MacInnes’ eye glittered. “That has yet to be decided.”
Then he attacked. MacInnes was fast, faster than Evan remembered. Their blades crashed together with a violent clang and Evan staggered under the force of the first blow. Bryce and Niall moved back, fighting more of MacInnes’ guards who came running to the aid of their chief.
MacInnes pressed forward relentlessly, striking again and again with brutal strength. “Ye always were weak,” the warlord growled. “Too soft for the life I offered ye.”
Evan blocked another strike, his muscles screaming. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
MacInnes laughed harshly. “Ye do that.”
He swung and Evan twisted aside, the blade slicing through the air where his chest had been. Evan spun and countered, their blades ringing as they came together. MacInnes fought like a seasoned killer, all brutal efficiency and strength.
Mud splashed beneath their boots as they circled each other. MacInnes swung wide. Evan ducked under the blow and drove his shoulder into the larger man.
MacInnes stumbled and for the first time uncertainty flashed across his face. Evan drove the warlord backward step by step, each strike fueled by the fury he had held back for years, fury at the world for forcing him into a life he never chose, fury at MacInnes for not letting him leave it, fury at himself for not realizing he could.
MacInnes tried to recover but Evan was faster now. Stronger. His blade knocked MacInnes’ sword aside then his foot swept the warlord’s legs out from under him.
MacInnes crashed onto his back. He fumbled for the pistol at his side, pointed it at Evan, but Evan kicked it out of his hands and brought his blade down, the tip resting against MacInnes’ throat. The world seemed to go silent.
Evan’s chest heaved. The fury inside him surged. It would be so easy. One quick thrust and he would end it.
MacInnes sneered up at him. “Go on, boy,” he spat. “Ye know ye want to.”
Evan tightened his grip on the hilt. Then he began to apply pressure. A line of red began to trickle down MacInnes’ throat.
Then he heard Ruby’s voice, sharp with urgency. “Evan! Don’t!”
He looked up and spotted her standing several yards away, her face pale but determined.
“Don’t become him,” she cried. “This isn’t who you are!”
The fury inside Evan wavered. Slowly his breathing steadied. He lowered the blade and stepped back, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Bryce knelt, wrenched the warlord’s arms behind his back whilst Niall bound them with a length of rope.
“Ye and yer conspiracy are finished,” Bryce hissed.
Evan turned, and suddenly Ruby was running toward him, throwing herself into his arms. He held her, burying his face in her hair as the noise faded around them.
“You’re safe,” she whispered.
He tightened his arms around her. “So are ye. And that’s all that matters.”
RUBY HELD ON TO EVANas though if she let go he might disappear.
The woods still echoed faintly around them—men shouting orders, the clatter of weapons being gathered, horses stamping nervously—but it all felt distant and unreal.
Evan’s arms were wrapped tightly around her, one hand pressed protectively against the back of her head. He was warm. Solid. Real. For a long moment she simply breathed him in—the scent of smoke and leather and the familiar warmth of him—and let the terrible knot of fear that had been lodged inside her chest slowly unwind.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“So are you,” she replied.
He gave a soft huff of laughter. She looked up at him. There was a cut along his brow and blood on his sleeve, but his eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said quietly.
Evan shook his head. “Never. I promised I’d come back to ye. I always will.”
