lurched closer. “Did you say a fast run with the King?” he asked, almost in a whisper.
“Marcua had it averted. But, it got closer than ever.”
He lifted his goblet as if to make a toast. “I’m glad it didn't get to the King. But for the Chief, I had to stop him from being an asshole.”
I couldn't pull him aside. We had nothing substantial but there was this thing about having him around. On the first night he joined me to my cabin across the lake, the guards mounted the biggest raid I've ever seen.
News under the grapevine had it that I had some masked spy tied to my loins. Oman had sworn to shred his neck gaiter and put a claw at the back of his throat if he had to.
“You can't raid this place. You won't find a thing here,” he had said to the robust guard leading the way through the entrance.
His teeth bared and teeth clenched, the guard shuffled closer, motioning for those behind him to halt.
“What makes you think we're here for something else other than you?” he thundered, spreading his broad shoulders like in a show of muscle.
The figure turned to me. “She's a tavern keeper. She's got none of what you're looking for,” he said.
“Take off the mask,” the guard ordered.
The figure giggled and switched his standing posture, nudging me to feel relaxed. I couldn't be. I knew who those guards were and how humiliating they could be when being denied what they wanted.
“Take off the mask now,” the guard thundered again, his hand rifling for his sword this time.
“And if I don't?”
“Just do it,” I grumbled from the corner. He gawked at me and looked away. He was way too hardened than I imagined.
The guard closed in on him, his sword clutched to his fist now. “I’ll say one more time, take off the mask now.”
“Or what?” the figure asked.
The guard was about to strike when a more thunderous voice barked from behind. “Or I'll feed your carcass to the swine at Penta Chamber.”
It's Oman. My heart dropped to my stomach when our eyes met. He dashed me a whimsical stare and broke into a fit of hysterical laughter.
“It’s you again. Huh. I see you still haven't chained your dog.”
I swallowed saliva and turned to the figure who held no iota of fear. Perhaps, he had no idea who Oman is. “I-I-. Uhm. He'll take off the mask,” I pleaded and motioned to him.
He'd take off his hood first, revealing his thick black hair. “You don't weaponise fear against the same people you're supposed to protect.”
“What makes you think you are in a position to tell me how I rule my people?”
“You're not even welcome here,” the other guard with the sword chipped in. Oman tucked him in with just a corner-eye stare and he drifted backwards.
The figure dogtrot closer to Oman, so close their foreheads stood only but a few inches away from each other. I could tell they felt each other's breath.
“How to rule your people? Really? Oman? What makes you think you have a people to rule?”
Oman is a consuming fire. He needs just a slight spark to flare up. He had grit his teeth and knotted his first blow when the other guard grabbed him from behind and whispered into his ears.
What's going on?
I dawdled out of the corner and made it back into the light when I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening anymore. I watched Oman take a step back, his eyes suffused in a blend of fear and confusion while his eyes remained on the figure's face. His men pulled a weird countenance that further maxed my confusion.
Confused, I made to speak but the figure shut me in with just a raise of his finger.
It unraveled like a dream but every splinter of it was as real as a curse from the moon goddess. Oman and his men bowed as the figure pulled off his neck gaiter. My heart froze and my legs stiffened as I stared in disbelief.
It's Arthur Ragnar.
The only son of Lycan King Ragnar.
- Writer
