"Yes." Bastian looked out at the misty forest, wondering if the beast was lurking just at the edge of the fog, awaiting his return. Soon enough they'd meet again, and this time Bastian was prepared to kill it.
Chapter Forty
Bastian pulled off his shirt and settled into bed as the sun set. He was already missing the freedom of the life he'd tasted outside of Hutton's Bridge. He thought of the sunset he and Tressa had seen as they made love in the grass. He felt a familiar throbbing. He groaned, whishing she was there with him. Their reunion had been too short.
Adam only questioned his haste to get the army ready once. He'd asked if Bastian was hurrying them along only so he could find Tressa. Without hesitation, he'd admitted that was his plan. He knew going into the fog would fruitless. If the map Udor showed him was to be believed, then Tressa could be walking in circles. If Bastian hadn't thought to climb the trees, he wouldn't have known to go straight through.
But without knowing where she was, diving into the fog without a plan was a waste of time. He needed an army. Not just to fight the beast or protect themselves once they found their way through fog. No, he needed them to be able to fight the people in the trees. The guardians.
He'd seen enough to know the woman was dangerous. It was likely the other two were just as lethal. If he could destroy them, then the fog would disappear. Only then could he find Tressa.
If she was still alive.
He couldn't even stand to think of her body laying dead, or consumed by the beast wandering in the forest. She wasn't stupid. She'd figure something out. Tressa always did.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he said. Before he could stand and pull his shirt on, a young woman walked in. She held a shawl tightly around her chest, her hands trembling.
"My mother asked me to see if you needed attending. Your wife is dead and you've been injured. I'd be pleased to help you." She dropped her shawl to the floor, revealing a loosely tied chemise and breasts straining to be let free.
Months ago, Bastian would have been tempted. He wouldn't have hesitated to pull the string, letting her blouse fall open, so he could fondle her breasts. His life with Vinya was unfulfilling, sexless, and depressing. Any time a woman wanted a dalliance in the back of the forge, he was willing to oblige. It was his way of drowning out the fact he couldn't have the woman he wanted and was stuck with one he didn't. He let the other girls dress the wounds in his heart with tongues, nipples, and gasps of pleasure, despite unsanctioned coupling being against their laws.
She stood in front of him, her breasts heaving. In the past it was a turn on. Now Bastian saw it only as desperation.
"If I send you home, will your mother be angry?" Bastian bent over, picked up her shawl, and held it out to the trembling girl.
She nodded. Taking the shawl from him with shaking hands, she wrapped it back around her shoulders, tighter than it was when she'd walked in. Her mother had probably forced her to loosen it up. Before he stepped into the fog, Bastian was the bad boy none of their mothers wanted their daughters around. Now, as something of a hero, he'd been elevated to the man who mothers wanted to sell their daughters to.
It was unfortunate he'd changed or the night ahead would have been far more interesting.
"Take my bed." He gestured to the rumpled mess of sheets. "I'll sleep on the floor. In the morning, you can tell your mother whatever you'd like."
The girl nodded, and scurried to the bed without saying a word. She sat down, unsure what to do next.
"Do you have a name?" he asked her, finding it ironic he was getting to know more people in his village since he'd come back than he had before leaving.
"Christa." It came out as a whisper.
"You can lay down, Christa. There aren't any bugs in my bed."
A smile crossed her lips, but quickly fell away. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Bastian said. He settled into an upholstered chair. Over the years it had been patched many times. The damask fabric had once been luxurious and rare. Bastian's grandparents were wealthy merchants before the town was trapped in fog.
"Did your wife really die out there because of some beast or did you kill her?" She covered her mouth and her shawl slipped down, revealing ample amounts of forbidden skin.
He tore his eyes away. "I didn't kill her." Bastian stood up and paced around the small room. "Is that what they're saying?"
"A few. My mother didn't believe it. It's why she sent me here. She said if she believed the rumors, then she would have kept me home."
"And why, exactly, did she send you here?"
Christa's cheeks grew pink splotches. "To see if you needed a nurse for your daughter."