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And the safety of the far side infinitely farther away.
“Valcotta, don’t do it!”
Zarrah turned her head. The Maridrinian had reached the top of the dam, but he’d stopped a dozen paces back, his hands raised, no weapon in sight.
“While you’ve led me on quite the merry little chase, having to climb down to retrieve your broken body is not how I wish to end it. Give me the letters and we can both walk away from this alive.”
Terror was thick in her veins, and it was tempting, oh so damnably tempting, to hand the letters over. Except Zarrah knew to do so would see her dead. A Maridrinian’s word meant nothing—especially when given to a Valcottan. That she had his precious letters was theonlyreason he hadn’t killed her yet.
Taking a deep breath, Zarrah steeled herself against fear and pain, took a few running steps, and then jumped.
Wind whistled past her ears, the water roaring beneath her. She hit the far side of the dam, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Her nails scrabbled against the slick rock, her legs dangling, toes unable to find purchase because the water had eroded the sides of the spillway.
“Shit!” Panic rose as she tried to climb, but her arms shuddered from the strain of supporting her weight, too spent and exhausted to pull her higher.
She was going to fall.
Her fingers slipped, her nails ripping, and a shriek tore from her lips as the rock crumbled.
Then a gloved hand closed around her wrist.
Gasping in a breath, Zarrah looked up to see the Maridrinian above her, balanced and steady as though he knelt in a palace corridor, not on a crumbling dam with death on all sides. Though he must have jumped over her, she hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t heard him.
“The letters, Valcotta.” His voice was strained. “Give them to me.”
“Only to have you drop me?” She put as much heat into the words as she could, which was difficult with the cold river waters kissing the toes of her bare foot, beckoning her into its flow. “Pull me up first.”
“Only to have you run again? I think not.”
They stared at each other. Though Zarrah couldn’t see the color of his eyes in the shadows, they burned into her. Neither of them was willing to concede, but with the way his arm was starting to shake from strain, the decision was soon to be made for them.
Do not give in,Zarrah screamed at herself.He is Maridrinian, and even if it means your death, you must never concede! Your honor demands it!
“Your word,” he said through his teeth. “Your word that if I pull you up, you’ll give them back.”
Her terror strangled her, but Zarrah managed to say, “You have my word. I’ll return them if you pull me up.”
“All of them.”
“For fuck’s sake, yes!” she gasped. “All of them! On my honor!”
The Maridrinian heaved, pulling her upward so that she was sprawled on her stomach, both of them crawling away from the edge. Body shaking, Zarrah climbed to her feet, but before she could get her bearings, the Maridrinian was behind her, knife at her throat and his free arm pinning hers to her sides. “Walk.”
Limping, she started around the curved dam, not stopping until she’d reached the bank. Back on Valcottan soil, such as it was. There they paused, her back pressed against his chest, both of them gasping for breath. And though the sharp edge of his knife stung the skin over her jugular, it was the warmth of his breath against her cheek that she felt as she turned her head. Away from the stench of the city, she could smell him now: the clean scent of soap along with the spice of a subtle cologne, beneath which she picked up the faintest odor of smoke and sweat.
“The letters, lovely.” His voice tickled her ear, and he loosened his grip so she could move an arm.
The last thing she wanted to do was to give up her prize after all of this, but with his knife against her throat, she hadn’t much choice. And as it was, she’d given her word.
Reaching into her pocket, Zarrah extracted the package and held it up.
“In one of my pockets, if you will. My hands are rather occupied at present.”
Scowling, she shoved her hand between them, feeling the hard muscles of his stomach as she jammed the letters down the front of his trousers. He jumped as her fingers brushed his cock, and she used the distraction to twist away from the knife.
He only chuckled, tucking a lock of damp hair behind his ear before sliding the knife into a hidden sheath. “Goodnight, Valcotta,” he murmured, then inclined his head. “I’ll show myself out.”
And without another word, he whirled, racing down the length of the dam and leaping the gap, easily reaching the other side. Not so much as breaking stride, he disappeared into the darkness.
