Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The hound claws eagerly at his fence, frantic, but as I lean down to grab the snake meat, the air shifts. I feel his hands clamp around me, crushing me into heat and muscle. The sudden pressure of his chest against my back has me choking out a strangled sound. My blood grows cold as he wraps himself closer and starts shifting my skirts as he murmurs in my ear. Vile bastard. Taking advantage of someone he thinks is a weak woman.
I shove his hands off me and he laughs, snatching me again, tighter this time. “Might die tomorrow. Let me have this.”
My female voice lacks the punch I want. “Let go of me!”
“I like it when you squirm.”
I grab a handful of snake meat and walk back into his arms. He’s not expecting it and staggers a few steps into the fence, where he gets his balance and starts jerking up my skirt. Bastard! I wrap my arm behind me and him and dangle the snake meat.
The hound rushes for it and I slip it into the Wyrd’s pants just in time for the hound to take a massive bite through the gap in the fence.
The Wyrd howls, dropping his arms from me, and I grab my knockout powder, whirl around, and punch him with some in the nose.
He’s surprised at my force for a brief moment before the powder hits and he falls to the ground. My chest heaves, my fingers locked into a fist, bracing in case he surges up again, but . . . nothing.
A sudden sharp, powerful gust slams into the tent and I look up from the Wyrd to Quin, his cane digging into the dirt beneath him. The ferocious look in his eye is slicing through the Wyrd like a blade. The intensity of it feels so protective, I’m able to breathe again.
Quin thrusts himself over the space separating us in a single moment. He hauls me close and inspects me carefully. His eyes meet every inch of me with concern and the fear I felt before is replaced by another kind of fear. One that pulls more deeply, one that I’ve been trying not to feel.
“I arrived late,” Quin murmurs angrily. “Are you alright?”
I crouch and heave the Wyrd over. “Fine.”
“What are you doing?”
“Staunching the blood before it leaves a suspicious puddle.”
Quin watches with the tightest jaw as I methodically sew up the torn wound on the Wyrd’s buttocks. “Rather leave him here to rot.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Quin and I share a tight look. Quin uses the wind to thrust the incapacitated soldier behind the large sacks, and slides an arm around my waist. His gaze hits mine. We need to provide a reason for the soldiers not to come over. He has a way. Will I agree?
My breath hitches.
The footsteps grow louder. Someone mentions the hound.
I stare back at Quin, feeling his idea like a dangerous weight swinging between us.
My nerve endings leap at the glimpse of the first soldier’s shadow. I throw my arms around Quin’s neck, drawing him to the sacks. He drops his cane and leans against me, his tight long length a shield. His face bows over mine and I arch my throat wantonly as I glance over his shoulder. The first Wyrd has stopped abruptly. The others are still coming.
I sigh breathily and curl a leg around Quin, pushing him closer. He drags a nose up my ear. “Careful.”
I giggle and gasp and catch his eye.
The flash in them has me exploding in shivers. There’s not so much as a hint of a smile. His entire body thrums, taut with energy that sparks against mine. And then . . . that uneven way his chest rises and falls, and the softest hitch in his throat . . . This moment may be acted, but it’s also real.
I swallow hard.
He digs his nose into my hair and his breath shudders like he’s fighting something intoxicating. My leg loosens around his hip and he clasps my thigh to keep me there.
“Let’s give these two a moment, eh?” one of the Wyrds finally says, and the others laugh and sneak away, and I’m still locking Quin against me, my arms rigid, pulsing with my frantic heartbeat.
On a sharp breath, I come back to myself. My foot hits the ground and my arms shift to his chest and shove.
Quin rocks back onto his good leg and steadies his gaze on me.
“Your looks say too much, Quin.”
The Wyrd behind the sacks stirs; Quin grabs his cane and whacks him unconscious again with a scowl.
“So do your actions.”
We decide to move the Wyrd. Quin finds a flask at his hip, undoes the cap and splashes the sharp scent of alcohol over him.
I’m aware of the cold sweat forming at my nape. Every footstep feels like it might betray us, the weight of the Wyrd growing greater by the second. Quin’s uneven gait beside me is a constant reminder that he isn’t using enough magic to move painlessly. We’re too obvious, we’ll be exposed. I glance around with a racing pulse and force my feet to keep moving forward.