Page 6 of Dream Reaper

He held his breath, craning his neck first to the left and then to the right, as far as it would twist in both directions. Moonlight broke through the thick treetops in a narrow shaft that illuminated a small wedge of the trail, but the rest of the woods remained dark and forbidding and…

Nothing. Just…silence.

Still, a tingle pricked the back of his neck, and he could swear he wasn’t alone.

Exhaling soundlessly, he turned in a slow circle, avoiding looking at the shaft of moonlight so that his eyes would remain accustomed to the deeper shadows around him. His nostrils flared as he used his other senses to test his surroundings.

He took a single step forward.

Again, that wordless warning rippled through him. The instinct pulled him to the left, off the trail, but he remained stubbornly frozen where he stood. But he couldn’t ignore the strange command to leave the trail and dive into the forest, turning west instead of remaining on the northern path.

Why?

There was no answer. There never was, and yet Jerrid knew better than to ignore his instincts. They were usually right.

He was usually right, that presence in the back of Jerrid’s mind who refused to go away.

With an annoyed hiss, he left the trail and shoved his way through the undergrowth, forcing his way through a thick tangle of shrubs that smelled an awful lot like old socks. Wrinkling his nose, he broke free of the bushes and continued on through ferns and brittle, long grass.

A sound broke through the silence of the forest—a sudden rattle and the crackling of branches. Then a shout. A curse.

They were ahead of him, judging by the foul cursing that echoed through the forest. And yet his instincts still urged him to head west, so he plunged farther from the trail and deeper into the Shadewood.

He came to a change in elevation, the ground sloping downward, bathed in multiple shafts of moonlight. He trotted down the incline, still angling to the west. At the base of the hill, his boots crunched through dead leaves, and he paused to catch his breath.

North. He needed to go north now.

He jogged along the foot of the hill, and it rounded into another level stretch of impenetrable forest. Above him, someone shrieked, and then a terrible ruckus followed. He couldn’t make sense of it—the violent thumps, cracks, and rattles.

He pressed onward, pulse racing, the heat in his chest billowing from an ember into an angry ball of fire. He clamped down on it and tried to smother the burning sensation.

Not now…

Ahead of him, a glowing blue light flashed into view. It disappeared, only to reappear a couple of yards away. Again it vanished and then reemerged at a new location farther to his left.

He dove toward the blue light as the foul curses from the northeast grew louder. That would be Talos up on the ridge, based on the guttural language hurling down at them.

Which meant the blue dark elf fire below must be Ava.

He wasn’t far behind the runaway now, only a few dozen yards, and if he cut an angle through the forest, he should be able to intersect her path in the next few moments, as long as she didn’t change direction…

He dodged between two trees and slid down a slight incline, turning sharply to the right as he raced toward the erratic blue light only a few yards ahead. With a final burst of speed, he bolted through a small patch of willow-thin saplings and threw his arms wide to encircle the dark figure just behind that glowing light.

The lass shrieked as he threw her off course, hurling them both into the trees. They tumbled and rolled and came up short in a thick blanket of ferns. The cursing grew closer behind them.

Talos was nearly upon them.

He focused on the lass trapped beneath him. Her lips parted in what might be the beginnings of a scream, so he smothered her mouth with his palm as he cast a glance over his shoulder.

If they lay low, if they were quiet…the shadow and the brambles behind them and the thick piles of leaves and struggling ferns might conceal them from view.

And perhaps he could offer just a bit more camouflage.

As the girl bucked against him, uttering nearly soundless shrieks against his palm, he focused the heat in his chest into his shoulder blades. Only two single points of heat.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on controlling it, on sending it where he wished, fluttering out from his shoulder blades. One wing snaked down his back to cover their legs, and the other over their heads, cocooning them beneath leather and dragon scales.

Lips parted beneath his palm, and then teeth scraped against the underside of his middle finger as the fool lass bit him.