His gaze lands on me, and he straightens his spine. He pinches the arrow by the stem and slowly pulls it out with a circular motion. I wince just watching the painful-looking movement, but he doesn’t flinch, and his expression shows no hint of discomfort.

The arrowhead is coated in blood, but it's intact. He rolls his shoulders like he’s exercising a stiff muscle.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He snaps the arrow, and the pieces fall out his hand. "Are you going to claim you slipped?"

I avert my eyes. He was hurt because of my actions. I didn’t mean for harm to come to him. I was supposed to find sanctuary with Lord Guerin, and that would deter Rahlan from trying to recapture me. A skirmish wasn’t part of the plan, and neither was me fighting to reunite with him.

"We are not so fragile, like you humans." He unfastens his soaking cape and twists it in his hands. "You will be punished for that little escape attempt."

My stomach flips. I knew that this was the consequence of choosing him over the bandits, but the weight of my decision is only now starting to register. I’m reminded of his boot slamming into my middle, waves of pain following each blow. A feeling so intense that I’ll writhe and crawl and beg and scream to get away.

What if it’s worse this time? What if he breaks my fingers, like he came so close to doing before? My legs feel like they’re about to fall out from under me. Without my fingers, I’ll be helpless for months, maybe years. Just eating an apple on my own will be impossible. I’ll be reduced to nothing but a blood bag. I can’t take that. I can’t.

My arms retreat back through the coat’s huge sleeves, leaving them empty. I clamp my fingers under my arms for protection. I know that he has to punish me for what I did, but breaking my fingers is unnecessarily cruel.

He steps forward and lifts my empty sleeve. “What are you doing?”

I shut my eyes and squeeze my arms tight under my coat. Revealing my fear may encourage him to enact it. He wants to punish me. He wants to create a deterrent.

“You continue to test my patience. I’m sick of your schemes.” He yanks me forward by the sleeve, almost causing me to lose my footing. His fingers move to unthread the coat’s buttons.

“No.” My legs collapse, and I fall to the ground. My body compresses into a tight ball, with my fingers hidden in the middle. His heavy leather boots are well within range of my head. “Just kick me now and get it over with.”

He stands frozen, analyzing me. I don’t dare look up. He can’t be reminded of my fingers. If I stay by his feet, far away from his precise hands, his assault may not progress past blunt force. It’ll still be hell, but it’s better than the alternative.

“What are you hiding?” he spits, becoming more and more irritated by the second.

There’s no reasonable explanation. Hiding my hands was a mistake. I should have just stood frozen and prayed that his assault wouldn’t progress that far.

He shoves me over. I try sit up, but his hand grips my collar and pushes me back down, forcing my back flat against the dry leaves and causing my hair to fan out in the dirt.

He undoes the buttons and pulls the coat open. I clamp my arms down tighter, hiding my delicate fingers underneath. It’s a superficial protection. He could so easily yank my arms up with his immense strength. My eyes mist over, and the trees overhead begin to blur with the sunlight.

His brows relax back to normal. My whole body is trembling, and my breathing is erratic. His eyes run up and down my body, pausing at the bruising on my abdomen from his last punishment.

“Julia,” he sighs, “you need not hide your hands. I will not injure you.”

If that’s true, then it shouldn’t matter if I keep my arms folded.

He buttons up my coat again, allowing my muscles to relax a little. My fingers aren’t in immediate danger.

His hands wrap around my arms through the coat’s leather fabric, and I’m lifted to my feet again. He wouldn’t help me stand just to send me back down with a punch. I’m safe for the moment.

“Your escape attempt is not pardoned,” he says, reading my expression. “There will be consequences, though there are more pressing matters than your discipline at this moment.”

I stay still and silent, keeping my gaze down and my fingers protected under my arms.

He points east. “Walk.”

The arrow penetrated his shoulder, but his arm moves like nothing even happened. Is he bleeding down his back? I peer around him to try get a view.

“Now,” he growls, making me flinch.

I spin around and start walking.

My worn shoes trudge through the brown leaves, avoiding the shrubs and thorny bushes. My coat is still dripping. Its waterlogged inner lining prevents my legs from drying. I pick the damp leaves and dirt out of my hair as we walk, but my wet legs seem to pick up more than I can pull off.

We clear the tree line, revealing the backpack which I abandoned. Its contents are spewed across the riverbank where I made my leap.

We stop upon reaching the items. The sextant sits among the glass vials, and the eyeball flask lays by my feet. The thought of its contents makes me want to gag.

“Give me your hands,” he says.

I avert my eyes, keeping my fingers hidden under my coat.

His face forms a scowl. “Julia, I have not much more patience to spare.”

“I-” I try speaking, but I choke. I don’t want to anger him, but I can’t give him my hands. With eyes downcast, I hug myself tighter. It’s as far from a combat stance as it could be. I’m not challenging him. My hands stay under my arms not out of disobedience, but out of fear of losing them.

He lets out a breath, whether it’s from anger or disappointment, I don’t know.

He unbuttons my coat once again, and my body tenses. I keep my hands under my arms, and the cold air makes me shiver.

He tugs on my wrist, and I jerk away from him.

“We’ve done this a thousand times,” he says, “You will not be harmed.”

The rope is in his hand. He’s just going to tie me up, that’s all. I cling to his words from earlier. If he was going to hurt me now, he wouldn’t be asking me to comply.

After a moment of hesitation, I untuck my hand from its protective cocoon. He threads my arms back through the sleeves and behind my back. I suck in a breath. He won’t harm me, I repeat in my head. The rope binds each of my wrists to the opposite elbow, rendering my arms useless like before.

Balancing is now front and center in my mind. If I fall over, it’ll hurt, and I won’t be able to get up without his assistance.

He collects his various traveling possessions off the bank and packs them in the bag. It gives me a much-needed break from his attention, and I’m feeling much more secure now, which is somewhat ironic considering that I’m bound.

Once done, he hangs the bag on my back and buttons up my coat.

He loops the rope around my neck.

“What are you doing?” I blurt out, suddenly much more aware of my own mortality, “That’s supposed to go around my waist.”

“You’ve lost that privilege.” He loops it around a second time and secures it with a knot under my chin. “Besides, I think this arrangement is much more suiting for someone of your status.”

Privilege? I scrunch up my brow. “But what if I trip and you don’t notice? I’ll be strangled”

“Good point.” He leans in. “Don’t trip.”

With that, he starts walking, and I follow, not having a choice.

The ring around my neck is too close for me to see, but I’m well aware of its presence. It’s as if someone’s hands are wrapped around my throat, ready to press down and cut off my airway. I’m collared like livestock, and the leash leads to his hand. Is it just to humiliate me? Does he think treating me like a domesticated animal will keep me docile? If anything, it has the opposite effect.

We boulder hop over a narrow section of the river. It’s not long before Lord Guerin’s former castle has vanished from view. We should be crossing the border soon, into the vampire country. Maybe we already have, but a truly hope not, though it seems inevitable at this point.

We hike for an hour over lumpy terrain. My coat has dried, but my shoes are falling apart. They’re little slippers I made from cowhide. Built for working in the fields, they’re not meant to travel cross-country.

We crest another hill and my heart drops at the sight. A huge city stands just a mile ahead, with walls so tall that I wouldn’t think possible. It’s built from thousands of small black bricks, completely foreign compared to the human architecture of natural stones to which I’m accustomed. It engulfs the surrounding land in shadow – a visual display of its overbearing presence. It’s a vampire city.