Moonlight illuminated their backs, casting distorted shadows into the house.
They wore rough-spun tunics and trousers covered in dust.
Ezra skidded to a halt behind Luna, her hand flying to her waist. She recognized them.
They were villagers. She remembered their faces from the selection ceremony—the men who had sneered at them for being "leftover" women, the ones who had been terrified of failing the monthly quota, so they hadn't chosen a wife.
But tonight, they looked different.
There was no lecherous hunger in their eyes. No sneering smiles or mockery.
Their faces were slack, their expressions stiff and forced as they tried to make them menacing, but failed obviously.
Their eyes looked hollow, reflecting the moonlight but holding no light of their own.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the exit.
"Who are you?" Luna whispered, stepping back. Her voice trembled.
One of the men stepped forward. He was big, with hands like shovels.
"You three," the man said.
His tone was flat. Monotone. Neither mocking nor greedy. It sounded like he was reciting a script he didn't understand.
"We have an offer for you."
He took another step, crossing the threshold.
"The Lord's… they require a few women to warm their beds. Come with us. Abandon that weakling you call a husband. He is likely dead by now anyway."
The man smiled, showing his yellow teeth.
"You will be fed better and…" He pointed at the holes in the roof. "…will have a better roof overhead."
Ezra moved.
She stepped in front of Luna and Nina, placing herself between them and the intruders.
She studied their faces.
There was no desire behind their eyes. They weren't here to steal women for themselves; they were here because someone told them to.
Someone was ordering the villagers to retrieve the wives of Judas.
"We are not interested," Ezra said. Her voice was ice. "Leave."
She reached back with one hand, grabbing the door handle, attempting to slam it shut in their faces.
"Do not be difficult," the lead man said.
His arm shot out. It was faster than a villager should be, making Ezra raise her brows. They seemed to have some martial training.
He reached past Ezra, his dirty hand grabbing for Luna's wrist. His fingers hooked like claws.
"We know what kind of whores you are. Do not act—"
Swish.
The sound was a whisper of steel against air.
Ezra didn't use the gun. That would be overkill if it had the power Judas said it had.
Instead, her other hand moved in a blur. The hunting knife she always carried at her belt flashed in the moonlight.
Thud.
A heavy, wet object hit the floorboards.
For a second, there was silence.
The villager looked down. He looked at his arm.
Where his hand had been, there was now only a stump spurting dark, steaming blood.
His hand lay on the floor near Luna's feet, fingers still twitching.
"Ah," the man said.
Then the pain hit.
"AAAAHHH!"
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his wrist, screaming a sound that tore through the night. Blood sprayed across the dirt porch and splattered onto Ezra's cheek.
She didn't flinch or wipe it off.
She stood over him, the bloody knife held loose and ready in her hand. Her eyes were colder than the steel.
"I said," Ezra whispered, her voice cutting through his screams, "leave."
The other two men stumbled back. Their blank expressions shattered, replaced by terror. They looked at Ezra, then at the severed hand, then back at her.
"Crazy bitch!" one of them yelled.
They scrambled forward, grabbing their fallen comrade by the shoulders.
They dragged him backward, his heels digging trails in the dirt, his blood leaving a dark path.
They ran into the darkness, their footsteps retreating frantically toward the village.
Ezra watched them go. She waited until the sounds faded completely.
Then she slammed the door.
She threw the bolt, locked the latch, and dragged a heavy wooden chair to wedge it under the handle.
Only then did she turn around.
Luna was pressed against the wall, her face the color of milk. She was staring at the blood on the floor, shaking violently.
Nina was curled in a ball near the bed, covering her ears, her tail wrapped around her nose.
Ezra took a deep breath. She wiped the blood from her cheek with her sleeve, though it just smeared the red stain.
"Why?"
Ezra's voice was low. She walked toward them.
"Why did you open the door without checking?"
Luna swallowed hard. She looked at Ezra, eyes wide. "We... we thought it was husband..."
"You thought," Ezra repeated.
She stepped closer, invading Luna's personal space. She wasn't being cruel, but she was being hard. She had to be.
"Do you think he is the only man in this village?" Ezra asked. "Do you think he is the only one who knows where this house is?"
Luna dropped her gaze to the floor. "I... I'm sorry."
Nina whimpered. "Ezra is scary."
Ezra softened. The tension in her shoulders dropped an inch.
She reached out, placing a hand on Luna's trembling shoulder, and the other on Nina's head.
"Do not forget the world we live in," she said, her voice quieter now. "We are outcasts. We are targets. No matter how safe he makes us feel, the moment he leaves, the wolves come."
She sighed, looking at the blood on the floor. It was a brutal reminder of reality.
"We can't trust anything or anyone, except him."
Luna looked up, tears finally spilling over. "What do we do if anything happens to him?"
Ezra reached into her pocket.
She pulled out the handgun. The metal caught the lantern light, gleaming darkly.
"We wait," Ezra said.
She sat down on the chair facing the door, the gun resting in her lap, the knife in her other hand.
"Do not be afraid," she told them, her eyes fixed on the wooden barrier between them and the dark. "I will protect you until he returns."
* *
The two men half-dragged their wounded companion down the dirt path. Panic twisted their movements into a frantic stagger, and blood dripped in thick, dark drops from the stump of his severed wrist.
The trail behind them glistened like a red thread inviting danger.
"Damn it, damn it," the injured man cried, his voice shrill with pain. "That woman is insane."
"Shut your mouth," the man on his left hissed. He struggled to keep the injured one upright. "Who told you to touch her? The masters said not to cause trouble."
"She looked harmless," the wounded man sobbed. "I thought since that guy wasn't home we could snatch his women and offer them to the masters. They would have fed us for months. How was I supposed to know she had a knife ready to… to do that?"
"Idiot," the third man spat. "He probably ran off because he could not control her. Forget them. We should head to James's house. He picked a wife too. The one with the big belly."
A hungry grin pulled at his lips.
"She eats a lot, so he must be dissatisfied with her. He will be relieved if we take her."
Their laughter rose, rattling across the dim path.
They did not notice the shadow moving behind them with a rhythm that matched their steps or sensed the presence that drifted through the darkness like a cold mist.
They did not see the eyes watching them from between the trees.
Those eyes held no warmth. They reflected the moonlight as if carved from polished obsidian.
A strange heaviness settled on the air. The path grew silent. Even the insects hid.
The men never questioned the sudden chill brushing their necks or the way their breath turned visible in front of their faces.
They only realized the truth when it was already far too late.
A furry ball slipped between their ribs with precise, effortless grace.
Three hearts fell to the dirt before a single scream could form.
Their bodies collapsed a moment later, as lifeless as discarded sacks, their blood soaking into the cold earth.
The night swallowed the scene once more, erasing every trace of what had occurred.
Nubble bounced around them, digging the ground enough for three bodies to fill. Then it bounced toward the pond to wash off the blood smeared on its furry body.