Savaged

  by Mia Sheridan

  Savaged

  Copyright © 2019 by Mia Sheridan.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Permission by the author must be granted before any part of this book can be used for advertising purposes. This includes the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Epilogue

  To those of you who have been saved by books, in big ways and in small.

  PROLOGUE

  Will you die today? Maybe tomorrow?

  The question waved through Jak’s mind, deep and slow, like he was hearing it from under a deep pool of water. Will you die today? The echo of the words the man had yelled seconds ago made a trickle of fear move down Jak’s spine, but everything was . . . dreamy, not . . . real. He couldn’t see. He could hardly hear. His head felt foggy and . . . strange.

  Am I dreaming?

  Was he trapped inside a nightmare? Would Baka shake him awake any minute, telling him to keep it quiet with her sharp voice and soft eyes? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in his own bed and then . . . this.

  He wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth making clicking sounds as they chattered together.

  No, not a dream. Dreams are never this cold.

  All of a sudden, something was pulled from his face, and he let out a short yell as he realized something had been covering his head. He blinked into the darkness, starlight catching his gaze, flecks of light in a dark blue sky. The circle moon shined yellow, big and round and bright.

  He turned his head around, his breath coming from his lips in clouds of white. Snow. Snow everywhere. Trees. And— He cried out, tripping back from the edge of what he now saw was a cliff right in front of him. His backside hit the snow, his bare hands sinking into the freezing powder almost up to his elbows.

  His heartbeat went fast, the fog in his head moving away as fear raced through his body.

  “Get up.”

  Jak’s head turned, and he stared at a tall man behind him, his face hidden in the shadows of his hooded coat. “Get up,” he repeated, only now it was a low growl. Jak pulled himself to his feet as fast as he could, catching movement to his left. Now that his eyes could see in the darkness, he noticed that there were three other boys standing at the edge of the cliff, only a few steps from each other. Two dark-haired boys, one small with eyes too big for his face, filled with . . . confusion and fear, one tall and skinny, and a blond boy, who was shaking even worse than Jak was.

  Why? Who? What is this? Where’s Baka?

  “Will you die today?” the man repeated from behind them. “Maybe tomorrow? Next week? Many years from now a lauded warrior? Celebrated?” Jak didn’t know all those words, didn’t know what the man was talking about, and when he started to turn his head, the man stopped him with a mean-sounding, “Face forward.” His shivering got more, he was so scared, and he could barely stand up, his thoughts rolling all over each other, but slowly, too slowly. He couldn’t think. Why is my head all funny?

  “You will die. Or you will survive. But that is up to you. It will all depend on your will to live.” The man suddenly placed his gloved hands on the side of the blond’s head and leaned in close, the darkest of the shadows. “Do you have a will to survive? To fight for your life? Tooth and nail? Heart and soul?”

  The blond nodded his head in a jerky way. “Y-yes,” he said, but tears were sliding down his cheeks and a sob came after the word. Jak’s hands fisted. He was scared, so scared, but he wanted to do something. Make this stop. He looked at the big-eyed boy next to him, and that boy was staring at Jak’s clenched fists. He looked up, meeting Jak’s eyes for a second before looking away.

  The bad man let go of the crying blond’s face. “Good.” Jak heard snow crunching under the man’s feet as he stepped farther back behind them. “Now, in a minute, I’ll tell you what is happening. After that, the only rule is to survive.” He paused. “Survive or die.”

  What does he mean? What’s going to happen? A sudden cloud of white filled the air in front of Jak’s face as he let out a fear-filled breath. The blond sobbed again and the dark-haired boy with the big eyes tilted on his feet, his hand going into the pocket of his coat. Jak looked away quickly, so he wouldn’t bring the man’s eyes to whatever the small boy to his left was reaching for.

  He felt a tap on his hand, and the boy slipped something hard and cold into his palm. Jak took it, dropping it into his pocket fast. His heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might jump right from his chest, but that feeling of being underwater stayed. His mind grabbed for something to hold his thoughts still.

  I can’t think. I can’t think. Why can’t I think? His baka had told him he was a “smart monkey too big for little britches,” and she had said it with a frown on her face, but in the way that made him think she was happy with him anyway. But he didn’t feel smart now. He felt . . . scared out of his mind.

  Jak gave a quick look over the cliff and saw that even though it wasn’t a straight drop, it was far down to the bottom. Really, really far down. He didn’t know how to describe it in numbers, but he was smart enough to know that if he jumped to get away, he would die. The only rule is to survive. Or die.

  Why? Whywhywhy? This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

  A cracking sound exploded around them, making Jak cry out in shock and terror. But before he could question where the noise was coming from, he felt a gust of cold air and then the ground started to move. Slide. The snow went out from under his feet and he slid forward, grabbing at the empty air for something to hold on to. But there was nothing.

  He heard the bad man yell something and then he yelled too, along with the screams of the other boys as they all slid over the edge in an explosion of white powder.

  His thoughts were still slow. Everything was slow . . . but then he was awake suddenly. He could hear every fast beat of his heart.
He could feel the stinging of the wind as it hit his face, and he could smell something green that he couldn’t name any better than that.

  Someone grabbed his hand. The small boy next to him. Their eyes met for one quick second, the dark-haired boy’s gaze filled with the same fear that must be in his own. With a grunt of strength, he turned his body as the world dropped out from under them, putting his hand on the other boy’s wrist and holding on tight, so they were falling together.

  They whirled and tumbled and hit something solid—a piece of ground—with a loud grunt and a short scream. Pain exploded through Jak’s body. He felt the other boy’s hold loosen, so he gripped harder, and they kept going down, down, still holding on to each other.

  Tumble, roll, fall, hit. Pain.

  So fast. They were flying so fast. He couldn’t catch hold of anything, his empty hand reaching, grabbing, slipping.

  Smack. They both yelled as they landed on a small ledge, immediately flipping off, their empty hands shooting out and catching hold of the edge.

  Do you have a will to survive?

  Yes!

  We can do this. We can do this.

  They stared, tears streaking down the smaller boy’s cheeks, their breath coming out in sharp pants. The other two boys raced past them, their screams echoing into the dark nothingness below.

  Jak’s lungs hurt with every breath and his body screamed in pain. Terror grabbed him. All his feelings were suddenly real. He felt real, not underwater anymore, not half-asleep, and it was an awful, terrifying wake up.

  Still gripping the other boy’s hand, he raised them both, grabbing the side of the ledge so they were each holding on with both hands. In a quick glance, he saw that the ledge was too small for two boys, but there was a skinny tree root next to it that looked like it might lead to stronger ground. A chance. A small, small chance.

  From the low light of the moon, Jak saw that the boy’s large eyes were starting to close, blood streamed from his nose, his face was bruised and bloody, and his head was rolling on his neck like he might fall asleep. His arms were shaking, his fingertips dark with holding on. Oh God.

  Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. Where you hear that expression? That fat, stinky mailman?

  His baka’s voice in his head gave him a small burst of strength and he gripped tighter, knowing he could pull himself up if he tried. The ledge though, it was only big enough for one. The boy’s half-closed eyes met his, his mouth opening a little, blood trailing.

  He was about to let go.

  If Jak was going to pull himself up on the ledge and slither along the root like a snake, the way he did in the backyard at home where he was king of the forest—the woods area that he played in most of the day because his baka believed that children shouldn’t be bothering, always bothering, he’d have to do it now. Or . . . he could save the other boy and take his own chances with the fall.

  These thoughts streaked through his brain quickly and all at once, his body got a message he didn’t know he’d sent, as he moved his hands over, grabbed the other boy around his waist just as his hands slipped and he cried out.

  “Climb up me,” he grunted, using the last of his strength to keep them both from falling. “Now!” he ordered. With a sharp cry, the boy, much lighter than Jak, grabbed at the ledge again, putting a foot on Jak’s shoulder as Jak removed one hand and used it to push the boy up onto that tiny piece of solid ground.

  Jak’s other hand slipped. “Live!” Jak shouted, demanding it with the last breath in his lungs, as he rushed toward the unknown below.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Present Day

  Deputy Paul Brighton gripped the steering wheel of his patrol car. Christ, his hands were still shaking. He turned on the wipers as snow flew at the windshield, creating a field of whirling white. He squinted, barely able to see the road in front of him. “Just what I need,” he muttered, trying to slow his racing heart. He’d never seen a crime scene like that, though there’d been a similar one in town just the week before. What kind of psycho went around committing murders with a bow and arrow? He’d heard about the first one—all the gory details as a matter of fact—but the sheriff had answered that call and now Deputy Brighton knew, hearing about something and seeing it up close and personal, were two very different experiences. The picture of the victim from the scene he’d just left appeared in his mind and he grimaced. The victim had been—fuck—he’d been nailed to the wall by an arrow for Christ’s sake, his blood spreading across the floor like—

  Deputy Brighton slammed on his brakes and turned sharply, as a man, larger than life, rose up out of nowhere, looming in front of his windshield. His tires slid on the icy ground and for a moment he thought he’d lose control of the vehicle. But he managed to hold on, correcting his slide, and the SUV skidded to a shuddery halt on the side of the road. Deputy Brighton’s breath came sharply. Who the fuck was that? He’d looked like a goddamned . . . caveman. He shook his head to attempt to set things straight in his brain.

  He quickly opened the door, the ding ringing out into the silent, snowy landscape, the only other sound the low hum of the engine. Deputy Brighton took cover on the side of the vehicle, removing his gun from his holster for the first time in his career.

  “Show your hands!” he called into the frigid onslaught, using his forearm to shield his eyes as he looked cautiously over the hood. He saw the man’s shape first—huge, muscular. “Show your hands!” he said again, his voice wavering.

  The man stepped forward, his hands raised, details coming into focus. His legs were clad in denim, but the rest of him was covered entirely in . . . animal fur from his boots, to his jacket, to the hat on his head, pulled low so his eyes were partially covered. Who the hell is he? What the hell is he? “Get down on your knees!” he yelled.

  The man paused as though considering, but then did as he was told, his hands still raised. Deputy Brighton saw that his eyes had narrowed. Snow clung to his dark bearded jaw, and thick, unruly hair grazed his chin. The man watched him, waiting, his gaze moving between the gun and his face. He’s a savage. The thought ran through Deputy Brighton’s mind, the gun shaking in his grip as he stepped from the cover of the car. When he moved forward, he noticed the final detail about the man.

  He had a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Harper, there you are.” Keri Simpkins slid a pencil behind her ear as she stood from her desk, walking quickly to Harper, who was hanging her parka on a hook by the door. “Did you hear the news?”

  “News?” Harper rubbed her hands together, attempting to warm them as Keri glanced behind her toward the back of the small county jail.

  Keri bobbed her head. “Hmm-hmm. That murder the town’s been buzzing about? There’s been another one. And”—she lowered her voice—“they have a suspect.”

  Harper’s heart constricted. “Another murder?” She frowned, the surprise of the news prickling her skin. Here? In Helena Springs? And a suspect?

  “Hmm-hmm. And get this, the suspect is some kind of wild man.”

  “Wild man? What do you mean, wild man?” And why in the world had she been summoned to the station?

  Keri glanced toward the back again and when she spoke, her voice was rushed. “Like the guy’s never lived in civilization before. Like a . . . like a caveman. Wait until you see—” Keri’s words cut off abruptly as footsteps sounded and a second after that, Dwayne Walbeck, Helena Springs’s sheriff emerged from around the corner, tipping his chin as he spotted Harper.

  “Harper. Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem, Dwayne.” Harper glanced at Keri quickly but she had already turned away toward her desk. Wild man? Harper turned her attention back to Dwayne. “What’s going on?”

  Dwayne looked to where Keri had taken a seat at her reception desk, her head tilted in a way that let Harper know she was hanging on every word. Despite her current confusion—and the trickle of dread moving down her spine knowing that something awful
had happened to someone in her small town—a smile teased at Harper’s lips. Keri was as sweet as she was nosy, and everyone in a twenty-mile radius knew exactly where to go if they wanted to find out the latest gossip. It was a wonder Dwayne kept her around. Although normally, her loose lips weren’t too much of an issue—generally, the most newsworthy thing coming out of the station was an occasional drunk and disorderly.

  “Keri, hold my calls, will you?” Dwayne shot over his shoulder.

  “No problem, Dwayne,” she sang.

  Dwayne placed his hand on Harper’s shoulder as he led her to the back of the station where his office was located, along with two holding cells, and a small interview room that mostly served as a break area for Dwayne, Keri, and two deputies, Paul Brighton and Roger Green.

  “Dwayne, what in the world is going on?” Harper asked once they’d entered the interview/break room and he’d closed the door.

  Dwayne picked up a remote and turned on a monitor hanging on the wall to Harper’s left. She turned toward the screen. It showed one of the two holding cells, and a man was sitting on the bench attached to the wall, staring straight ahead.

  Harper tilted her head, moving closer, her gaze zeroing in on the man. He was wearing regular blue jeans, stretched taut over muscular thighs, but his jacket was anything but usual. Was it made of . . . animal fur? Patched together in a way that made it look hand . . . sewn. She couldn’t make out the details of the jacket’s specific construction from the picture on the screen, so she didn’t even know if that was the right word. In any case, his boots—footwear—were made of the same pieced-together animal skins and went halfway up his calves. He suddenly looked up, his eyes moving directly to the screen as though he knew she was there—or at least knew a camera watched him, and Harper took a step back like he really could see her and she should be embarrassed for staring at him the way she was.

  “Recognize him?”

  She shook her head, taking in his face still aimed directly at her. Straight brown hair framed it, choppy in a way that made her think he’d cut it with some sort of dull cutting tool. His jaw was shadowed by facial hair somewhere between heavy stubble and a short beard, and despite his overall unusual appearance, she could see that he was handsome, albeit in a way that made her wonder if he bathed.