Page 42 of Dark Elves of Ardani

She burst through the woods, ducking behind the tree just beside him, not three steps away. Nero stared at her. She wasn’t breathing hard, despite all the running. She watched the Paladins for another moment, then scanned the trees around her, searching for Varai. Searching for him. And somehow, she failed to notice that he was standing right in front of her.

For a moment, he thought he might say something to her, and then he realized how foolish that would be. She had a dagger in one hand and another at her belt, and she was clearly looking for elves to kill.

She cursed under her breath—a Varai curse—when she saw the Paladins moving toward the stand of trees on the other side of the valley.

She cautiously crept from behind her tree, her eyes still on the Paladins. She took a small leap toward his tree as if to use it for cover, putting her body alarmingly close to him. And then she reached up without looking to rest a hand against the tree.

Except it didn’t rest against the tree. It rested against his chest.

Feeling the cloth and leather beneath her hand, she jerked, looking up at him in surprise. Nero saw her hand clench on the hilt of her dagger.

Before she could attack, he grabbed her wrist. She went for the dagger at her waist, and he dropped his sword so he could grab that hand, too. She made a shrill, frustrated sound of effort as she struggled against him. There was little she could do. Her wrists felt narrow and delicate in his hands. It wasn’t hard to hold her in place.

He released his fade, thinking there was no reason to hide from someone he was currently grappling with. Her eyes widened when she saw him. And for some unfathomable reason, that look of fear on her face made his heart shrivel. It could not have been that a part of him had been hoping she would be relieved when she recognized him. Why would he hope for such a thing?

She twisted suddenly, jerking him sideways. He started to stumble, and her leg wound between his, keeping him from stopping his fall.

He hit the ground hard. He twisted to try to grab her, but she was already wrestling him down, holding him from behind. Her arms snaked around his chest and neck. The position of her body held his arms at an odd angle, and he was alarmed to find that he was unable to reach her or gain any leverage.

Somehow, very quickly and in a manner that had used remarkably little force, she’d wrapped her body around his in a way that rendered him unable to move, and her arm was around his neck, strangling him. She squeezed, making blood pound in his temples. He scratched at the wet dirt and pine needles on the ground, searching for his sword.

“Stop fighting,” she said tightly, her accent just as thick as he remembered. “Be still, and I will release you.”

He felt a surge of outrage. He struggled wildly, and somehow she held onto him. Fear thrummed through him as his vision spotted. She was going to knock him out if this didn’t stop soon.

Fighting every instinct telling him to resist, he went still.

The arm around his neck finally loosened. Exhausted, he sagged, letting his forehead hit the ground. The woman’s body relaxed cautiously, maintaining her holds in case he began fighting again.

Her body was wet and hot from the struggle, and her breaths came fast and hard right beside his ear. She shifted, her thighs clenching around his hips as a muscle in her arm twitched against his neck in a sort of morbid embrace.

As the pounding in his head receded, tingling heat rolled through him and coiled tight in his loins. His cock throbbed, hard against his pants. Impossibly, he felt the perverse urge to moan and grind against the dirt.

“Good gods,” he panted. He was disgusted. And intrigued. Was this a normal reaction to almost being killed by someone? Even a beautiful, tall, blonde, oddly strong someone?

“What?” she asked, too close to his ear.

The sound of her voice embarrassed him enough that the strength of his erection faded slightly. He comforted himself with the knowledge that she couldn’t see it from her position above him.

He tilted his head to look back at her. Their faces were so close they were almost touching. Pale blue eyes glared back at him.

“Are you feeling better, then?” he asked.

She blinked. Then she blinked again. “Yes. Much. Thank you.” He could have been mistaken, but he thought she sounded sincere.

He nodded faintly, not moving his eyes from hers. They were a color like glacier ice, cold and bright and holding impossible depths. “You’re welcome.”

She looked up suddenly, her eyes focusing on something in the distance. “Fade,” she whispered urgently. “They are coming. Fade now.”

He obeyed. As soon as he did, she scrambled off him, and he saw the reason for her urgency. The Paladins’ mage had run across the valley and come to a stop at the edge of the trees, panting. She inhaled and exhaled slowly and deliberately, as if breathing was difficult for her. Nero scowled at the sight of her. It was hard not to recall the pain she’d inflicted upon him in vivid, excruciating detail.

“Naika!” Zara said, quickly stepping in front of him to help block her view of him. Nero stayed perfectly still, watching her closely. For some reason, she was trying to protect him. “What are you doing?”

The mage motioned toward the other side of the valley, then held out a hand toward Zara.

“They sent you to get me?” Zara asked, surprised.

The mage nodded impatiently, apparently unable to speak. She grabbed Zara’s arm, urging her toward the valley. Zara seemed hesitant. She glanced back in Nero’s direction.

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