Perfect Misfits Page 5

  Anger boiled in Ryder’s blood. Unable to control his temper, he thumped his large wings, causing a gust of air and snow to engulf the party down below. The larger of the beasts roared, looking up into the sky and sniffing, perhaps hoping to gain Ryder’s scent.

  So that must be the bastard known as Fedor that Tempest mentioned.

  “Fucking weather! Get on with it, Cash. You’re wasting precious time.”

  Fedor climbed back up into the carriage. The beasts in chains pulled together, dragging the ice carriage with them.

  They plodded down the trail, with the other group heading in the opposite direction.

  Ryder flew straight up into the sky and past the ledge where he’d left Tempest and Rogue. Once he’d hit the plateau on top of the mountain, he squinted and scanned for the point where Tempest had almost met her demise. Fresh snow covered most of the path, but not enough to conceal where she’d slid. A big smile covered his face. It would appear as though she went over the ledge, which she had. Perhaps they would assume she plummeted to her death.

  Tempest would be safe in the cave…temporarily. First, he followed the creatures sent after Tempest. How would they climb the mountain? To his surprise, the trail began a steep uphill climb, winding up the back of the ice-covered rock.

  It would take them at least two days to discover she went over the ledge.

  He backtracked the way he come and went in search of Fedor. Anger rose inside him, and he flexed his talons causing them to sinking into his skin.

  That vile creature will never lay his hands on Tempest…never.

  Suspended in the air, he scanned as far as his eye could see. To the north and east, the mountain ranges towered over the ones in the south and west. Fedor headed north, where a vast glacier spanned for miles.

  Deciding it would be best to see where and why Fedor was making this trip, Ryder landed on the smooth ice surface of the glacier noticing etched trails that then somehow burrowed straight down into the hard surface, leaving a gaping hole. He hoped whatever left those marks before his was not from something living.

  Chapter Seven

  Translucent ice turned to milky grey as they neared the glacier. The ice runners of the carriage now ground through the tracks with effort, catching on the silt mixed frozen water.

  Fedor pulled his fur robe up around his neck and peered out the window. Spear-shaped rocks peered out from the massive wall they approached. No opening appeared visible—only the jagged points forming an impressive shield. He shuddered, thinking about Vicasha. She scared the crap out of him…and he was no slouch in the ‘scary” department.

  The sneers slowed to a stop in front of the spears. He stood within the carriage, staring at the image of himself reflecting back from the ice mirror on the opposite wall. Then, he sucked in the dry air with effort and spewed out a handful of spit wiping it over the top of his baldhead.

  A moment of regret put a scowl on his face. He’d made his choice and placed himself in this position here on the frigid mountain. He’d never fit in the city of Levare.

  Suck it up. This was your choice.

  He didn’t have it so bad now—at least here, he’d made himself king-like. He smiled with wicked intentions and turned to the door. He’d have to make the rest of the way on foot.

  He approached the barrier of razor sharp rocks, knowing his personal calling card would open the hidden world. Removing the mitt, he exposed his hand and ran the fleshy part of his palm down one of the sharp rocks. Blood trickled over the spear and hit the ice, disappearing on contact.

  Ice and rock crunched all around, sending him scurrying backward out of harm’s way. Mountains of immovable formations shuddered and groaned, splitting in two, allowing entrance to the small village bustling with life.

  A troll with a beard dragging on the ground between his wart-covered legs approached. He squinted up at Fedor, then wiped his bulbous nose across his tattered sleeve. Leaning to the right and then to the left, the troll peered around Fedor’s body and smiled licking his lips.

  “It’s about time you brought food,” he exclaimed, rubbing his grubby, gnarled hands together.

  “Spitter, get the hell out of my way, and tell Vicasha I’m here.”

  The troll stepped backward, staring at the body pulled by the sneer. He snickered and laughed, poking at the beast and grabbing a handful of his hair. “Sneer, shmeer. You’re not so big and scary, but you are awfully tasty.” Spitter stuffed the handful of hair in his mouth, and then turned and ran yelling as he went. “Vicasha knows you’re here.”

  The sneer lifted his head and roared loudly with discontent. Fedor silenced the animal with the back of his hand. “Shut the fuck up, or you’ll end up like him,” he said, pointing at the dead demon body.

  He strode through the village. Trolls of all sizes and disgusting shapes watched him with spiteful eyes as they went about their business. Things were different here. A stream of water flowed peacefully off in the distance, and lush foliage covered the ground reaching up toward the bright sun. Yes, things grew here, unlike in the ice castle he ruled. A smile formed on his face when he kicked over a pot of flowers he passed by. Plants and running water did nothing for this village, but the dead he brought to these spiteful creatures kept them living.

  He headed to the large hut. Upon his arrival, many trolls like Spitter exited. From his pocket, he pulled out a long, jagged-edged knife. The sneer stepped out of his way as he bent down over the body, sawing with the knife until he held an ear. “Guard him,” he ordered the snow troop.

  Inside the dark hut, he sauntered to the back wall and pulled up a stump. He slammed the decaying pointed ear on the rock countertop. A large one-eyed troll blinked and stood staring at him from behind the rock. A forked tongue darted out to lick the piece of flesh.

  “Don’t just stand there, you fucked-up monster. Bring me a drink.”

  The inebriated state would help dull his senses for what was about to come. He’d drink his fill before he visited Vicasha.

  Behind the beast, an orange liquid trickled down the side of the rock wall and into a basin. He could already feel the sensation of the warm mixture sliding down his throat. The beast snatched the ear away and shoved it under the granite counter.

  A glass appeared from a previously concealed compartment in the counter and began filling from the bottom up. He wrapped his hands around the tumbler and brought it to his lips. With eyes closed, he drank the contents down in one long, deep swallow. Satisfied for the moment, he returned the glass to its original spot and watched it fill again.

  After the fourth round, the glass sank back into the rock, signaling he would need to cough up more body parts if he wished to consume any more. He pushed himself up and off the stump, catching himself when he stumbled a step backward. The desired effect took hold of his senses.

  Outside, the bright light annoyed the hell out of him. He stared to the far end of the village motioning for the sneer to follow, and staggered down the path, feeling numb all over.

  A staircase wound high up into the trees. He’d reached his destination. To his immediate left was the pit. Bubbles rose to the surface with a gurgle and disappeared.

  “Put the body in there,” Fedor commanded, pointing to the pit.

  With a grunt, the sneer pulled the body to the edge, undid the chain with his teeth, and then shoved the rotting corpse into the marsh.

  In mere moments, the hissing began, followed by the yellow moss and weeds turning black and slithering with giant leeches. The sneer stepped backward, running into him. In his drunken state, Fedor fell to the ground.

  “Get off me, you idiot!” he bellowed.

  The snow trooper launched himself up and out his reach. Fedor stood on wobbling legs, looking at the body sinking within the putrid churning water, alive with engorged leeches. He turned his glare back to the sneer and ordered him to wait for his return.

  One step at a time, he climbed the stairway until he came to the doorway in the large tree
trunk. It opened on its own accord. Somewhat dreading his entrance, he made the step and crossed the threshold. There would be no turning back.

  His eyes adjusted to the light in the room caused by the fire in the middle of the home.

  “It’s about time you decided to visit,” Vicasha’s voice purred from above.

  Long, sleek legs descended yet another staircase from within the dwelling on the opposite side of the fire. He licked his lips. His cock hardened at the sight of her. It was always this way.

  Vicasha’s long, red nails snaked their way down the rails of the staircase, and the fire illuminated her sexy body.

  “Come on, Fedor, you must be hot…remove your fur,” she coaxed.

  Unable to speak, he untied the leather bindings and let the garment fall to the floor.

  She made her way toward him, and passed him by. Her calculated movements drove him crazy with desire, but the desire disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

  “Fuck, Vicasha! Why is it always like this?” he swore.

  She bent over and opened a small door, pulling out a large bowl and setting it on the table beside her.

  She turned to face him. “What’s wrong with the way it is?” she asked with an annoyed tone.

  He rubbed his sweaty palms down his thighs. “Never mind. It was a dumb question.”

  Vicasha wandered around the fire to stand beside him, and raked her nails up and down his arm.

  “Would you rather live like those we rule? Don’t be stupid, Fedor; we have it all here.” Her arms opened wide as she spun in a circle.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. But, I can’t help think maybe we should go back to Levare. Knowing what we do now, we could be living like a king and queen.”

  She retreated from him and returned with the bowl. Her hand sank into the liquid and the black swirling water sloshed over the edges. A smile formed on her face. She removed her hand, which now swarmed with baby leeches.

  A mixture of sickening fear and excitement made Fedor cringe.

  Slowly, she lifted her hand to her mouth. Fangs replaced her once smooth, even, white teeth. Her lips wrapped around the first victim as it screeched with rebellion, and sucked up the bloodsucking creature.

  “Fedor, would you like one?”

  “You know I don’t eat those things.” he said, disgusted.

  Her eyes bore into his. “Lets see…you eat dead demon body parts, but this disgusts you?” Vicasha waved her hand in front of him.

  After her hand had been sucked clean of the little monsters, she sauntered in front of him—slow, calculated moves. The color of her skin had already begun to change from creamy white to a dull wrinkled grey. Her hair also turned before his eyes—no longer long, silky, and blonde, but stringy black. Chunks of it fell to the floor around his feet, leaving her with bald spots.

  Fedor closed his eyes, unable to look at the grizzly creature he knew would now stand before him. Her gnarled hands fumbled with the button on this pants. He was flaccid with revulsion. It happened each time the same way. Her arousal brought on her transformation. Fuck! I knew I should have drunk more.

  At least when the two of them had been deposited on Misfit Mountain, his form had not changed. Vicasha’s had. With his eyes still closed, he summoned a vision of Tempest. It was Tempest’s hand and mouth making him hard with her stroking and licking. He continued the dream, refusing to open his eyes.

  · · · · ·

  Fedor gathered his clothing and put his fur robe back on while he scanned the room.

  Damn.

  Why couldn’t he see it? He’d hoped that he wouldn’t wake Vicasha, but her voice startled him.

  “Looking for something, or just admiring my home?”

  The beauty returned.

  “Vicasha, where do you keep it?”

  A sore look crossed over her features. “She’ll never find even one of them, never mind two of them.”

  “She’s escaped again,” he ground out.

  Vicasha pulled the silk robe tighter around her waist before standing.

  “Pity.”

  “Show me where you’ve put it,” he growled.

  She stalked past him. “I don’t know what you find so special about that misfit.”

  She climbed a small set of stairs. At the top, she stopped and stared out the small window with her arms crossed over her chest. He followed her up the stairs to see what she was looking at.

  The view found him staring out into the marsh pitch, but what he’d never noticed before was the large gnarled tree in the very center of the hellish pit. A large, satisfied smile formed on his face.

  As fast as the smile formed, it disappeared with a gust of wind that tore through the room. Vicasha spun away from the window, leaping through the air and landing beside the fire pit with fangs and claws protruding, swiping at an unseen force.

  He ran down the stairs, hissing while spinning in circles. Minutes had passed when finally Vicasha stood up glaring at Fedor.

  “Didn’t you feel it?”

  His heart raced. “What is it?”

  She turned, looking around the room. “We are not alone.”

  Chapter Eight

  Tempest’s eyes flew open and a shot of adrenaline sent blood pounding through her veins. She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

  By the light of the fire, she spotted Rogue sprawled out on the ground beside the straw bed where she had slept. Deep, even breaths and the gurgle from his throat told her he was asleep. She smiled for a brief second.

  Light coming in from the entrance of the cave told her it was daytime.

  Wow. Have I ever slept through the night?

  The stick remained tightly clutched in her hand. The Vemlers had not come.

  Tempest looked across the fire at the empty straw bed. Sadness and desperation washed over her.

  He promised he wouldn’t leave me. What’ll I do now? Just once, couldn’t things go my way?

  She sighed.

  No sense wallowing in self pity, Tempest. Look you still have the fire, Rogue, and food.

  The pot drew her immediate attention. Not wanting to wake Rogue, she carefully stepped over him. The poor gargdog had never had such a great sleep.

  She didn’t wish to use the bowls, but as she learned the night before, it seemed the proper thing to do. After two heaping bowls full, the pot still remained full. There would be plenty for Rogue when he woke up.

  The drip, drip, drip toward the back of the cave now made loud, plopping sounds. Could it be possible that a basin of water might exist—one that might hold enough water for a bath? That most certainly was a luxury she never had.

  It would be dark back there, but Tempest made up her mind to check it out.

  With quiet footsteps, she followed the sound of the water toward the back of the cave. Over her shoulder, she could still make out the flames and the light coming from the entrance of the cave. She kept going.

  The sound grew louder.

  A faint glow came from ahead. Tempest halted, wondering whether she should continue.

  What can the light be coming from?

  Tentative, she moved forward until she stood before a pool of water. The rock ceiling far above her head was alight…and moving. Thousands of small creatures crawled across the rocks overhead.

  She stood very still, and then waved one arm, prepared to bolt back the way she’d come. When they didn’t seem to mind that movement, she waved both her arms. Still the creatures went about their business ignoring her.

  The water would be cold, but she refused to be deterred. There was nothing she wanted more than to have a bath…except, of course, her freedom off this mountain, and to be able to touch without assuming the others emotions.

  Okay, so I want a lot. For now, a dip in the pool of water will suffice.

  A couple thoughts entered her mind. Would she remember how to swim? Who was she kidding? She’d never really learned how to swim, she’d been too young. And…what might b
e in the water?

  She slowly undid the ties that held the large cloak up and around her shoulders and body, letting it fall around her feet. One at a time, she kicked off the boots that were way to big for her small feet. Looking over her shoulder for the last time, she stepped with one foot into the dark water. It was cold, but not as cold as she’d been in the past.

  Shifting more weight to the foot in the water sent her sliding into the pool, and she came up sputtering and panicked. When her toes touched the soft bottom, she sighed in relief.

  The creatures from above stared down at her. For a moment, Tempest worried because they’d stopped their activity. She stood perfectly still, and soon enough they continued with their normal behavior. She smiled to herself and let the tension from her arms and legs float away in the cool water.

  Old memories crept into her thoughts. “You’re not worthy,” they told her. “We will send you to Misfit Mountain where you belong.”

  Tempest had had no idea what they meant by that. She’d been too young; one night, she overheard them talking about their own misfortune. She’d been a mistake–a union that shouldn’t have happened. She was a disgrace, they’d said—something gone terribly wrong.

  She ran her hands over her body, washing the best she could, wishing she could wash away the memory.

  Then a noise filled her ears with dread. Her heart skipped a beat. There was scraping on the rocks.

  The Vemlers found me.

  Tempest scrambled to get back to the edge and clamored out of the water.

  Damn!

  She didn’t have her stick. Beside her cloak, the Vemlers broke through the rock.

  The giant worms had mouths full of spiked teeth, and individual orbs that rotated over their bodies as they crawled. It was those rotating segments of their bodies that slashed through the rock like butter.

  Three of them about four feet in length popped through the ground just before the water. She screamed, with no choice but to jump back in the water. To her surprise, the Vemlers halted at the edge of the pool. Perhaps they couldn’t go in the water.