Her Dangerous Visions (The Boy and the Beast Book 1) (3 page)

Harvest squeezed his hand. “Since breakfast? Is that all? I dreamt about us all night. We were in the forest with the Erdu, and we were free, and we had our own long tent, and I kept wishing you could smile, but you wouldn’t. You would only fly around the tent.”

Aven frowned. “Fly?”

“Yes. I forgot to mention, you were a bird. Still, your plumage was handsome and I was madly in love with you, even if you were feathered. But your beak was the problem. I kept wanting to kiss you. I wanted your beak to turn back into your lips. But they didn’t. You couldn’t even smile.”

Aven laughed. A genuine laugh. The awkwardness had vanished in an instant.

“I was so angry when I woke up, until I realized it was a dream.” She squeezed his hand. “And then I remembered that tonight was a special night.”

Special night? What was he forgetting? She didn’t mean—

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” she said softly. “Tonight is First Kiss.”

“I haven’t forgotten. It’s just…we made last night First Kiss.”

Harvest stopped. Her eyes were large as she looked into his. There was a sort of amusement in them. The same hint of amusement Aven caught often in her father’s eyes. And then, as he read her face by moonsglow, he knew what she was asking.

He leaned forward, so that his mouth was close to hers. “Yesterday never happened,” he said.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Harvest, her hands gently tugging on his elbows.

Aven dipped his head, moving in close. He could feel the warmth of her breath; its sweet scent filled his nose. Lightly, his lips brushed against hers.

Slow, soft kisses. Exploring. Lingering.

It was as if yesterday had never happened; tonight, he felt none of the clumsiness. She moved closer to him, her hands against his back, gently pressing the form of her body into his.

The stars churned in the sky, glowing as they made their way across the dark while the crickets’ song droned on in melodic waves. After a time, Harvest came to rest her head on Aven’s shoulder. He held her, his mouth tingling with the ghost of her lips still fresh upon his own. Harvest’s breaths in his ear were a calming, primal rhythm. He took in the close scent of her hair. Sweet. Rich. Like the smell of fresh rain and loam.

“I can’t imagine this ever growing old,” said Aven.

“Kissing me? Promise me it never will,” she said, gently running her nose under his chin.

“I promise,” said Aven. “I’ve seen mates amongst the farmers with passions like stone. They might as well have wedded a rock.”

“We must keep this. What we have right now. My mother said to always remember these first moments. To delight in them and when we’ve been mated ten, thirty, fifty years, to make fresh, new moments. To be passionate like a storm, unpredictable as lightning.”

She pulled back, so that her face was before his.

Aven had no words, he simply met her eyes and ran his fingers softly against the side of her face.

After a time of quiet, Harvest’s eyes saddened.

“What is it?” asked Aven.

“It’s nothing.”

“I want to hear.”

“It’s about my brother, it can wait.”

Aven took his hand from her hair and placed it against the back of her shoulder. “I know you love him.”

Harvest placed her head on his shoulder again. “I’m angry at him,” she said, “and scared for him. I hope he’ll choose to come with us.”

Aven ran Harvest’s hair gently through his fingers. “Your brother has come to hate me.”

“He hates many people these days. And he only dislikes you because of me. Because our parents brought us together to be mates.”

“If he leaves the valley, do you think he’ll change how he sees us?”

Harvest looked up. The moonlight glowed bright on her face. “The choice to leave or stay will either save him, or deepen his roots in the Baron’s household.”

Harvest’s lips twisted in a painful knot. The only time Aven had seen pain on her face was when Pike’s name was raised.

“Once we escape this valley,” said Aven, “we’ll leave the past with it. Everything will be brand new. Us. Our future. The Baron won’t have control over our lives any longer.”

A crash sounded ahead of them and they froze. In that instant, Aven thought he heard something else. Something throaty, like a low grunt.

“What was that,” whispered Harvest.

Aven drew a knife from his belt. “Something close.”

He took a step forward but Harvest grabbed his arm. He saw the concern in her eyes, silently pleading with him to stay with her. He took her fingers, gently squeezed, and pulled them free.

He moved in the direction of the sound, careful to plant his feet on the soft patches of weed and grass. He neared a large trellis roped with Sape vines and stopped to listen.

Far away, the drone of crickets blended with the ambient noise of open space. Aven crept to the side of the trellis then peered around the corner. Moonlight shone softly on the leaves. On the ground lay two broken pieces of wood. A large darkened shape protruded from the leafy vines.

It jumped suddenly and grabbed Aven’s shirt. He slashed with his knife, but a hand caught his arm, and yanked him off balance.

A knife was put against the side of his neck and a man whispered, “Quietly now,
berry picker
, drop the knife.” The husky voice, the perfumed scent of the Baron’s whores on his clothes. It was Rozmin, the head of the Baron’s watch.

CHAPTER 3

AVEN

Aven obeyed, and let his knife fall to the ground.

Rozmin breathed words quietly into his ear, “Aven, son of Lynx, what a nice surprise finding you out tonight. Such passionate kisses. Secret lovers, are you?”

“Tonight’s First Kiss,” said Aven quietly, conscious of the knife at his neck. “We’re to be joined as mates in twelve days.”

“You’re not
joined
in anything else are you? A plot to leave the Baron’s valley?”

The words caught Aven off guard. An ugly recognition dawned in his mind. Rozmin had overheard them.

He saw in his mind’s eye the ashen faces of those caught in his position before, as they stood beside the axeman. Alive one day, executed the next, just like Coriander and Violet. He still had images in his head from when he was ten. Fifteen headless bodies left on the road, the dirt crusted with blood, their heads hanging in the trees, empty eyes staring down at the passersby.

It was over. Rozmin had overheard.

“Get over here, Harvest!” shouted Rozmin. “I can see you through the trellis. If you try and leave, I’ll slit your lover’s throat and chase you down.”

Desperation made Aven’s body scream with the need to tear away and run, to go to Harvest’s rescue, but he was imprisoned in Rozmin’s muscular arm. What were his choices? Could he incapacitate Rozmin somehow? Was that even possible? Aven’s eyes searched the ground for his lost knife. He found its moonlit glint in the grass not far from his feet.

“Speak up, lover boy,” said Rozmin softly into his ear, “If you want to live to see tomorrow, tell me everything about this plan and who’s involved.”

There was no other choice. His right arm was partially free. He raised it and readied himself to strike his elbow into Rozmin’s ribs.

The flash of movement halted him. Harvest had stepped out from behind a trellis. She held something in her hand that Aven couldn’t make out. Without a word she leapt toward them. Aven felt Rozmin tense and instinctively the watcher extended the knife to meet Harvest’s thrust.

Aven twisted his upper body free, and grabbed Rozmin’s arm. Harvest lunged at Rozmin with the unseen weapon in her hand, but he kicked out, striking her arm. Harvest spun and fell. Aven thrust his head back, hitting the side of Rozmin’s face. It took only a moment for Rozmin to slide free from Aven’s grip, knife still in hand. Aven backed away toward Harvest. She held a pair of pruning sheers.

He glanced at the ground for his knife, but Rozmin was already moving toward them. Rozmin brought something out of his shirt and put it to his lips. A piercing warble tore through the night air.

He’d raised the alarm.

Aven took Harvest's hand and together they began to run, back in the direction they’d come. Rozmin’s footsteps crashed close behind them. Ahead, Aven searched for the stump that was the door to Harvest’s home. They didn’t have enough distance between themselves and Rozmin to make it inside. And in that moment, it occurred to Aven they’d be trapped if they did.

“Go!” shouted Aven. He grabbed the shears from Harvest’s hand and pushed her forward. The stump was just ahead. “Warn them!”

“Aven!” she screamed, but continued to run.

He had to distract them and make time. Time for her to warn their families. Aven spun on Rozmin.

An ugly smile touched the watcher's face as he slowed to a stop. Then his eyes drifted up at something beyond Aven.

Aven turned. Harvest began to shout down into the hovel but, beyond her, a figure holding a lit torch jogged off the road toward their position.

Aven quickly glanced back at Rozmin. He was two steps closer. Aven backed away, but as he did, he darted a look back at the figure with the torch. It was Rose, the Baron’s female version of Rozmin. Heartless, young. He had thought her beautiful when she first arrived on their streets, but the ugliness of power and her cruel ways washed it from her face.

Aven glanced back and forth between Rozmin and Rose. Rose was quickly closing on him.

Suddenly Rose spotted Harvest and broke into a run toward her instead. Aven realized his mistake—his eyes had lingered on Harvest and Rose too long. He twisted as Rozmin’s knife point slashed down across the back of his shoulder. Aven winced but didn’t falter, turning and sprinting toward Harvest. The cut wasn’t deep, but he knew if he’d hesitated a moment longer, it would have been fatal.

“Harvest,” he screamed. “Go down! Go down!” Rose had almost reached her when she jumped down the hole. Aven came to a stop at the stump. Rose strolled up to him, the torch illuminating the entire area. Rozmin stopped not far away.

“How many are down there?!” shouted Rose.

“I don’t know!” Rozmin growled. “We have to wedge that hatch or we could be overrun!”

Rose pulled a sword from a sheath at her back. “How many are down there, picker?”

The shears felt like a toy in Aven’s hands. Rose came toward him, whipping her blade playfully through the air. Aven noticed Rozmin moving around to his back, when Rose lunged. All Aven could do was glance the blow with his shears, then he ran. If he had stood his ground, Rozmin would have skewered him with the knife.

Aven turned and looked back from the short distance he’d fled. Rozmin’s knee was on the hatch, and he was putting in a wedge.

“You hold the stump down,” said Rozmin. “I want the boy.”

Rose said sharply, “Pity to have to gut him, handsome as he is. I always had a liking to that one. What’s the charge?”

“Conspiracy to leave the valley.”

“Delicious,” said Rose, giving Aven a hungry look. “Bring me back his head so I can carve a heart in it with my name.”

Rozmin grinned as Rose put her knee down and held the wedge in place. Rozmin stood and moved toward Aven slowly, his face dark and sinister with the torch light blazing from behind.

Tears began to run down Aven’s face. Except for Winter, who was still at their home, everyone he loved was in Harvest’s hovel. He felt helpless. He was a farmer, not a swordsmen. There wasn’t a chance in a thousand that he could kill Rozmin with a pair of pruning shears.

“Scared, boy?” came Rozmin’s humored voice.

A random thought stirred Aven’s hope. “Harvest is Pike’s sister,” he said. “That’s Harvest’s family in that hole. Pike’s family. You know he’s the Baron’s son.”

“Pike’s just one of his pets. The Baron would sooner snap a bitch's neck than show mercy on account of its offspring.”

Rozmin began to walk faster, and Aven stumbled backward.

A voice shouted behind Aven. “We came as quick as we could!”

Aven turned. Two more figures came from the road. More familiar faces from the Baron’s watch. Aven’s eyes drifted back to the stump. Rose still held the hatch wedged shut. There had to be another way. Something else he could do. One more frantic possibility came to mind, but it terrified him.

You’re as good as dead already
, said a voice in his head. He knew it was true. He needed a two or three day head start to have a chance at eluding the bands of mounted soldiers and their dogs that would be sent to hunt him down.

“Alright boy, on your knees,” said Rozmin, “I promise a quick death now and only now. If you run, I’ll make the agony slow so that your eyes are bled dry of tears before death comes.”

The offer was oddly tempting. How many times had that promise worked on some lowly farmer, he wondered? Die quick or jump off the cliff into the unknown darkness.

Winter
. He mouthed her name as a prayer, then tore his eyes from the stump.

He heard the soldiers behind him closing in. He had to decide.