My eyes dart around the forest, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. “What’s going on?”
He ignores my question. “If anyone else comes, use your dagger. The sharp end goes in them.”
His belief that I’m completely incompetent with a weapon—while founded, considering my lack of education on the subject matter—irritates me, and I huff. “Understood. Keep the pointy end away from myself.”
“Exactly.” He jerks his head towards the trees. “Now go, little bird.Run.”
Once again, he’s ordering me to run.
And once again, even though everything else seems to be changing around me, I do as he says.
Metal rings as he yanks his sword from its sheath. I reach the hiding spot and drop to my knees, peering out from behind a thick tree, the dark brown bark gnarled and full of knots.
Less than a minute later, a deep tenor I don’t recognize echoes through the forest, filling my heart with fear.
We’re no longer alone.
8
A PREDATOR’S WARNING
GABRIEL
“Well, if it isn’t Hunter Moreau.” The low, grating timber belonging to none other than Hedran Erlet comes from behind me, and my stomach plummets.
Biting back a groan, I briefly shut my eyes and curse the gods. Of all the people who could’ve stumbled upon us, why the fuck does it have to behim?
There is no time to bemoan our misfortune—and there’s no doubt in my mind this is a stroke of especially bad luck—because if Wren and I are going to get out of this in one piece, I need to think quickly.
Drawing in a deep breath and gathering my wits—they’d scattered when Wren and I almost kissed—I open my eyes and plaster a smile on my face. Mist remains by my side as I turn, her presence a soothing balm aimed to keep me calm.
“Hunter Erlet,” I say as warmly as I can manage, which isn’t much at all. “I didn’t know you were roaming the woods between Moorn and Rosebridge.”
Had I been aware of that fact, I would’ve chosen a different route. Internally, I berate myself for not hearing Hedran approach until he was practically on top of us. It’s that damnhook drawing me to Wren. I gave in to the desire to be closer to her, to touch her, and I stopped paying attention.
And now, we must deal withthis.
Hedran is standing thirty feet away from me, his dark brown cloak helping him blend into the winter forest. His hood is up, hiding his sky-blue hair from sight and shrouding his face in shadows. The light is dying, but I can make out the crooked shape of his nose, broken one too many times, and the dark gleam in his eyes.
Mist stiffens, and a low, almost imperceptible growl runs through her. I send calming thoughts through our connection, my eyes traveling to the reason for my familiar’s discomfort.
Positioned next to Hedran, its head reaching the middle of his Hunter’s thighs, is a grey wolf. Slate’s orange gaze glows eerily in the murky light. His ears are flat against his head, his lips pulled back, displaying his sharp canines in warning.
The wolf is staring at me with an intensity that has my flesh crawling.
Stay hidden, little bird, I plead internally. If either Hedran or Slate catches sight of or scent my gods-blessed...
My throat constricts, and that same pull that drew me towards Wren earlier twists painfully in my stomach, insisting that I defend her.
As if I would do anything else.
“I’m passing through.” Hedran arches a brow, finally answering my question.
He studies me, then Mist, and unease trickles through me. I want to pull my familiar away and shove her out of sight like I did Wren. My panther can defend herself, but I don’t like the look in Hedran’s eyes, as if he’s judging how loud her cries would be if he hurt her.
My chest tightens.
The sooner this man gets out of my fucking sight, the better.
