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“I have to go,” Truly said.
“Not a good idea.”
Boots scraped over stone. Predatory instincts alive and well, he picked through the noises. Truly planting her feet. The rustle of her jacket as she crossed her arms. The scent of determination swirling in the air around her, joining the smell of burning wood and ash.
“I can’t leave him there.”
“We can’t get him down,” the unknown woman said. “What makes you think you can?”
“Have you tried asking nicely?”
A huff, full of disgust, streamed across the room. “It’s pointless, Truly. The forest spirit won’t let him go.”
Westvane cracked one eye open.
Blurry vision greeted him. He blinked to clear the unwanted interference. His surroundings came into sharper focus. One-room cabin. Fireplace on the far wall, the bed he lay in opposite it. Stone floor, thick rugs, two wide-back chairs in front of the hearth. Truly and a dark-skinned woman standing across the room, facing off against the backdrop of a wooden door.
Chin leveled, Truly stared her down. “Just show me where he is. I’ll do the rest.”
He pushed up onto an elbow… and regretted it immediately. The movement set off a chain reaction. Pain exploded beneath his skin. Nerve endings screamed in indignation. Fisting his hands, he breathed though the anguish and, with supreme effort, refocused.
“It won’t work. I’ve tried everything.”
“You haven’t triedme.”
Drawing her white-gray dreadlocks away from her youthful face, the woman shook her head. “Your magic doesn’t work here. It’s a dead zone.”
“I know,” Truly said, taking a half step closer, posture moving from stubborn to beseeching. “But that doesn’t mean my way isn’t worth trying.”
The woman pursed her lips, denial in the lines of her body.
Westvane swallowed past a bad case of dry mouth. “What’s going on?”
Truly whirled in his direction.
“You’re awake,” she whispered, coming unstuck, moving toward him from across the room. “How do you feel?”
He ignored the question, gaze bouncing from the stranger, back to her. “What’s going on?”
She reached his side and, without permission, set her palm to his forehead. “Rosy’s stuck.”
Batting away her hand, he rolled, levered himself upright, and swung his feet over the side of the bed. The blanket fell to his waist, grating over raw, bare skin. A growl escaped between his clenched teeth. “Where?”
“No,” Truly said, tone sharp.
“What?”
“Don’t get up. You need to rest. Your back is still —”
He scowled. “Where is he?”
She sighed. “I’m trying to find out.”
“I’ll take her,” the woman said, a tremor in her voice.
Westvane glanced her way.
Spine pressed against the door, the woman was trying to flee his presence while standing in the same room.
