← Samuel the Rogue: Where the Feathers Fall

Chapter 5 - Defeated and Broken

I staggered into what I hoped were the Harpy nesting grounds, and each step hurt like hell. I was still upright on nothing but sheer fucking willpower, and every bone and throbbing wound let me know it. The last thing I remembered clearly was Sylvester’s heartbroken wail. Everything since then was a blur of stumbling, bleeding, and not falling over. I was now, officially, a heartbreaker. Add it to the list, right under “failed pastry thief” and “professional cuckold.”

The trees here were something else, huge and twisted, running straight up until they disappeared into a canopy so thick it hid the sky. Everything here felt bigger and older than anything back in Willowbrook.

I squinted, trying to match my surroundings to the crude, sweat-stained map clutched in my shaky hand.

“Come on, Sam.” My voice was so raw I could barely hear it as I wiped sweat and blood from my eyes. “Just find the damn tree.”

I had no right to be standing at all.

The panthers had left a claw-mark tattoo from my shoulder to my belly button, still oozing blood and gods know what else. My ankle was twisted, and every time I put weight on it, pain shot all the way up to my knee. The rest of me was one big bruise, purple and black all over.

My armor was gone. All I had left were my torn, mud-streaked pants and my trusty dagger, which I was holding so tight my hand cramped. My heartbeat throbbed in every cut.

“Fuck, why did I ever think this was a good idea?” I muttered. But I already knew why: adventure, glory, money, and the chance to prove I wasn’t the village joke. I hadn’t counted on the local animals having needs. First it was the panthers and their enthusiastic partnership, and now it was a clingy snake that didn’t know when to let go. What was next, a dryad with a pollen allergy? My hero’s quest had turned into the world’s most dangerous singles bar, and I was the only fresh meat on the menu.

I limped forward, sucking in air so thick and wet it was like breathing soup. My legs were shaking, and all I wanted was to lie down in the mud and quit.

I leaned hard against a tree that, thank the gods, showed no interest in me, and counted up what was left of me. The snake’s overly affectionate cuddle had definitely broken a rib. My crossbow was a tangle of splinters and string back in the jungle where I’d dropped it, and my dignity was last seen fleeing the scene of a snake’s heartbreak.

I knew better. Resting here? Death. Or worse. I didn’t know what Harpies did to trespassers, and I wasn’t eager to find out.

“Just keep moving, Sam.” I forced the words between clenched teeth. “Find the tree. Get the egg. Get out. Easy, right?” I laughed, and it hurt my broken rib.

Fuck it, though. Maya and Brutus were not going to hear that I died in the mud.

I pushed on, eyes scanning the trees for the one from the map. It had to be here. If it wasn’t, I wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

The tree was right where the Guild’s map said it would be, a gnarled giant with a little bird scratched next to it in faded ink. The notes scrawled on the map said Harpies favored these giants, with their nests perched high in the branches where only the most desperate or insane would try to reach them.

I was both.

I braced myself against the gaping roots of the tree. The air around it was different. It prickled on my skin and smelled like rain and animal musk, with a perfume on top so sweet it made my teeth ache. I shoved the dagger back in its sheath and stuffed the map down the front of my pants, because I needed both hands. “Alright, you son of a bitch,” I muttered, reaching for the lowest handhold. “Let’s dance.”

The bark was coated in a slick, shiny white goo that clung to my fingers, warm and tingling. “Not today, you sticky bastard,” I growled under my breath, digging into the rough grooves underneath.

It hurt like hell, but I clenched my teeth and climbed anyway, too pissed off to stop. “Just like climbing the old oak back home,” I lied to myself. That old oak didn’t have shit on this monster. Every pull took everything I had, and every time my bare feet slipped and my bad ankle took my weight, pain shot up to my knee. My muscles burned, and sweat and blood kept making my hands slip on the bark. Above me, faint sounds drifted down on the humid breeze: a high musical laugh, a snatch of a wordless, teasing song. They were up there. They were home.

I should have been scared shitless. I climbed faster. If the Harpies spotted me, I was dead, but I hadn’t come this far just to die on the ground. If I passed out and fell, at least I’d die somewhere impressive.

Halfway up the trunk, my hands slipped. My stomach dropped as my body lurched, and I hugged the tree, scrabbling for any grip at all until my fingers caught again. I stayed there with my forehead pressed against the trunk, chest heaving, arms trembling so bad I thought they might give out.

That was where I nearly quit. The thought of falling, of slamming into the jungle floor and hearing my bones shatter, wouldn’t leave me alone. But neither would the thought of going home with nothing. Neither would Mom.

“Fuck that,” I snarled at the bark. I wasn’t about to let some stupid tree beat me, or let anyone down.

Not again.

I tilted my head back and looked up the trunk into the canopy. Somewhere up there, hidden in the leaves and shadows, was the nest, and the egg I’d been sent for. “Just a little further, Sam.”

I pushed off and reached for the next branch, forcing my arms to move even though they wouldn’t stop shaking. Everything blurred, leaves and bark running together. Sweat stung my eyes, or maybe it was blood. Honestly, who the hell knew at that point? I could barely feel my arms anymore.

To keep myself going, I thought about the egg, shiny and perfect, just waiting for me to snatch it up. They’d talk about this back in Willowbrook for generations: Samuel Thornwood, Harpy egg thief, jungle survivor, absolute legend.

That thought got me three more branches. Past the third, so high that the ground was lost in the shadows below, my body quit before I did. Everything went gray at the edges, and my fingers slid off the bark, which was slimy with that white goo and my own blood. “No, no, no.”

I fell.

Air roared past my ears, and I squeezed my eyes shut and waited to hit the ground. Brutus was going to laugh himself sick when he heard.

Something caught me before I hit the ground, hard enough to jolt my broken rib. Strong arms wrapped around my back and under my knees and scooped me out of the air. Somebody was holding me against a warm, solid chest.

I was pressed against somebody’s bare skin, hot against my own bloody chest. He smelled like the air after a thunderstorm and like crushed green leaves, with a musky smell under it that I tried hard not to notice.

My dazed brain struggled to catch up. I wasn’t dead. Was I flying? I was being carried upward with the wind cool against my face.

I finally managed to pry my heavy eyelids open.

Bright green feathers filled my eyes, flashing blue and gold where the sun hit them. They were attached to a sinewy arm that was holding me securely. I followed the arm up, taking my time about it, to a smooth shoulder and a clean jawline, and finally to his face.

He was beautiful, so beautiful it didn’t look human. He had sharp cheekbones and a wild crest of emerald feathers for hair, and his green eyes were bright with curiosity and amusement. And he was completely and unashamedly naked. Yeah, he had a dick. I wasn’t looking at it, I swear, but it was definitely there.

Holy shit. This was a Harpy.

My mouth opened, but only a dry croak came out.

“Well, now,” he said, his voice light and chirpy. He landed without a sound on a massive branch high in the canopy, still holding me like it was no effort at all, which was a little insulting after the fight that tree had just given me. “Look what almost fell into my lap. Do you always drop in on people like this?”

He set me down on the branch with the same care he’d caught me with. He crouched in front of me and looked me over from head to toe. He was lean and hard all over, and even half dead, I noticed. “You’re a mess,” he decided, smirking.

“You should… see the other guys,” I rasped, the words tearing at my throat. I tried to grin, and my dry lips cracked.

He laughed, bright and delighted. “There are no other guys, foolish human. There is only the jungle. And it has clearly had its way with you.” He glanced down at the gash across my chest.

His voice dropped, and he turned serious. “Let me guess. A big, ugly man with a scarred face and a glint in his eye sent a pretty, broken little thing on a suicide mission?”

I just stared. How in all the hells did he know that?

He only looked smug. He leaned closer, the smell of him filling my nose. “That’s hardly original.” He reached out with a long, elegant finger and traced the edge of my bloody wound. I kept my eyes on his face so I didn’t have to look at my own blood.

I hesitated, my fried brain scrambling for some quick lie about why I was here. I came up empty. Honestly, I wasn’t much of a liar anyway, especially when I was half-delirious with pain and barely hanging on. “An egg,” I admitted. “I was sent to find a Harpy egg.”

The Harpy blinked, then let out a low whistle. “An egg?” He tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re in the wrong tree, human. No eggs here.”

His feathers ruffled. “My name is Aeolin. And you are?”

“Samuel.” My voice came out hoarse. I exhaled sharply, managing half a grin. “And right now? Any tree that keeps me off the damn ground is the right tree.”

Aeolin laughed again, and it sounded gorgeous and mocking all at once. “You’re in the wrong nest for that, anyway.” He tapped a talon lightly on his own bare chest. “I’m hardly the egg-laying type.”

“I… see that,” I croaked.

“You, Samuel,” he said, and this time his smile looked real, “have exceptionally bad timing.”

His eyes went back to the gash on my chest, and he stopped smiling. “And even worse luck. Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he leaned in close. The last thing I saw before the world went black was his face, framed by feathers, swooping toward mine.