Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

“I know.” I sighed and turned toward the other work table beside us, wishing I could take him along and lean on his help. But it would mean exposing him to the Lycanthru and marking him 283

for death, the way I had been marked. “Forgive me later?” I asked.

He squinted, confused. “For what?”

I struck his jaw hard and he spun in a half-circle on his way to the ground. Thankfully, his head missed the edge of the oak table.

I dropped the heavy chunk of lead back on the work table, where I had just snatched it. I shook my stinging hand as I stared at Pierre’s quiet body lying on the floor, hoping the lead punch wouldn’t leave much of a bruise. I wanted to embrace him, stroke his head, thank him for his endless support and care. Instead, I had knocked him unconscious.

I kept staring at him, wishing I was a different person. Someone he could love and be happy with.

But I wasn’t. The Lord had assigned me a strange destiny, however short-lived it might be.

To stop as many of these murdering creatures as I could. Before they finally killed me, too.

I blew Pierre a silent kiss, hoping he truly would forgive me as I asked. For what I had done and for whatever I was becoming.

I stepped over him and headed out the door.

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31.

The same hush fell over the crowd of swaying onlookers as I entered La Maison tavern, crossbow in hand. Before I pushed through the heavy doors, they were joking, shouting, jostling one another. Now they all fixed a silent gaze on me before quietly returning to their drinks and murmured discussions, stealing glances at me over their shoulders and cupped hands. No one risked speaking to me, perhaps fearing my wrath, or being otherwise drawn into my dangerous world.

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Touraine eyed me from the bar as well, ending his conversations and shooing people away.

He turned his back to me as I approached and took a seat on the stool. “Order a drink,” he muttered.

I considered reminding him that his tavern refused to serve young girls, but this was no time to make sport. People were watching us. I laid my crossbow on the counter. “Monsieur,” I said, as if I was seizing his attention. He turned. “A glass of your best wine, if you please.”

He soured. “Buttermilk it is,” he said, reaching below the counter.

I frowned. He had not forgotten, after all.

“Just put some water in a mug. And make it look dangerous.”

He took a new mug and pitcher, turning his back to me again. “You had another busy night.”

“Very busy. You heard of it, then?”

“Heard there was a hunt. Heard some men

found a pile of dead wolves out in the woods.

Large ones. But no one knows who found them, and there’s nothing there anymore.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Nothing there? Then how do they know there were any wolves there in the first place?”

Touraine bowed his head, pretending he needed to polish a mug with his rag. “A rumor.

Some claim they saw that red rider fighting wolves in the forest. They say he left a few there, dead.

But they’re gone now. Others say that’s just a rumor spread by some drunkards. What do you say?”

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He handed me the mug and I drank, wondering how to pretend it was alcoholic. I decided to drink it slowly, staring at the counter while he pretended to ignore me. I lowered my voice. “It’s no rumor. I assume someone started talking about last night’s events until they were ordered to keep silent.” I took another sip of water.

“Have those men been back tonight? The ones who love hearing about wolf attacks?”

“Same place as always. They’re calmer tonight, though, maybe because Duke Laurent joined them. He made a rare appearance.”

My nerves flared.

I turned to see them, gathered around their usual table. Lieutenant-General Sharrad sat near the head, with his gleaming blue-gray eyes. Duke Leopold Laurent was seated beside him, like a spider