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  Blood oozed from the torn flesh, a fresh stream of red falling across Scarlet’s back. Gabriel closed his eyes as dread swallowed him whole.

  She was dying. His beautiful, wonderful Scarlet was dying.

  Gabriel could not lose her.

  Ignoring Nate’s protests, he went around the table to where Scarlet’s soft face lay still. He took her hand in his and held it like the delicate thing it was. Her other hand was fisted shut, clasped around something round and silver.

  Bending near the table, Gabriel placed his other hand on Scarlet’s cheek and stroked away the dark tendrils of hair that had fallen against her eyelids. He brought his face close to hers, his eyes filling with moisture and distorting her face.

  “Scarlet, don’t give up, okay?” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re not just my girlfriend. You are my best friend. You are amazing and this world is colorless without you. You can’t leave. Please don’t leave me.” A tear fell from Gabriel’s face and landed on Scarlet’s cheek, leaving a shiny streak on her skin.

  He kissed her gently and gave her hand a tight squeeze.

  Nate silently stitched away at Scarlet’s ripped skin. The only sounds in the kitchen were Gabriel’s ragged breaths and Nate’s shuffling feet.

  And from somewhere far away came the sound of the cabin door opening. Then closing.

  More ragged breathing, more shuffling, and a new sound—the sound of pacing—filled the kitchen.

  Tristan was in the room.

  A heavy tension filled the air as Scarlet fought for her life and Gabriel fought the urge to hurt Tristan.

  Dark feelings swarmed Gabriel’s soul. Anger…rage…hatred….

  Tristan was the reason Scarlet’s life hung in the balance.

  Tristan had been careless—trying to kill himself like a martyr. And because of his selfishness, Scarlet had been shot.

  After what seemed like years, Nate finished stitching Scarlet and bandaged his work. He took a step back. The three boys said nothing for a long minute, each of them staring at the unconscious girl on the table.

  Gabriel gave Scarlet’s hand another squeeze, hoping for a response.

  Nothing.

  He cleared his throat and looked at Nate hopefully. “Will she be okay?”

  Nate blinked. “Maybe.” He eyed Scarlet’s face. “I did everything I could. But the arrow went in pretty deep—”

  “But she’ll be fine, right? She’ll heal. She’ll be okay. Right?” Gabriel’s voice rose, his pitch falling in and out of normal. “Right?”

  Nate glanced at Gabriel, then at Scarlet. “I don’t know. Just…just give her a minute.”

  Silence.

  No ragged breathing.

  No shuffling.

  No pacing.

  Just silence.

  Then, from the far corner of the kitchen, came a guttural sound. The kind of noise that signified defeat and unbearable pain.

  Gabriel and Nate turned their attention to Tristan in the corner. Dressed in all black, with Scarlet’s blood all over his hands, Tristan’s face contorted in pain.

  “She’s gone.” Tristan choked on the words as he leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. “I just lost her…I can’t feel her anymore.” His eyes looked hollow.

  Gabriel’s soul fell to the ground, followed by his heart, and his every breath. If Tristan no longer felt Scarlet, that meant….

  Numb all over, Gabriel looked at the lifeless hand of the girl he loved, wrapped in his palm for safe-keeping.

  Scarlet was dead.

  4

  A spooked flock of birds darted into the sky causing Tristan to pause on his horse. He didn’t normally travel to the earl’s eastern woods, but when he did, he kept a careful guard up.

  The earl’s region was vast and consisted of two great forests.

  The western forest was lush and beautiful, known for its sparkling rivers and constant village traffic.

  But the eastern forest was dark, thick, and known for thieves and bloodshed. Tristan didn’t enjoy traveling to the eastern lands, but it was the only place he could hunt without interference from his father—the earl.

  Tristan did not need the food, but the villagers did. And, contrary to his father’s beliefs, Tristan felt everyone deserved to eat. Even the poor.

  Large game was hard to come by in either forest and since the earl had declared both woodlands noble land, the villagers were no longer able to hunt for themselves. They were forced to purchase meat from the earl directly, which made the earl more wealthy and the villagers more poor.

  Here in the dark woods, Tristan could hunt and deliver his kill to the villagers without being discovered. If his father found out he was feeding villagers with game from his own land, well. It would not be pleasant.

  The earl was not known for his generosity.

  The flapping birds above him had Tristan on alert.

  He gently pulled on the reigns of his steed and searched the area around him when he heard a gasp. Small and faint, it had come from the trees to his right. He scanned the trees and watched three figures emerge in the distance, closing in on something.

  Tristan maneuvered his horse into the shadows so as to spy on whatever was playing out before him. Something about the gasp he’d heard kept his eyes trained on the three men.

  “Here, here lovely. Come out, come out….” The voice of one of the men rang through the trees. Tristan watched as they crept toward the area on his right.

  “There is nowhere to run, lovely. Come out and we shall be nice,” a second man said.

  Lovely? Tristan’s brow furrowed in confusion. What could possibly be lovely in the eastern woods? What were these men hunting?

  Tristan looked about the area, searching for their prey, and his eyes found a swath of clothing peeking out from behind a large tree trunk.

  Someone was hiding. Someone wearing a long cloak. Someone “lovely”….

  Tristan’s heart began to pound.

  The girl thief. The one who had tried to steal his deer over six months ago. It had to be her. What other lovely creature had ever roamed these woods?

  He watched in horror as the three men inched closer to her hiding spot, now only yards away.

  Were the men planning to steal from her?

  Possibly.

  But their body language, and the venom that dripped from the mouth of the speakers, told Tristan otherwise. These were not just hungry thieves in the forest. These were true villains.

  Tristan silently dismounted his horse, withdrew an arrow from his pack, and lined it up against his bow.

  As he contemplated which villain to take out first, he heard a rustling from the girl’s hiding spot and watched as she came out from behind the tree with an arrow drawn. She pointed directly at the man closest to her.

  “I doubt you have any intention of being nice,” she said with a steady voice, “so why don’t we skip the lies and go straight to the part where I pierce your heart with my arrow?”

  The men stopped moving, but seemed unafraid.

  “Lovely,” the closest man said, his jagged yellow teeth showing through an evil smile, “you cannot kill us all. You have one arrow drawn and retrieving a second would take more time than we would need to capture you.”

  “Then I suggest you decide which one of you wants to die first.” She lifted her bow, drawing her arrow back farther. “I might not have time to draw another arrow, but the knife in my belt is easy to retrieve and your throat looks like it needs a good slashing.”

  Tristan was stunned. The girl knew she was outnumbered and had little chance of winning, but she still planned to fight. Which was brave.

  And stupid.

  The jagged-toothed man took a step forward, holding up a deadly knife of his own. “I’m afraid I must call your bluff, lovely.”

  “So be it.” The girl thief let her arrow fly and chaos erupted.

  Her arrow flew straight, but her target jumped away. The arrow missed his heart and sliced
his upper shoulder instead.

  The girl gave no pause as she pulled the knife from her belt and met her second attacker head-on, slicing into his gut with the sharp blade.

  Readjusting his bow, Tristan tried to get a clean shot, but the girl thief was too swift with her movements. She fought fearlessly, stabbing her opponents without hesitation and evading their attacks with swift, careful movements.

  She was a skilled fighter, no doubt. But she was also in the way.

  Tristan watched the fight with his arrow ready, but the girl kept jumping into his line of sight.

  She fought, she jabbed, she darted out of reach, but one of her attackers twisted her elbow back and quickly disarmed her.

  It was now or never.

  Tristan moved from behind the cluster of trees, his bow drawn on the thug who held her arm at an unnatural angle behind her back. “Let her go.”

  The girl glanced at him, eyes filling with recognition, then returned her attention to the thug who had entrapped her. Taking advantage of the distraction Tristan had provided, she elbowed her thug in the gut with her free arm and wriggled out of his grasp. Wasting no time, she drew her own arrow and pointed at the second thug.

  Everyone froze.

  Tristan watched as the three men took notice of the patch on his right sleeve, hesitated, then ran away.

  When the villains had disappeared into the trees to the south, Tristan lowered his bow and looked over at the girl.

  Her bow was now drawn on him.

  He sighed.

  “Do you really plan to kill me?” he asked. “Even after I just saved your life?”

  “What do you want?” The girl’s eyes were hard.

  He could see her arm shaking and, at first, thought it was due to the strain of her bow. But then he realized her whole body was shaking.

  It was a slight shake, barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

  The girl was scared.

  “I want nothing of you.” Tristan put his arrow away.

  “Then why did you follow me?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why are you here?” Her pale blue eyes were accusing.

  Tristan lifted his hands. “I was hunting when I heard you gasp.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “I swear.” Tristan waited patiently, looking her over. Her dark hair fell almost to her elbows and framed her face. She was beautiful. Her dress was more tattered than before. But her face had grown even more stunning in the few months since they had first met.

  Something inside him twitched at the thought that, had he not been in the forest today, she might be dead. Or worse.

  Tristan waited with his palms outstretched.

  She slowly lowered her bow, but kept her eyes on him.

  He lowered his hands. “Why are you so suspicious of me?”

  She began putting her weapon away. “Suspicion keeps me alive.”

  He watched as she gathered her cloak around her body and tucked her hair into the hood she pulled from her back. The sun was beginning to set and soon the forest would be black.

  “Good day, hunter.” She backed away from him.

  He stepped over to where his horse stood and retrieved the reigns. “May I take you home?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my home is the only safe place I know and I’d rather not bring a thief there.”

  Tristan smiled. “I am no thief.”

  She shrugged. “No matter. I still do not need a chaperone.” She turned to leave and Tristan felt something akin to panic kick in his gut.

  He might not ever see her again.

  He grasped for an excuse to keep her near him. “Are you sure you want to venture through the dark woods at night? Alone?”

  Fear was not the most gentlemanly of tactics, but Tristan was desperate for her company.

  Why? He had no idea.

  She paused, her cloak swinging to a halt, then slowly turned back around and met his eyes. “I am not afraid of the dark.”

  Tristan smirked. “If I had to guess, I’d say you are not afraid of very much.” He stepped forward. “But I am here, with a horse, offering to take you home under my protection.” He hurriedly added, “Which I know you do not need. But I’m hoping you’ll accept.”

  An owl hooted in the twilight and another flock of birds ascended into the purple sky.

  The girl’s eyes shifted around the forest. “Fine,” she conceded with a sharp look. “But if you try anything, I will stab you in the thigh.”

  He didn’t doubt it.

  Biting back a smile, Tristan said, “Fair enough.” He mounted his horse, trotted over to her, and held out a hand.

  She looked at his hand like he was offering her a poisonous snake.

  Cleary, she was not used to trusting others.

  He waited patiently.

  A moment passed and she slipped her hand inside his palm. He hoisted her up and waited until she was settled behind him.

  She didn’t put her hands on him or balance herself against him in anyway. She scooted herself as far back on the saddle as she could. Tristan tried not to be offended by this as he looked back at her.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “What do you care?” she fired back.

  “Must everything be so difficult with you?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I can call you ‘thief’ if you’d like. Or ‘girl’.”

  She didn’t respond.

  He faced forward and smiled to himself. He liked the girl thief, whatever her name was.

  Nudging his horse, he started leading them through the trees.

  “Scarlet,” came a small voice behind him. A voice that sounded more like a girl’s and less like a thief’s. “My name is Scarlet.”

  Tristan didn’t turn around. “Scarlet,” he repeated. A smile spread across his face. “It suits your temperament.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Tristan asked, “Would you like to know my name?”

  “Not really,” she responded.

  He smiled again. “Very well. Where to, Scarlet?”

  “To the east, just past the valley.”

  Tristan nodded and led his horse in the direction of her home. They were silent for a long while, only owls and crickets sounding into the night. With the sun gone, the forest was now filled with shadows and creatures of the night. All of which stayed hidden.

  Scarlet had yet to touch him at all, her body poised upright and distant behind him as they wove through the trees.

  He wondered about her home, what it would look like. Because he delivered food to the outer villages, Tristan was familiar with the lifestyles of the poor. Would Scarlet’s home be rickety and overrun with insects? Would her roof be broken and weak?

  It seemed unfair that he had been born into wealth and had never known a day of hunger or discomfort, while others were born into poverty and struggled all their lives. Maybe that was why Tristan chose to feed the hungry villagers. Maybe he wanted to make the world more fair. Maybe he felt guilty for all he had.

  “Your clothes are fine.” Tristan felt Scarlet briefly touch his sleeve.

  He grinned. “Are you planning to steal them?”

  “No,” she answered simply. “I am merely observing.”

  They moved on for a few moments.

  She cleared her throat. “Your horse is well-fed and your boots are well-made.”

  Tristan nodded. “More observations?”

  “You have money.” Her voice sounded resentful.

  Tristan was silent for a long time. “Does that upset you?”

  Scarlet paused. “Wealthy people cannot be trusted.”

  Tristan guided the horse on, passing by the valley. “Have I done anything that is untrustworthy in your eyes?”

  “No,” Scarlet said. “But that means little.”

  Tristan took a deep breath, unsure of how to talk to this girl. He wanted her to
trust him, but he didn’t know why.

  He tried to sound lighthearted. “If it helps, any money I have belongs to my father. I, personally, am not rich.”

  Yet.

  Soon enough, he would inherit land and fortune. For no reason other than birthright.

  They cleared the valley and Tristan slowed their pace, following Scarlet’s instructions as they wandered through more dense trees.

  When her home came into view, Tristan brought them to a stop and turned around to look at her. In the moonlight, she looked younger and more vulnerable. Her hair lifted in the night wind and her blue eyes met his cautiously.

  The small door at the front of the hut opened and an attractive older woman stepped out with worry on her face. “Scarlet, where have you been? When the sun set I was so afraid—”

  “I’m fine, mama.” Scarlet dismounted and walked over to give the woman a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hello,” the woman said to Tristan, looking at him carefully. “I am Ana Jacobs, Scarlet’s mother.”

  Scarlet gestured to Tristan. “Mama, this is…a friend,” Scarlet said. “He brought me through the forest tonight.”

  “I see.” The woman gave Tristan a shrewd smile before looking back at Scarlet. “How did hunting go?”

  Softly, Scarlet said, “I have no food for us today, but tomorrow I will try again. Do not worry.”

  “You have no food?” Tristan asked, shamelessly eavesdropping.

  Pride stained Scarlet’s face as she turned around. “We are fine.”

  He looked at the scant garden in the yard and the withered boards of the small hut, his chest tightening.

  Scarlet was poor. Very poor.

  He swallowed back his hatred for the unfair world and nodded respectfully. “Very well. I shall be on my way.” He began turning his horse.

  “Hunter,” Scarlet said, walking up behind him.

  He stopped and met her eyes in the moonlight. “Yes?”

  “What is your name?”

  He smiled. “Have you grown sick of calling me hunter?”

  “No,” she said. “I simply want to know who I should thank for…helping me today.”