I can only see part of his profile from the ground, but I know I’ve never seen him before:
strong square jawline, muscular build, shaggy blond hair that almost reaches his collar. I would have remembered meeting him, or even catching a glimpse. He’s not the kind of guy a girl forgets.
Despite the danger, a spark I can’t quite name flickers through me.
With a bellow of rage, my attacker charges, heedless of the fire the blond guy is wielding, and takes another fireball full in the chest. This time it doesn’t stop him. He drives forward, and I haul myself up just as the two crash together in a brutal tangle.
The blond guy’s strikes are violent and punishing, but there’s something savage in how my attacker fights. His moves aren’t smooth or precise, but feral and vicious, and completely unconcerned with self-preservation.
Flames lick up and down the blond guy’s arms as they trade blows, and though the fire sears my attacker’s flesh, he fights as if he doesn’t feel it at all.
I hover at the edge, frozen in indecision.
Run or try to help?
Then the blond guy lands a blow just as a sudden gust of wind out of nowhere slams into my attacker. The combined force hurls him into the trunk of a tree, its branches shuddering on impact, before he slides to the ground in a crumpled heap.
The blond guy’s shoulders heave as he stomps over to the fallen attacker.
Is he dead? Or just knocked out?
He’s in bad shape. Multiple burn marks over his arms, chest and face. One eye is swollen shut, and from the angle he’s slumped, his shoulder might be dislocated.
I happen to catch sight of his hands and I gasp. The ends of each finger are tipped in sharp claws.
The blond reaches him just as a groan leaves the attacker’s mouth, and I’m not sure whether I’m glad or not that he’s still alive.
His dark head lolls to the side, but his eyes remain shut.
“Stay down,” the blond orders. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.” His voice is deep and authoritative, and a shiver runs through me.
It’s obvious he saved me from what would have been, at best, a kidnapping, but he isn’t human. The fire, the wind magic, prove that. Which means he’s exactly what my parents taught me to run from my entire life.
My would-be rescuer turns his back on the attacker and our gazes connect.
Green. His eyes are green . . . and slitted?
He blinks and the pupils are normal again.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, the attacker lumbers to his feet behind him, his black claws catching the moonlight.
I open my mouth to shout a warning, but the blond’s already turning, his fist a blur of green and red flames as it slams into the attacker’s chest, hurling him back into another tree, where his dark head snaps against the trunk with a hollow crack.
This time, when he hits the ground, he doesn’t groan or twitch. He lies perfectly still.
The blond guy mutters a curse and crouches down, feeling for a pulse.
“Is he . . .?”
“Still breathing,” he says. “But we should get?—”
A loud gasp cuts him off, the attacker’s chest jerking upward. For a heartbeat, his eyes fly open and he convulses as a stream of thick, black smoke pours from his mouth, curling into the night air like a serpent tasting the dark, before evaporating into the night.
I stumble back, shocked, and lose my footing. Rolling my ankle, I fall to the ground, landing hard on my butt.
The guy falls still again. Too still this time.
The blond remains crouched over the body, and I don’t need to ask this time. We both know he’s gone.
