She had to be delivered to Lion and Langwidere alive for him to cash in—a payment he deserved ten times over already—but Dorothy didn’t need to know that. A good dose of fear had the potential to keep her in line.
When Dorothy simply stood there, staring at the decapitated body, Tin scraped moss off a nearby tree. “Here. Use this before any of the blood gets in your mouth.”
She snatched the moss from his palm and lowered her brows. “How is this supposed to help?”
“Wipe your face with it,” he instructed. Dorothy dropped the moss to the ground and used her hands instead, which only smeared the blood more. Tin shook his head in disdain. “Use the moss like a cloth.”
“This is fine for now.” She wiped her hands on her thighs.
“You’d rather risk a faerie fruit high than use the moss?” he asked in disbelief.
Her eyes flicked up to his for a moment, almost as if she was gauging whether he was serious, before scooping the moss up from the ground. “Thanks.”
He hadn’t given it to her for thanks. He gave her the moss to cut down on the smell and risk of contamination. Though, if he was being honest with himself, the contamination didn’t matter much. He was delivering her to Langwidere, after all.
“Did I get it all?” Dorothy asked after scrubbing her face. The blood stained her skin light pink, but the moss had effectively collected a majority of the mess.
“Mostly.”
She reached for the same tree Tin had taken the moss from. He watched her struggle to scrape more than tiny bits and pieces off, amused at her effort, before using his iron-tipped gloves to rip a larger patch free. “Allow me.”
Dorothy stretched for the fresh moss, but Tin swung his arm out of reach. The worried gleam in her eyes made Tin smirk. Without another word, he had the moss to Dorothy’s jaw line where a large streak of blood remained. She gasped as he pulled it slowly from her ear toward her chin and the sound caused a crumbling sensation behind his ribs.
For a mortal woman, she wasn’t unattractive. Langwidere would be pleased with her delicate features. Though, admittedly, in a different way than it pleased him. He’d taken pleasure from a few masochistic thrill-seekers over the years, but he never knew their names. Dorothy was different. Wondering what expression she would wear in the throes of passion wasn’t an idea Tin should entertain. Ever. And yet, the desire to touch her burned sudden and deep. Having her firmly against him in such a small bed all night didn’t help either. She was so warm, so trusting, as she pressed her soft body against him, filling his senses with her feminine aroma. It lingered even now, and Tin’s cock stiffened. Would she taste as good as she smelled?
He jerked away from Dorothy in frustration. “Good enough to keep us alive until we hit the river.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, slightly breathless but recovering quickly. “What do you mean, keep us alive?”
Tin held his arms out to signal the forest. “I mean, all the pixies, kobolds, and leprechauns who call these woods home. If you thought the addict was bad…”
He let the threat linger in hopes of further ensuring her obedience, but they weren’t likely to be attacked by any of those fae. Others would, but occasionally his reputation worked in his favor. It was the trolls they had to avoid. The kelpies at the river still had it out for him after he’d butchered one to use the scales for his clothes. Both were manageable threats though, and he did need Dorothy to walk through the forest. He had no intention of carrying her if she became too frightened, and there wasn’t time to walk around the forest before Lion’s deadline.
“Shall we try this again?” Tin asked.
Dorothy nodded, then quickly shook her head. “One minute,” she mumbled as she ran back to the headless body. She bent over him and carefully plucked a small knife from where it was tucked inside one of his boots. Blade clutched to her chest, Dorothy hurried back to Tin’s side.
“You don’t need that,” he told her. He would protect her until she was with Lion.
Dorothy pointed to the bloody scene behind her. “I disagree.”
“Fine.” He drew a deep breath and pushed it out sharply. “Let’s get moving.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond before turning on his heel and marching forward. For a moment he worried she wouldn’t follow and he would be forced to drag her the entire way south. His fingers curled into fists, his ears straining to hear her. Maybe it would be faster—carrying her. An annoyed grunt left Tin’s throat and the soft padding of Dorothy’s footsteps sounded behind him.
By the time Tin and Dorothy arrived at the river bank, he was ready to toss her to the kelpies himself. She hadn’t said a word since they began their journey a second time, but Tin was acutely aware of all the things she wasn’t saying. He felt the unspoken words squeezing him like a vise.
Something was holding her back from saying whatever it was she had on her mind and Tin didn’t care what that thing was. He was glad she wasn’t asking the hard questions, glad he didn’t have to explain. Gladder still that he didn’t have to lie to her about Lion’s intentions. His meeting with Lion a few nights ago was surprising, even to Tin. He had thought he’d heard it all from his clients, but procuring a former friend for decapitation as a gift? Lion’s lover, Langwidere, would wear Dorothy’s head well, just as she wore the dozens already in her possession. The head of a mortal child had seemed a strange choice when Lion had asked Tin to bring Dorothy back to Oz and lead her to Langwidere’s doorstep alive, but it made sense now. Dorothy was already aging so rapidly. Her life wouldn’t be cut short too prematurely. Besides, the pay was undeniably good.
Tin bent at the water’s edge and dunked his hands beneath the liquid. After scanning the surface of the river for signs of life, he looked over his shoulder at the silent woman. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest rose and fell a little too quickly. He stood and studied her.
“Are you ill?”
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
He narrowed his eyes as if it would help him see what ailed her. Would it change things? Could Langwidere still utilize the head if she was sick? If not, they would have to treat the sickness themselves. Alive was alive—Lion never mentioned her health. “You look ill.”
“I’m tired. Do you know what tired is?”
“We’ve only been traveling a few hours, and I’ve kept a slow pace for your mortal legs.”
She scowled at him. “My mortal legs are significantly shorter than yours. I’ve practically had to sprint to keep up with you.”
Tin blinked in surprise as his gaze fell to her legs. They were shorter, yes, but seemed perfectly capable of matching his pace. “What would you have me do? Crawl to Lion?”
“Yes. Crawl. It might give you back some of the humility you lost when your heart turned back into stone,” she snapped.
“Clean yourself,” he spat before he could dignify that with a response. It wouldn’t be long until he never had to deal with her or her smart mouth again. He tugged the axe from his hip and Dorothy scrambled back a step. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Dorothy stood until Tin turned away from her and began cleaning the blood from his weapon, then joined him. He watched her splash water on her face from the corner of his eyes. It soaked the hair around her face, the strands clinging to her cheeks and forehead. Beads of water ran down her neck. Tin’s gaze inadvertently fixed on the liquid drops as they raced further down into her cleavage, as he continued to shine the same spot on his axe, though it was no longer dirty. She moved on to her clothes—scrubbing at the stains with a rock and splashing water onto the fabric until the bright red faded to a muted pink. The white shirt Dorothy had on beneath her overalls hid nothing when wet. All he needed was to glimpse something he shouldn’t when his malehood was already in revolt, so he turned his attention to his weapon.