Chapter Four: How Not to Seduce a Bounty Hunter

A/N: Hey there! So the media is Aidan Turner, who is my inspiration for our new character. Let me know your thoughts...

Plan B, Plan B, I think.

Plan A: kick the shit out of the bastard. Current status: failing.

Internally, I sigh. Plan A isn't plausible. The man holding Mercer is armed, and I'm in a dress designed to weigh me down. Run away? Not without leaving that idiot, and not in this dress. That leaves me with one option, and it's my weakest, and I loathe the idea.

It can't be helped. Do it for Mercer. I open my mouth and suck in a huge breath of air.

'HELP!' I scream, managing to swoon convincingly towards the decking. 'Help us, please, anybody! We're being attacked!'

To my delight, the man looks irritated and shocked. I hadn't counted on both. 'Shut up!' he hisses. 'You're not getting away.'

I scream again, cowering towards the boat, looking very much as though I'm frozen in fear. I'm wondering if I'd be able to captain the boat without falling into the river of certain death. I pretend to cower and cover my head with my hands and elbows, blocking my searching gaze. The Ferryman is spread eagle across the boat, giving me no choice but to step amongst remains if I wish to get in.

'What in hell's name—' I hear the man curse; a struggle is occurring behind me. Considering throwing the Ferryman's remains into the water, I debate whether he'll simply crumble into a gooey mess if I attempt to pick his body up. But as I'm frowning at his broken body, I realise that he has a weapon locked with rigor mortis into his bony hand.

Behind me, Mercer lets out a hurting cry, and my head and body spin to look.

He's on the floor, clutching his arm, and the man stands above him, a knife in hand. I'm impressed to see that Mercer has wounded his attacker; blood drips from a single shallow scratch above the man's eye, but it's causing him discomfort as he shuts one eye. My hands reach around the back of my dress, to where those stupid button trails lie.

They say on a woman's wedding night her dress is ripped off.

I twist my hands onto the sleeves, and pull, as hard as I can. A wonderful popping as I tear away the buttons ensues. While Mercer and the man are distracted, I demolish my beautiful dress by shredding the sleeves and shoulders, and stepping out of it.

They told me it would be a good thing, I think. I can move better: must be a positive.

I stretch nimbly, having had a literal weight lifted from my body. I crouch to the Ferryman, and snap open his fingers to reveal the handle of the blade, still in its sheath. The basket-shaped hilt is strangely familiar, and I roll my eyes as I pull it out.

A cutlass, I think, like a goddamn pirate.

As I stand, I extend the cutlass excitedly, feeling its lightness beneath my touch. When I turn to face the attacker and Mercer again, they've stopped fighting. Instead, they're both staring at me, their mouths flopping open in surprise. Mercer's still on the floor, and the man above him is grabbing him by his shirt, as if he's about to butt the boy.

Neither move an inch. They're frozen in shock as I stand in my underwear, the only cutlass-wielding bride they've ever seen. From my filthy ivory stockings, to my lacy white corset pulled in at the waist with force, to my barely concealed chest, they don't know what to do.

And I swing the blade onto my shoulder. I've always wanted to do that, I think.

'Put him down,' I command the stranger. 'I'm your enemy now.'

And I rush at him, jerking the blade before me as I strike for his heart. The stranger drops Mercer, managing to step aside my attack. Growling deep from my throat in exertion, my blade slashes at him, reaching only the leather of his jacket enough to rip lines through it. He continues to move away, defending only with his knife when necessary. I've cut through so much of his jacket within minutes of my rapid attacks when he suddenly steps forwards, and I misjudge the distance between us. His cool blue eyes are coming towards me, staring down at me, as my blade misses.

He captures my arm, pulling me into his grip, but I drop immediately, lashing out with my fists and elbows. I hear him grunt in pain, and the pressure on my arm disappears. I roll, agile, before rising into my stance once more with my sword.

The man looks really irritated now. His eyebrow quirks, and he smiles sardonically. I don't need to hear him speak to know what he's trying to say.

Done? Good. It's my turn, he tells me.

He draws another knife from his belt, and moves so quickly I lose sight of him. Instead, I sense— rather than see— him reach behind me, and I strike towards the sensation. I see the surprise glint in his eyes as I catch his arm, drawing blood. But then his grin returns, and he's closer again.

'Who are you?' I hear him say. The words aren't angry anymore. He sounds...intrigued.

I feel the knife coming towards my throat. I dodge, and slam into him with as much force as I can muster. We both fall, crashing into the dirt. His knife clatters from his hand, but as I reach to get it, he pulls my hair, and I scream, going down. The man tries to pin me, but I jab towards his throat, and he gasps for breath as I shove him down.

'I am innocent!' I hiss at him, my nails biting into his windpipe. 'You attacked us!'

I hear him coughing, struggling against my hands. 'You technically attacked me, miss.'

'Stop going easy on me just because I'm in my underwear! You were all ready to kill me earlier!' I sit on my heels, straddling him.

Those cool blue eyes open and fix upon my face. His hands grab my wrists and break my hold. 'That was before you took off your dress—'

I raise my hand again to hit him, but he frantically shakes his head. 'No, no, the dress was filthy— I didn't realise until I saw your underwear...it's white. You're a bride.'

I halt in my attack, glancing down at the bodice I'm wearing. It really is a sparklingly clean white, protected from the dust by the dress. There's now a couple of spots of blood from the man's wound, but really, it's quite perfect. Something about my attire has relaxed him.

But him knowing my identity doesn't mean we're safe; for all we know, he might have killed the Ferryman. I press a knee to his chest, still poised to attack. Hearing a shuffle, I glance up to find Mercer has retrieved my cutlass, lost in the fall. He brings it to me, and I brandish it towards the man's face.

'You don't get to ask the questions!'

'It wasn't a question,' he replies smoothly.

'...Answer my questions! Who are you and what happened to the Ferryman?'

The man still stares at me, his eyes never leaving my face. I'm conscious that I'm bright red, huffing in effort, and probably sweating. I can feel it on my chest, and it's grim.

But I'm grateful that I can see sweat on his brow, and his heartbeat is thudding beneath me.

'I'm a bounty hunter,' he says at last, 'And you're Death's bride.'

'What happened to the Ferryman?' I repeat, waving the cutlass closer to his eyes. 'You have a pretty face, bounty hunter. How much information will you give me to save it?'

'I'd like to keep my face, thank you. I found him like this. Which is why I thought you—'

I glance at Mercer, questioning whether this man was telling the truth. I've not done many interrogations, but I've met a lot of liars, and I don't think the bounty hunter is one of them. Mercer looks white and terrified, and completely useless.

'We didn't kill him,' I say, 'We were looking for a way across. How else can we get across?'

'So, you are the Bride.'

'What makes you say that?' my eyes narrow. He's awfully fixated on this.

'The Bridal attire. The young, innocent girl and her noble guide...looking for a way to get across the Styx,' he replies. His eyes flick up in a tiny eye roll when he says the words "innocent girl".

He says the Styx like it's an old friend. The Styx is the river of the Underworld, one of the seven, and it joins with the other great rivers to form the passageway to the next life. Elysium.

The man has information I need, but can I trust him? Unless he's playing an elaborate game, he didn't kill the Ferryman. The boat appears to be out of action: there's nothing to steer it with— whatever the Ferryman used, it's fallen into the water.

'What do you want, bounty hunter? We can pay you money. The coins we would have given to the Ferryman, were he alive.'

The bounty hunter stares up at me from our position on the floor, but casts a lazy eye to where I'm still pinning him down, a smirk across his mouth.

'I'd like for you to get off me,' he says, running a hand through his matted, dark hair. I watch him closely, my narrowed eyes tracing the pulse in his neck (deceptively alive), and down to the rips of leather that opened his chest. Suddenly, I'm conscious that I'm staring, and...I like what I see.

That, and my legs are clamped around him. That and he's like a rock beneath my body. That and...

STOP IT, NERISSA.

I jump up, flushing and shaken, still managing to hold my cutlass at his throat so that he is still limited in his movement. He knows that, and he gives me a withering look.

'I'm off. Now, will you take us across the Styx?'

He throws his head back and laughs. Considering the Underworld is very quiet, albeit the rush of water around us, the hunter is making a lot of noise in comparison. I hear Mercer drop to the ground, faint, and I grit my teeth.

Give me strength, I think sourly.

'What's so funny?' I demand. The hunter is still chuckling, but he looks a lot nicer when his smile is genuine. It's not the earlier leer of deathly amusement.

'Why do you think I'm here? I'm looking for a way across, too,' he replies, nodding towards the Ferryman's body. 'I'm a bounty hunter, not a sailor.'

'What were you doing out here?'

The man's gaze draws back to mine, and I notice that he has a freckle right underneath his left eye. It's strangely endearing. His sleek dark hair frames his angular face in a very cute-rogue kind of way.

Oh stop it already, Nerissa, I chastise myself. But I'm still looking at that freckle, wanting to brush my lips over it.

This whole chapter of my life-turned-death is messed up.

'Do you really want to know?' he says, and I notice the dark shift in tone. I stand straighter, my cutlass ready to kill.

'Yes! Answer me! What were you doing out here?'

The hunter sighs, sitting on his knees as if he's awaiting execution. I hear him murmur the reply.

'I deliver runaway souls to the rivers. The ones that try not to die, that is. And I get paid for it. That's why I'm out here; sometimes, they escape back to the human world, and others I find still roaming the shores. But this—' He nodded towards the trail of Ferryman innards resting nearby, '—started recently. There's strange happenings around here. Ferrymen along the rivers are found dead, and souls aren't reaching the rivers. That's why I thought you were up to something.'

I lower my cutlass after a few seconds. The hunter hasn't moved, and Mercer is still shaking to my right. I feel like we've started on the wrong foot. The hunter looks up in surprise when my weapon is no longer trained on him.

'Three is better than one, right?' I shrug. 'We're both on the same side, so no point fighting about it. I'm Nerissa. I'm the lucky, blushing bride of Death. That lump over there is my guide, Mercer.'

On cue, I hear Mercer retching. He's finally seen the Ferryman's remains and is now vomiting forcefully into the river.

I catch the hunter's eye and we both look away, suppressing smiles.

'What's your name?' I ask him, and he thinks for a moment.

'You can call me Hadrian,' he says.

--

A/N: Sooo...we have a new character, Hadrian. What do you think of him? Good or bad?

How did you like our heroine being badass in her underwear? :')

Waiting on your thoughts and funny comments,

Larissa

xx