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“Whoa, Rhys, you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Rhys’s head rang and his vision tilted as he tried and failed to sit up. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up on the ground to begin with. One moment he’d been rushing through the forest with Landon, chasing a bounty target, and the next he was looking up at the stars through a hole in the tree canopy. “Ugh… Four? what happened?”
“She got you with these,” Landon replied, holding up a set of stone weights attached with rope. “Bolas. Lousy throw, though. Usually, you aim for the legs, but these smacked you right in the forehead. Surprised you’re still kickin’, to be honest.”
He probably wouldn’t be if he were still human. One of the good things vampirism had done to him was to strengthen his body so that it resisted being smashed to pieces. A thinner skull would have caved and turned his brain into mush, but he’d gotten away with just a massive headache and probably minor brain damage which would heal in a day or so if he got a blood meal. Which he still intended to do. He tried to stand for a second time and found himself once again watching the world spin above him.
“Whoa, dude, holy shit, you passed out on me. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I just… feel sick when I stand up…” He felt sick lying down, too, actually. Had he passed out, or just fallen?
Landon frowned. “You should probably stay down, then, man. We’ll try for the Nightstalker another day. She’ll turn up again. You and I’ll get that bounty, don’t you worry.”
Rhys was having a hard time keeping his thoughts together, but one word did cut through the haze: bounty. Yes. He was a mercenary, collecting bounties was his job, how he got money and most of his hunts. He needed to finish the bounty, to catch the woman. They wanted her alive, but maybe he could drink her a little? That would fix him right up. It probably took a lot of blood for the Shadow to fix his brain. He was so hungry…
This attempt at lurching to his feet was mostly successful, though he was leaning heavily on Landon, who protested. “Hey, buddy, like I said, give it a rest. You don’t look so hot. Pretty sure I’m the only thing holding you up.”
It was true enough. Rhys’s knees had given out almost immediately, given that it took every ounce of willpower he had not to lose what little blood was still in his stomach. He panted heavily through his nose and wished the stars would leave his vision. He didn’t want to give up on this. Some of it was not wanting to look weak in front of the other mercs when Landon had to drag him back to the tavern to heal up, but mostly he just didn’t want to be shown up by a mark. The rational part of him knew what he had to do, though.
“Give… my scythe, yeah? Won’t make you carry me.” The weapon was lying discarded on the forest floor, and Landon scooped it up with his foot and pushed it into Rhys’s hands. The familiar shaft was comforting, in its own way, and he wasn’t above using it as a walking stick. He still needed Landon’s help, but this way, it looked less like he’d nearly died and more like he was fine and just needed to regroup a bit.
“You’re a beast, dude. Glad I got assigned to you, huh? I’d be dead if I were out here alone!” Landon joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, let’s get you back. Next time I get a lead on the Nightstalker, I’ll be right at your door.”
Rhys hoped so. He knew exactly what, or rather who, he wanted his next meal to be.