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“If I wanted to hurt you,” he snarled, “I wouldn’t hack you apart with a heavy blade. My fingers could be around your throat before you had time to scream.”
She cocked a brow. “And a statement like that is supposed to make me trust you? If you’re not a poacher, why were the hounds I heard after you? You’re wounded. I saw the blood.”
Conor flexed his muscles while reaching out with his mind. In both instances, he felt the prickle of healing. “Not as bad as it looked. The Keun Marow were sloppy. Next time they’ll wait to be sure of a clean kill. Asher doesn’t tolerate failure twice.”
The pistol steadied, and Conor knew she was close to using it. “I’ll ask you one more time. Who are you? What are you? And what do want with me? If these Keun Marow want a clean kill, I can give it to them.”
Trying to hide his growing annoyance, he began again, taking the time to explain what he could, lying when he couldn’t. “I’ve given you my name. I’m a friend of your father’s. He was holding something for me—keeping it safe. I was injured in the same ambush that killed him. By the time I recovered, you were long gone and so was the reliquary.”
Her brows drew into a puzzled frown. “You knew my father?”
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, Conor edged his way out of the blankets. “I’m sorry he died.” The worst of his wounds burned at the movement, but he kept talking to distract her. “I tried finding you through his army records, but there’s no mention of a daughter.”
Her lips twisted in a cynical smile. “The army doesn’t keep records of the bastards it leaves in its wake.”
Her gaze shifted, and he froze. Calling on the power of the leveryas, he drew her attention back to his words and off his steady approach. A few more feet and he’d be close enough to spring. “Your father must have loved you very much.” He felt the power rise within him, felt it focus on the girl.
“As much as any officer cares for the servant who darns his socks and cooks his meals.”
“He left you well provided for. Made you his heir.”
“Heir? You make him sound like some kind of gentleman. He stole the French loot like the lot of them did when King Joseph’s army crumbled. And when he died, who was to say he didn’t leave it to me? Even so, I’m not quibbling. It got me away from there.” She took a quick, sharp breath, and shook her head.
Her reaction startled Conor into breaking off the link between them. How could she have felt his touch upon her mind unless—
He never finished the thought. With the connection severed, she saw his approach and understood it for what it was. She raised her pistol. “I gave you fair warning.”
Conor’s shout was drowned out by the gunshot. Feeling the rip of the bullet’s path across his ribs, he put out a hand as he hurled himself at her.
Chapter Two
Snatching the spent pistol from her grasp, Conor dropped her to the floor, pinning her beneath him. “Do you try to kill all your visitors?” he gasped.
She struggled, all flailing hands, knees, and nails. “Let me go, you filthy bastard.”
He grunted as she elbowed his side. “Not until you promise to hold off murdering me. We need to speak.”
She twisted, trying to use her knees and hands to leverage him off of her, but he’d caught her wrists, and his weight held her fast.
“And then I can shoot you?” She looked up at him, hatred blazing in her blue eyes, a tumble of dark curls glowing chestnut in the fire’s glow. There was no doubt; even as a spitting fury, she was a beauty.
“By then, you may not want to.” His gaze flicked to her parted lips, full and very kissable. “While we’re down here…” He smiled suggestively. It had been too long since he’d lain with a woman.
She began to struggle again. “You arrogant, self-important—” A low sinister howl cut her off in mid-insult, followed by another and another, each one closer and more intense. The Keun Marow were back and tracking him. She stiffened beneath him.
Holding her silent with a look, Conor whispered a cloaking spell, throwing it out as far as he could. They might trail him to the cottage, but there they would lose the scent and, if Conor was lucky, move on. Noting that he was lying wounded on top of the woman who had just shot him, he didn’t count much on luck tonight.
The growling, snapping snarls of the hunters curled around the cottage. They sniffed at the windows and doors, slavering as they pressed to find Conor’s lost scent. The girl shuddered, her face ashen.
“Keep quiet,” he whispered.
Outside, a low keening began, growing as each hunter broke off the chase, frustrated at losing their quarry—again. The walls seemed to vibrate under the ululating crescendo of sound. Then just as suddenly, the howls faded, leaving only the echo of their presence behind.
“What are they?” she asked. Conor started to get up, but she grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. “Answer me.”
“They’re gone. But I doubt I’ve fooled them for long. I could cast a cloaking spell over the whole village yet, with all the blood I’ve lost tonight, they’d track me eventually.”
His body hummed with edgy tension, but whether it was his own restless energy or the horror in her eyes that spurred him on, Conor didn’t know. He only knew that her body was taut beneath him, her face luminous in the light from the new-risen moon. Without answering, he lowered his mouth to hers, claiming it in a hungry kiss.
