Page 113 of Bound to the Dreadlord

A soft, slow movement, too quiet, too controlled.

My pulse quickens.

Someone is here.

I exhale, slow, measured. The wind shifts.

He thinks I do not see him.

He is wrong.

The figure emerges from the treeline, dressed in the same manner as the men who attacked Veylan and I at the abandoned safehouse.

A bounty hunter.

Sent by Hazeran.

Sent for me.

He is bigger than me. Broad, armored. A dark elf, but not noble-born. A mercenary.

His smirk is practiced.

He has done this before.

He has killed before.

But so have I.

His voice is low, condescending. "You’re a slippery little thing, aren’t you?"

I do not respond.

My grip on the dagger tightens and he notices.

Good.

"You don’t have to die today," he continues. "Come with me willingly, and maybe they’ll let you live."

He does not expect a fight.

That is his mistake.

I move before he finishes speaking.

The dagger slashes through air.

He barely dodges in time.

Shock flickers in his eyes. Not fear. Not yet.

He expected a frightened girl.

He got something else.

He lunges. I am ready.

Steel clashes against steel. He is stronger. I am faster.

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