The scream still echoed in Damien's ears as he and Rosalynn crept closer through the undergrowth. Ferns brushed against their legs; sunlight dappled the forest floor in shifting coins of gold. They kept low, moving with the silence of people who had learned to tread softly when death might be waiting around the next tree.
The clearing opened before them like a wound in the green.
Four men mercenaries by the look of their mismatched armor and scarred knuckles formed a loose semicircle around their prey. The tallest one, broad-shouldered and unshaven, had the woman pinned face-first against the rough bark of an oak. Her wrists were bound behind her back with coarse rope that had already rubbed her skin raw. Her maid dress, once crisp black wool with white ruffles and a modest apron now hung in tatters.
The bodice had been ripped open from neckline to waist, the fabric peeled back like broken wings to expose pale skin and the full, heavy curves of her breasts. Both nipples stood out starkly against the cool air, flushed dark from rough handling and fear. The skirt had been hiked up and torn at the thigh, revealing a glimpse of white undergarments already stained with dirt and a thin streak of blood from where a knife had nicked her during the struggle.
Her breathing came in ragged, sobbing gasps. Purple hair, once neatly braided, now spilled in wild strands across her shoulders and clung to tear-streaked cheeks. Purple eyes wide, glassy with terror darted between the men as though searching for any avenue of escape that did not exist.
The leader laughed again, low and ugly. One meaty hand gripped her bound wrists while the other pawed at her exposed breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her cry out.
"Pretty little thing," he rumbled. "Traveling alone? Foolish. But lucky for us."
Another mercenary, a lean man with a crooked nose stepped closer, licking his lips.
"Boss said we could have fun before we take her back. Coin's good either way."
The third man, shorter and barrel-chested, already had his belt unbuckled.
Damien felt something cold and sharp uncoil in his chest.
Beside him, Rosalynn's breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger until her knuckles turned white.
The leader leaned in, pressing himself against the woman's back, grinding crudely.
"Hold still, love. Won't take long."
Damien moved.
He did not shout or hesitate. One moment he crouched behind the ferns; the next he was a blur of motion crossing the clearing in three silent strides.
The first mercenary, the one with the unbuckled belt never saw the sword coming. Damien's blade took him through the throat in a single, clean thrust. Blood sprayed in a bright arc. The man gurgled, hands flying to his neck, then collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
The second man spun, eyes widening.
Damien was already moving. He ripped the sword free in a wet spray and pivoted, driving the point through the lean man's heart before he could even draw his knife. The mercenary gasped once, a short, surprised sound then slumped forward, sliding off the blade to crumple at the woman's feet.
The third mercenary, the barrel-chested one had time to snarl and raise his short sword.
Damien stepped inside the swing, caught the man's wrist, twisted hard. Bone cracked. The mercenary howled. Damien drove his elbow into the man's throat, crushing the windpipe, then rammed the sword upward under the ribs. The blade punched through leather and muscle, emerging from the man's back in a gout of red. The mercenary's eyes bulged; his mouth opened in a silent scream. Damien twisted the blade once, then yanked it free. The body dropped heavily to the leaf litter.
The leader, the tallest one finally reacted. He shoved the woman aside, sending her stumbling to her knees, and drew a heavy cleaver from his belt.
"You little—"
Damien closed the distance in a heartbeat.
The cleaver swung in a wild overhead arc. Damien stepped to the side, let the blade whistle past his ear, then drove his sword upward in a single, brutal thrust. Steel punched through the man's jaw, through the roof of his mouth, and out the top of his skull. The leader's eyes crossed for an instant; his body jerked once, then went limp. Damien planted a boot against the man's chest and kicked him backward. The corpse slid off the blade and collapsed in a heap.
Silence crashed back into the clearing.
Only the woman's ragged breathing and the soft drip of blood onto leaves remained.
Damien wiped his sword clean on the leader's cloak, then sheathed it. He turned toward the woman.
She knelt where she had fallen, wrists still bound, torn dress hanging open, breasts heaving with every frantic breath. Purple hair clung to her tear-streaked face. Purple eyes wide and glassy lifted slowly to meet his. Recognition flickered there, then shock, then something deeper.
Rosalynn moved first.
She stepped past Damien, knelt beside the woman, and gently turned her so she could reach the ropes. The cord had bitten deep into her wrists; thin lines of blood welled where it had rubbed the skin raw. Rosalynn drew her dagger and cut the bindings with careful slices, murmuring soft, soothing words.
"It is over," she whispered. "You are safe now."
The ropes fell away. The woman's arms dropped to her sides. She rubbed her wrists absently, still staring at Rosalynn as though seeing a ghost.
Rosalynn reached out, brushing purple strands from the woman's face with infinite tenderness.
The woman's lips parted. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Aunt…" she whispered, voice cracking. "Aunt Rosalynn…"
Rosalynn froze.
The woman's trembling hand lifted, fingertips brushing Rosalynn's cheek as though testing whether she was real.
"Aunt Rosalynn," she repeated, louder this time, voice breaking on a sob. "It is you. It is really you."
Rosalynn's breath caught. Her emerald eyes widened, shimmering with sudden, overwhelming emotion.
"Violet?" she breathed.
The woman, Violet nodded once, tears streaming freely now.
Then she collapsed forward into Rosalynn's arms, burying her face against the older woman's shoulder, body shaking with violent sobs.
Rosalynn wrapped her arms around her niece, holding her tightly, rocking her as though she were still a child.
Damien stood motionless a few paces away, sword still in hand, blood drying on the blade.
The forest held its breath.
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