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“I grabbed a rope and a lantern and ran out to meet it. After soaking the rope in the lantern’s oil, I tossed it like a lasso at the ialtóg’s feet. Took me three attempts to get hold of it. Now, I’m not strong enough to pull down a demon from the sky, but”—Evelyn flared her fingers on fire for a moment—“I set the oiled rope on fire and took the ialtóg down.”
Cyrus whistled. “And the farmer and his father?”
“Alive and well.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively, ready to move on before Cyrus asked any additional questions. Like where she worked or what town she was from. “It’s your turn, Huntsman.”
He shrugged. “A bit anticlimactic compared to yours.”
“You still have to tell it.”
He chuckled. “Well, I stumbled into the wrong cave at the wrong time. Came across a mated pair with their babes.” He grimaced. “I ran, of course, but one managed to nick me before I reached the cave’s edge.” Cyrus pointed to his scar. “Anticlimactic, like I said.”
Thoughtful, Evelyn tilted her head. “Was this before or after you became a huntsman?”
Cyrus paused for a breath, his shoulders going taut as if he rarely talked about this part of his past. “Before.”
“Why did you become a huntsman?” The question left Evelyn before she could think more about it. She had no right to ask him, especially since she gave him so little.
Cyrus’s gaze had become lost in the flames, a considerable furrow to his brow setting his jaw tight. “At the time, it seemed the best way to get what I wanted.”
Evelyn fiddled with her hands, wishing she didn’t care. She blamed that kiss, the growing bold, wrong feelings for this huntsman beside her.
Her next question was a whisper. “What did you want?”
He turned to her and reached for a flyaway strand of damp hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Can’t say I remember, Princess.”
Cyrus pulled her in close, and Evelyn rested her head on his shoulder, listening to the rain, the fire, and her happy, thumping heart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kade
The next day, Kade washed and polished pint glasses behind the bar of the Runaway Radish. A howl hovered over the town, and Kade’s werewolf hearing questioned if it was the wind getting trapped over the hills or the screams of a wretched creature. Yet, a newness sat in the air between him and Evelyn, overshadowing the ominous cries. His chest swelled with excitement while he wrestled with what he’d done.
At the end of the bar, Miss Patricia folded and formed bread dough, a first batch of loaves already baking in the oven and giving the inn a lovely, warm aroma. Only a few patrons sat at the long tables, the daytime slower than the evening hours.
“If you smile one more time, the shine might crack the glasses!” Miss Patricia called.
Kade laughed, appreciating the older woman’s teasing. He had been smiling, thinking of Evelyn, remembering the kiss. Stars above, that kiss.
He shook his head, still at war with himself about what to do next.
You’re lying, Evelyn had said.
Her words had meant something else entirely, and they’d rocked through Kade far more than he let on. He was lying. About who he was. Why he was here. What he wanted.
Moons, what did he want?
He didn’t want to fracture what was building between them. He didn’t want to let his guilt win.
He remembered her laugh. So happy. So relaxed.
Do that again, he wanted to say.
But couldn’t, because she was Saige Ferriwether in that moment, he was Cyrus Skender, and no matter the force of their first kiss, Kade could not shake that he was Kade Drengr, lying to Evelyn Carson.
Miss Patricia took a break from her bread loaves. “May I ask if your mood is about a certain lovely lass?”
“What gave me away?”
