The Witch's Daughter - Laken Cane Page 0,43
she needed, wanted, craved.
The fight.
So she threw herself into it with her whole heart, and there was nothing but the feel of her claws ripping through the tough flesh of the legislators and hot, fresh blood splashing against her skin.
No emotions or worries or responsibilities to the worlds. Just mindless killing.
She ran at the legislators and drove her lethal claws into their throats, brains, eyes—whatever they left vulnerable.
And God, did it feel good.
All too soon, the witch’s men lay scattered and dead upon the ground, and Rune stood with her people under the full moon, regretful that there were no more legislators to kill.
But there would be more.
Always, there would be more.
“Princess,” Jim said, breathing hard, his hand to his shoulder, “you are a freak.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “Back atcha.”
He grinned.
Then she remembered that Jim was supposed to be guarding Owen. She turned in a frantic circle, but couldn’t see the cart. “Where the fuck is Owen?”
“Come with me,” Jim said. “We stashed him. He’s safe.”
“You disobeyed me,” she said, jogging beside him. “I gave you an order to protect him.”
“We left Mel and Olson,” he told her. “We made sure he would be protected before we joined the fight.”
“I really don’t give a fuck for your excuses. You were supposed to—”
“Rune,” Ian said, running on her other side, “forgive us. It’s difficult to stand back and watch a fight happen. Besides, the legislators were too occupied to go searching out an injured man in a wagon.”
That was the truth.
“And it’s hard for us to resist fighting beside the princess,” Jim added.
She sighed. “Owen had better be okay.”
Yeah, she was getting soft.
Owen was fine. The two men Jim had left to guard him were standing stiff and ready, shotguns up, eyes full of resentment. But they’d done their jobs—even if Ian and Jim hadn’t.
After she checked on the sleeping Owen, she strode to the two soldiers guarding him. She held out her hand. “You have my thanks. Guarding Owen is more important than you realize, and I won’t forget that you kept him safe.”
They dropped their stares to her outstretched hand, confusion on their faces. “Shake,” she prompted.
They shifted their guns to their left hands and shook her hand, redness climbing their throats to land with splotching sweetness in their cheeks.
She smiled, her heart lighter.
Brasque Dray might have been a sadistic asshole, but his men were…
They were good men.
“Next time,” she told the four men watching her, “switch off. I’m sure there’ll be enough fights for you all to get a taste.”
Then she pulled a handful of grass and wiped as much blood as she could off her hands. “Let’s find some water and get cleaned up. Any of you guys know how to cook?”
“Of course,” Ian answered, sounding almost offended. “All soldiers can cook.”
“We’ll find a place to camp, have some dinner, and move on after a couple hours sleep.”
“Yes,” Ian said. “Damascus awaits.”
“Her death awaits. And I aim to take it to her.” Rune grinned. “I’m nice that way.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but images of Z and what the witch might have been putting him through were more vivid than the streaks of lightning zigzagging across the night sky.
Damascus would use him as a bargaining chip.
And Rune would do whatever the bitch wanted to protect him.
Damascus knew that.
She only hoped Z knew that.
Hold on, baby.
The zombies surrounded the camp. They were an eerily silent, blank-faced group of women, and made Rune realize one important thing.
She’d rather feel pain and fear than fucking…nothing.
And who would have thought she’d ever say that?
She sighed and closed her eyes. She could tune out the thunder, the quiet and distant booms and screams and explosions, the strange moans and sounds of running footsteps in the forest.
Skyll never slept.
There were many noises, but they weren’t the problem.
The problem was the fucking worry.
God, Z.
One moment at a time, sweet thing.
I’m coming for you.
I know.
“Rune.”
Her eyes shot open and she jumped to her feet, glad of the voice interrupting her dark thoughts.
Owen was sitting up in the cart, his hat pulled low over his forehead, hiding his empty eye sockets.
“You okay?” she asked him.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t mind your company.”
She climbed into the cart and sat beside him, her arms circling her knees, her gaze on the bright moon. “I can’t sleep either.”
They were silent for a long moment.
“Did I hear you say you found Z here, or was I dreaming?”
“He’s here.” She reached over and grabbed the canteen of water beside him, untwisted the