Page 5 of Ember and Eclipse
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
The third hunter.
He rose from his seat and stepped away from her still-dripping top. “I already avoided the swamp once tonight. I’d like to remain dry.”
This hunter, the last one, was tall and broad-shouldered. His clothing was sleek black, and his skin was as dark as the soil around the swamp. The shadows collected around him, making it impossible for her to see him. He lowered his hood, revealing silver hair, shorn short on the sides and coming together in the back in a single thick loc.
She didn’t know him, but she’dheardabout him. The Wolf of Romul, they called him. Witches were found surprisingly often in and around Romulan territory, and the Wolf of Romul was the one most credited for bringing them to justice. Prince Asear had even threatened to send him after her if she were to ever get away, but it had fallen like all his words did—scattered around her and mixed with her blood.
He would move fast, and she had no weapon. She threw the wet garment at him instead and pivoted, dashing the length of the table. There were at least two knives on this side of the room, and getting her hands on at least one would increase her chances of survival. She stumbled, reaching for where she knew one would be, but it was gone.
“Looking for this?”
She looked back at him, and the glint of the blade in his hand was a death sentence. Straightening, she met his eyes—a streak of moonlight suddenly illuminating the gray in his like lightning in a dark sky. “How much is the bounty on my head?”
He shrugged, flipping the knife from blade to handle casually. “I don’t know—I’m not here for your head.”
Rel was certain he’d only found the one she had left out from cutting grood reeds earlier. One other would be enclosed in a box four steps from her, but closer to him than she liked. She cursed herself for not grabbing one as soon as she got inside.
She crept toward it. “What are you after then?”
“They want you alive. You are priceless, it seems.”
Going back to Romul was not an option. They would throw her in a deep cell to be forgotten about until she was nothing but bones. There were worse things than death.
“Everything has a price. What was yours?” she asked.
He didn’t respond, and she lunged for the box. The lid was unlocked, and the dagger tumbled onto the floor.
The hunter watched her all the while, making no move to stop her. “Interesting,” he remarked. “I was told I was after a powerful witch. What does a witch who can unleash an inferno on an entire room full of people need with a small dagger?”
“I’d like to avoid burning down my own home.” The truth was that her magic didn’t respond to her. Not on command, especially after that day two years ago.
He didn’t seem convinced as he took a casual step toward her.
She bared her teeth at him, raising the knife.
“I see you won’t be making this easy.” The words were said with pleasure, like he relished the idea.
There was a tense pause between them, and she felt it slacken not a second before he moved to grab her.
He was on her in an instant. All power and muscle. She struck out at him reactively and wildly, but he caught her arm easily.
“You should stick with the magic,” he said evenly.
She dropped the knife and caught it in her other hand, but he had twisted her, and she could only nick his arm with the blade. He captured her other wrist, squeezing until she was forced to drop her weapon altogether.
“Are you done, then?”
A feral noise racked through her as she looked up at him. He was far taller than her, larger than she imagined when she spotted him in the clearing. Her forehead just came to slightly above the middle of his chest. His large form took up too much of the space, making her feel too small, too frail. The Wolf of Romul—a beast of a man was what they sent to hunt her down. His eyes were the color of a full moon’s reflection across storm-burdened seas and held no mercy.
“You are a wild little thing, but you’re wasting your energy. There’s not a realm in existence where I lose this fight.” He moved her wrists together, easily closing his thumb and pointer finger around both in a grip she couldn’t free herself from.
She hated that, after all this time, she could be this weak. This easily subdued.
As he reached for something inside his tunic, witchsilver no doubt, he paused. Blinking slowly, dawning realization crossed his features as he looked between her and the shallow cut on his arm where blood beaded amidst the torn cloth.
“Seems you can surprise me after all,” he grumbled, his voice so gravelly it was almost a growl.
