Sela didn’t feel the cold ground beneath her bare feet as she sprinted after Matriarch Ona. The frigid air seared her lungs with every desperate gulp, but her only thought was Pip. Ona was surprisingly quick for her age, her dark cloak flapping behind her as she half-ran, half-dragged Pip towards Vance’s trap carriage. The little girl’s cries were faint now, muffled against the matriarch’s heavy winter coat. Panic clawed at her throat. Not for herself, but for her child.
Harlan was a blur beside her, his long strides easily closing the gap. He was a force of nature, a silent hunter in the shadowed copse. Vance’s black transport stood clear now, two hired thugs standing by the horses with deep hoods hiding their faces. One held a lantern, its weak glow doing little to pierce the oppressive gloom.
“Pip!” Sela screamed, her voice raw, tearing through the quiet of the woods. It wasn’t the timid, easily frightened voice of the woman she’d been. This was a mother’s roar, fueled by a desperation that burned away every vestige of her previous shyness. She reached for the familiar, non-existent door in her mind, her fingers closing around a cylindrical object. She pulled.
A heavy-duty, tactical flashlight, black and unforgiving, materialized in her hand. Its beam, powered by modern lithium cells, was a weapon. She clicked it on, aiming the blinding white light directly at the guards. The darkness exploded into daylight. The thugs cried out and shielded their faces, blind and stumbling against the glare.
“My eyes!” the taller one bellowed, stumbling back into a tree. The other let out a startled curse, dropping his lantern which clattered and rolled into the underbrush, plunging their immediate vicinity into near total darkness once more, save for Sela’s piercing beam.
Harlan didn’t hesitate. He was already on the coachman, a wiry man scrambling to gather the reins. With a low roar, Harlan launched himself, tackling the man off the bench with brutal efficiency. The coachman hit the frozen earth with a dull thud, grunting as Harlan pinned him with a knee between his shoulder blades. A swift strike to the base of the neck, and the man went limp.
Meanwhile, Ona had reached the vehicle, shoving Pip toward the open doorway. The little girl was a whirlwind of frantic flails, her small hands batting at the matriarch’s face. “No! Mama Sela!”
“You wicked child!” Ona snarled, her voice tight with fury, still trying to force Pip into the cabin. “You will go with Master Vance! He pays well, you hear? Double!”
Sela lunged, her heart a drum against her ribs. She was on Ona in an instant, a burst of adrenaline propelling her. Her hands gripped Ona’s heavy cloak, pulling with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. “Let her go!”
Ona reeled back, startled by Sela’s ferocity. The matriarch still held Pip tightly, her grip like iron. Sela yanked again, feral momentum making her grip unbreakable. Pip, seeing her chance, twisted in Ona’s arms, her small, cold hand reaching for Sela. “Mama!”
With a sharp, brutal heave, Sela pulled Pip free. The child tumbled into her arms, small and trembling. Ona stumbled backward, momentarily unbalanced by the sudden release. Her eyes, narrowed and venomous, fixed on Sela. “You insolent cur! You think you can defy me? I own you! I own that child!”
Something snapped inside Sela. The fear, the timidity, the careful deference she’d always shown Ona – it all shattered like brittle ice. This wasn’t just about property or money. This was about her daughter. This was about a love so fierce it obliterated everything else. Her hand shot out, not with a thought, but with an instinct that was pure, unadulterated fury.
The sound of the slap was shockingly loud in the still night air, a sharp crack that echoed through the trees. It was far harder, far more devastating than the first time. Ona’s head snapped to the side, her eyes bulging in disbelief, her body staggering. A thin string of spittle flew from her lips as she lost her footing completely, collapsing into the cold, muddy ground with a wet splat. Her elaborate hairpins came loose, her graying hair sprawling in the dirt, her face a mask of shock and utter humiliation.
Sela stood over her, breathing heavily, Pip clutched tightly to her chest. Harlan was quickly securing the unconscious coachman and thugs to the wooden spokes with hemp rope snatched from the chassis. The air crackled with a triumphant, dangerous energy. They had won. They had faced the monster and prevailed.
“Foolish woman,” a voice drawled from the shadows, calm and utterly devoid of warmth. “Always causing trouble.”
Sela and Harlan froze. The voice was familiar, gratingly so. From the deeper shadows of the woods, where the ancient oak trees formed a dense, impenetrable wall, stepped a figure. Ona’s biological son, a slender man with a perpetually sneering face, emerged. Behind him, two hulking figures in dark, utilitarian coats followed, their gaunt faces and cold eyes unmistakable. Syndicate enforcers. They carried no visible weapons, but their presence was a threat in itself.
Ona, still sprawled in the mud, her face a mask of furious indignation, looked up. Her eyes, narrowed in contempt, landed on her son. “Torvin! What in the blazes do you think you’re doing? Get these ruffians away from me!”
The young man didn’t even glance at her. His gaze was fixed on Harlan, then on Sela and Pip, a flicker of something cold and calculating in his eyes. He took another step forward, the syndicate enforcers fanning out slightly behind him, blocking any escape deeper into the woods.
“Sorry, Mother,” Torvin finally said, his lips twisting into a slow, cruel smile. “But they said they’d take you in trade.”