Page 32 of Deadly Maiden

“Oh. Sure.” I look away to hide what I’m feeling, how my body is reacting. This is just too much. You’d think I was in heat.

He pulls me deeper then halts and produces a large pair of scissors that shine in some stray light. They make a nastysnik-snakwhen he opens and closes them.

“Be very still. I’m no barber,” he murmurs as he reaches for my hair.

“Wait.” I back away, breathless, my palm up to fend him off. “I’d rather you do this in full sunlight and when we aren’t rushed or likely to be surprised.” I gulp. “Can’t we tuck it under something? I have a tie in my pocket.”

Truthfully, I don’t want any more of this touching, of him brushing against me. Not now.

I’m a fugitive, and I’m lusting after this man? Yes. Yes, I am.

I withdraw another step.

“Hmmm. You’re scared? I cut good hair.” Hesnik-snaksthe scissors again, and a hint of a smile hovers on his big mouth, making his lips curl. “Very well. I have bought a hooded cloak, so if you can tie it up enough. That might do?”

“Yes!”

He can smile?Whoa.It’s the first time I’ve seen this.

After I tie my hair with the piece of red cord, don the cloak, and pull the hood over my head, he walks around me then nods approval.

“Just this piece escaped.” He picks up a twirl of hair before he tucks it over and behind my ear, beneath the hood. His fingers are justthere. So gentle. I’m breathless again; the world silences except for the intimate sounds of his hand on my ear, of his breathing and mine, and the crunch of his boots. He is so close.

When he steps away, I’m too quiet.

“Good?” The question seems wrong, as if it has some other meaning.

“If you say so, it’s good. Let’s ride.”Fuck.Even those words twist in my mind.

If my leggings need changing, it’s not going to be due to the horse rubbing off on me. I let him go ahead. Firstly, because I don’t know where the horses are. Secondly, so I don’t have him watching my rear and giving me fantasies. Thirdly?

Thirdly is so I can admirehisrear. Dayum, do all dragonshifters have hips that move like this?

He stops dead and swings so quickly I’m caught with my sights down low.

Blushing hot, I smile at him. The hood will hide the flush on my cheeks. I hope. The hood and the shadows. “Something else?” I ask, far too perkily.

“Yes.” He rummages in a pocket, draws out paper that he unfolds. It’s a poster and he taps it then lets me see it properly. “That’s you.”

The top half is a sketch of a woman with long blue hair. Stunned, I read the text below, hoping he has this wrong. She looks somewhat like me—the hair, the ears that are a little less pointy than most fae. Okay, a lot like me.

Beware of this woman, Wyntre Gothschild, sometimes known as Wyntre Diamond.

Report sightings to the Authorities, immediately. She may be accompanied by a powerfully built male with red hair who may or may not show signs of being a dragonshifter. Both are dangerous. Do not approach.

Reward of 1000 gold omi for information that leads to an arrest, alive, of the woman.

“The artist is excellent.” The reward is stupendous. I’m vaguely pleased they call me a woman not a girl. This has spoiled my mood, for which I’m both grateful and horrified.

“I saw this being pinned up, and they had more.”

“Hence the need to leave. I get it. I’ll keep my head down.”

“And don’t speak at the stables. Wait where I say to.”

“You are recognizable too,” I say as I retrieve my rucksack.

“I know.” He crams a floppy brown hat on his head, messily tucks his hair beneath, and rattles off more information as we stride along. “Nothing else was big enough for my head. One of us has to be exposed. If anything happens there, run to the horse and go north. I’ll point them out. The horses. If we have to do that, I will find you once I shake off any pursuit.”

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