Page 47 of Promise of Darkness
My head snaps toward the sound. “Was that—”
“Yes,” he hisses, stepping between me and the sound, his hand going to the hilt on his sword.
We both freeze, heads cocked to listen. Hearts pounding and blood rushing through our veins. Every inch of me is on edge.
Another howl echoes.
And this time it’s to the left.
They’ve found our trail.
“Run!” Thiago gives me a shove in the back.
No need to tell me twice. The pair of us scramble up the slope, sprinting through the ankle-deep snow. Thiago seems to ghost over the top of it, leaving no tracks, whilst I’m forced to slog my way through it.
I sink into a deep hollow beneath the snow, cursing under my breath.
The prince returns, yanking me forward and nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. “Move!”
“I’m trying!”
He merely hauls me out of the deep snow and drags me forward.
“The second we get clear of these trees, we’re going to have to move fast,” he yells.
As if in answer, an arrow hisses past.
“Curse it.” Thiago draws his sword, glancing behind us. “Can you hit that archer?”
I slip the bow from my back and swiftly string it. “If I can see where he is. I don’t suppose you’d like to play bait?”
“Funny. Trying to get rid of me already?”
I shrug. “Worth a try.”
Thiago gives me a long steady look. “Don’t miss.”
Then he turns and walks out into the snowy clearing, an enormous target painted against the freshly laid snow.
Erlking’s hairy cock.My mouth drops open, then I wrench an arrow from my quiver and nock it.
An arrow arcs into the sky, and I turn and sight into the thicket it came from. Steel flashes at the corner of my eye; Thiago gracefully deflecting the arrow with the stroke of his sword.
I can’t see a cursed thing. Nothing moves in the thicket. There might be a shadow to the right, but it might also be a tree root.
“Vi,” Thiago mutters, under his breath.
“Hold still,” I hiss. “I’m trying to find him.”
Movement glides through the bushes near the thicket. There. The bastard’s on the move. My arrow tracks the target.
Another arrow flies directly toward the prince, a second hot on its heels.
I ignore Thiago and focus along the length of the arrow. I’m not the archer Andraste is, but I’ve spent too many hours on a range to embarrass myself now. Blocking out everything but the archer, I release a slow breath and then let my arrow fly.
It hits the archer right in the center of his chest, and he cries out, then slams to the ground. Thiago smashes the second arrow to the ground, breathing hard.
“Nice shot.”
