neck to look back. Gray and brown carcasses covered the ground.
He’d done it. And he’d come out of it in good enough shape to run.
Her heart lifted with hope. And filled with somat warmer than relief and fiercer than mere affection. It went beyond gratefulness. Beyond lust. And it scared her more than a pack of wolves.
* * * *
Riggs held Anya tight to his chest as he cut through the forest, glad he lived to do so. It had been a near thing. Very near. Damn him for giving in to the temptation to lie down beside her last night. He should have let her rest in his arms while he pressed on through the night, but she’d looked so beautiful in the moonlight, and he’d been so exhausted after his hunt. He’d meant only to rest his body for an hour.
Fool.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Even if he had to stay awake until he got her to Chroina.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling. “How did you kill them all? Are you hurt?”
He flicked his gaze to her, assuring himself she was uninjured, then went back to picking out the path ahead—it would all be for nothing if he crashed into an obstacle and killed her. The glimpse revealed she was searching his face, her eyebrows pinched with worry. For him. His tight chest relaxed a fraction.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “You? You fell far.”
His heart had nearly exploded out of his chest when he’d seen her fall from the tree out of the corner of his eye. He’d turned to help her, but one of the damn tracking wolves took the opportunity to sink its teeth into his calf and another had taken a chunk out of his axe arm. Something had snapped to life inside him then, some wild instinct he’d felt prowling deep within him when he’d been at his cabin with Anya. Kill! It had commanded, and the world had seemed to slow down around him. Strength had surged into his limbs. The pain from his wounds had all but disappeared.
His axe and hunting knife found their marks with unprecedented accuracy. Never before had he fought with such purpose, such focus. It had been exhilarating.
When it had all been over, that instinct had shouted, run! Where there were tracking wolves, trackers would not be far behind. He’d snatched her up and ran, and he wouldn’t stop until he reached the lake. He would not fail his lady.
No, not his. The king’s lady.
That inner instinct growled.
Anya rubbed the back of her head. “I’m fine. I expect I’ll have a headache soon enough, but it could have been worse.”
Worse, indeed. He held her tighter. So precious. And so brave. A warrior, this woman. She wore the blood of her victim on her knife arm like a badge of honor. That sixth wolf might have made the difference between his victory and defeat. Anya very well might have saved his life.
“Well, what happened?” Anya demanded. “How did you best five wolves? Why are you running like the hounds of hell are after us?”
He hadn’t answered her questions. Partly because he still couldn’t believe what had happened. Partly because he needed to mind his footing.
“I fought well,” he said, conserving his breath. “You helped. Trackers not far behind.”
Her brow pinched with distress. “Why? Why are they after you?”
They weren’t after him. It was her they wanted. The wolves had proved it when they’d fought to kill. Tracking wolves were trained to corner the prey whose scent their masters gave them. And kill whatever got in their way. It was her scent they followed. The trackers must have gotten it from where he’d found her, where he’d abandoned the bodies of the Larnians who had attacked her. A female’s scent in the middle of the forest would stand out. A female’s scent anywhere but in Chroina would stand out.
He didn’t have the breath to tell her all that now. “Later,” he said, ignoring the knives of pain stabbing his lungs and the fire of his fresh wounds.
She started to ask something else, but he
He’d done it. And he’d come out of it in good enough shape to run.
Her heart lifted with hope. And filled with somat warmer than relief and fiercer than mere affection. It went beyond gratefulness. Beyond lust. And it scared her more than a pack of wolves.
* * * *
Riggs held Anya tight to his chest as he cut through the forest, glad he lived to do so. It had been a near thing. Very near. Damn him for giving in to the temptation to lie down beside her last night. He should have let her rest in his arms while he pressed on through the night, but she’d looked so beautiful in the moonlight, and he’d been so exhausted after his hunt. He’d meant only to rest his body for an hour.
Fool.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Even if he had to stay awake until he got her to Chroina.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling. “How did you kill them all? Are you hurt?”
He flicked his gaze to her, assuring himself she was uninjured, then went back to picking out the path ahead—it would all be for nothing if he crashed into an obstacle and killed her. The glimpse revealed she was searching his face, her eyebrows pinched with worry. For him. His tight chest relaxed a fraction.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “You? You fell far.”
His heart had nearly exploded out of his chest when he’d seen her fall from the tree out of the corner of his eye. He’d turned to help her, but one of the damn tracking wolves took the opportunity to sink its teeth into his calf and another had taken a chunk out of his axe arm. Something had snapped to life inside him then, some wild instinct he’d felt prowling deep within him when he’d been at his cabin with Anya. Kill! It had commanded, and the world had seemed to slow down around him. Strength had surged into his limbs. The pain from his wounds had all but disappeared.
His axe and hunting knife found their marks with unprecedented accuracy. Never before had he fought with such purpose, such focus. It had been exhilarating.
When it had all been over, that instinct had shouted, run! Where there were tracking wolves, trackers would not be far behind. He’d snatched her up and ran, and he wouldn’t stop until he reached the lake. He would not fail his lady.
No, not his. The king’s lady.
That inner instinct growled.
Anya rubbed the back of her head. “I’m fine. I expect I’ll have a headache soon enough, but it could have been worse.”
Worse, indeed. He held her tighter. So precious. And so brave. A warrior, this woman. She wore the blood of her victim on her knife arm like a badge of honor. That sixth wolf might have made the difference between his victory and defeat. Anya very well might have saved his life.
“Well, what happened?” Anya demanded. “How did you best five wolves? Why are you running like the hounds of hell are after us?”
He hadn’t answered her questions. Partly because he still couldn’t believe what had happened. Partly because he needed to mind his footing.
“I fought well,” he said, conserving his breath. “You helped. Trackers not far behind.”
Her brow pinched with distress. “Why? Why are they after you?”
They weren’t after him. It was her they wanted. The wolves had proved it when they’d fought to kill. Tracking wolves were trained to corner the prey whose scent their masters gave them. And kill whatever got in their way. It was her scent they followed. The trackers must have gotten it from where he’d found her, where he’d abandoned the bodies of the Larnians who had attacked her. A female’s scent in the middle of the forest would stand out. A female’s scent anywhere but in Chroina would stand out.
He didn’t have the breath to tell her all that now. “Later,” he said, ignoring the knives of pain stabbing his lungs and the fire of his fresh wounds.
She started to ask something else, but he
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