Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
She didn’t answer. She stretched out on the ground, keeping her cloak tight around her. The quiet stretched, filled with the sound of wind and the faint, steady rhythm of the stream. And though her eyes drifted closed at last, she felt his presence still, near, silent, and watchful.
Sleep came slowly, and lightly.
Elara drifted in and out of dreams, the murmur of the stream threading through the edges of her rest. Somewhere near, the fire had burned low, its light little more than a flicker behind her closed eyes.
It came then—a dream, or perhaps a vision—so vivid it felt as though she drifted into it rather than fell asleep. Dar was there, close enough that she felt the whisper of his breath along her cheek, warm and familiar. His eyes held a depth of longing that made her chest ache as he tilted his head toward hers, unhurried, inevitable.
His lips brushed hers, barely there, a promise more than a kiss, and his arm slid around her, drawing her into the solid comfort of him. He tasted of warmth and honey, with a faint trace of mint, and when his mouth returned, firmer, sure, she answered instinctively, as if she had always been meant to. It was lovely. Like a sweet, warming drink she could never quite finish.
His arm slipped lower, settling at her waist, and her body responded without thought as she was pressed flat against his muscled chest. Sensation rippled through her, lighting her from within, and his kiss deepened—wanting, claiming. She wanted it too, wanted him, the dream pulling her under.
Then his mouth sealed over hers, stealing her breath.
The warmth vanished.
A harsh sound, too real, too heavy, dragged her upward, and the dream shattered. She was half-awake when she realized a hand was clamped over her mouth, hard and unyielding, silencing her breath.
Her eyes flew open.
“Don’t move,” Dar breathed, his voice low, his lips close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “Don’t make a sound.”
The tone in his voice, quiet steel and absolute control, stilled every instinct to resist. She nodded once, her heart pounding.
He lifted his hand slowly, his gaze going toward the trees beyond their camp. Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting silver veins across his face.
“They’re near,” he whispered. “Hunters.”
Elara’s blood ran cold.
He brought her to her feet with one tug. “Go into the woods and hide. Stay low and cover your hair. Don’t let the moon catch it.”
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the hood up, tucking every strand of silver from sight. “What about you?” she whispered.
“I’ll see what they want.”
“You can’t fight them alone.”
He gave her a faint, grim smile. “You’d be surprised what I am capable of.”
He turned his head slightly, listening to the faint ring of metal, the low creak of leather drawing closer. Too close.
“Elara,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “Go. Now. And don’t come out until I summon you.”
Her throat tightened. She hesitated for only a moment before slipping away into the forest, drawing her cloak tight around her. Every sound seemed too loud: the soft crack of twigs beneath her boots, the quick rhythm of her own breathing.
She crouched behind the thick trunk of an old pine and peeked her head around it. Through the branches she could still see the faint glow of their dying fire and Dar’s shadow moving against it. She pressed her hood tighter, willing her heartbeat to quiet. A branch snapped somewhere beyond the camp, a deliberate sound, not of forest life. Then another. Low voices followed, rough and certain.
She should have gone deeper into the forest to hide, eyes closed, trusting Dar’s word. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave him completely alone, not when he had been so generous with his help, his protection. Not that she could do anything, but if he was, the gods forbid, left harmed, she could at least tend to him. She shifted slightly, peering through the dark.
Four figures emerged between the trees, cloaked in black, their hoods pulled low. The glint of steel caught the moonlight, and the slow, deliberate rhythm of their steps turned her stomach to ice.
Hunters.
And Dar stood waiting for them.
Elara crouched low, not making a sound.
Four Hunters stepped into the clearing, their movements sure and quiet, the firelight gleaming faintly off their dark cloaks. They spread out, closing in around Dar like wolves circling prey.
He didn’t move, didn’t even reach for his weapon. He simply waited, hands open, posture easy, as though their unexpected presence meant naught to him.
Their voices came low at first, too soft for her to make out the words. She caught fragments—alone, tracks, south road—then one of the men gave a short, humorless laugh.
Dar said something in reply, and whatever it was, it earned a round of chuckles. The sharpness in the air began to dull.