The other beastie steps closer, into my direct line of sight. “Out of place down here.”
I struggle against the twin pairs of arms that are securing me against the chest of the monster I can’t see. My fangs drop and I reach back, trying to grab at one of the arms holding me in place.
“No,” the beast in front of me shouts as I pull a big, hairy forearm to within biting distance and sink my fangs into the tough flesh.
I don’t expect the creature to vanish right away—there’re pretty low odds that this forearm is the pulse point on this particular beastie—but I expect it to go eventually. What I don’t expect is for the four arms holding me to suddenly slacken.
I stumble forward at my sudden freedom, into the arms of the other monster, whose green-glinting eyes aren’t focused on me. It’s watching its bitten friend.
I turn, expecting to see the thing angry that I’ve sent—
But wait, how can I send it home when it’s already there?
The creature crumples to the ground. I can see now that it’s a laestrygon, normally an unrelenting, man-eating giant that is as hard to fight as it is to hunt.
The laestrygon looks piteous. Clutching at one arm, at the spot where my fangs hit home, it’s writhing in pain, groaning and growling and howling into the echoing abyss.
“What’s going on?”
The other monster, still behind me, roars, “You’ve killed him.”
“What?”
Killed him? No, that can’t be. My venom doesn’t kill monsters, it just sends them home. But he is home. And maybe that restriction only applies in the human realm, where monsters are virtually immortal. Here, in the home of the beasts, there is nowhere else to send them. Here, they die.
Just like the glow of my dying flashlight moments before, the shouts of the writhing creature on the ground gradually fade. Moans turn into whimpers, growls into labored breathing. Then, with a final sigh, everything stops.
Everything.
It’s like a stab to my chest.
I’ve hunted monsters for four years without hesitation. I’ve taken them down hard and fast and with more than a little joy at watching them vanish back into the realm where they belong.
But this? This is different.
This is final.
“I—” I turn to look at the other creature, feeling helpless for the first time in a long, long time. For the first time since the last time I let Phil lay a hand on me. It’s not a feeling I enjoy. “I didn’t know.”
The other creature, a minotaur, looks at me, eyes wide, and whispers, “Huntress.”
It turns and runs into the black.
“Wait!” I call after it.
That thing is the only living creature—besides its now deceased friend—that I’ve seen since landing in the abyss. I should have grabbed it, questioned it about this place, about the layout of the realm, about where I might find prisoners or food or light or a way out.
The thing might as well have poofed back to my world for whatever chance I have of finding it now. I can barely see my hand in front of my face, let alone a creature running away, deeper and deeper into shadow, at full speed.
I mutter a curse and start walking again, the same direction I’ve been heading. Away from the dead laestrygon.
My feet are dragging more than before. Part of it is the shock of having actually killed a monster. I have no pity for them, obviously. They are bloodthirsty, evil creatures for the most part. But in the space of a bite I’ve become a killer. Not just a huntress, a warden who herds her wild beasties back into their pen. A killer.
Before this, my biggest worry was accidentally killing a human if some of the deadly blood from the left side of my body got spilled in their presence. That’s why I wear the Kevlar wrist cuffs. I couldn’t have planned for this.
I feel like I’ve crossed an invisible line. Like a world that was black-and-white has turned into a million shades of gray. It’s not a good feeling.
For the first time in my life, I wish someone were here to comfort me, to reassure me. No, not just someone. I wish my sisters were here. Greer would tell me to suck it up and Grace would give me a hug. Even though I would probably shrug off their efforts, it would make me feel better.
The other reason for my sluggish steps, I know, is dehydration. My mind may not know what time it is, or how much time has passed since I jumped into this realm, but my body is giving me signs. Dry mouth, heavy limbs, the beginnings of a killer headache. I’ve been at least thirty-six hours without water, maybe closer to forty-eight. If I don’t get some moisture into my system soon, it’s going to start shutting down.
The black water is hardly inviting. I have no idea if it’s sanitary, let alone drinkable. I don’t even know if it is water. Who knows what might be living in there?
I’m going to have to risk it at some point. Soon it will be either certain death by dehydration or risk other ailments by drinking the questionable water.
For now, I keep walking.
Eventually, the river changes course. The main flow of the water turns left, continuing on into the black cavern. To the right, an eddy of water forms a pool. A small lake with a narrow natural bridge just below the surface, separating it from the fast-moving river.
This looks like as good a place as any to try a drink. At least I won’t risk getting carried away by the current.
I make my way around the lake, searching for a secluded spot. About a quarter of the way along the shore, the lake spreads out over a rocky shelf, forming a wide, thin sheet of water.