Page 49

Another crash, closer now. Then a sound that freezes my blood—the distinctive snarl of a thassir followed by a human cry of pain.
Ronnie.
I've never moved faster in my life, drawing on every ounce of strength in my body. I burst through a thicket into a small clearing just in time to see the massive shape of the thassir lunging toward a figure pressed against the base of a massive tree.
Ronnie stands with her back against the trunk, clutching a broken branch like a weapon, her auburn hair wild around her face. Even cornered, even facing death, she looks ready to fight with everything she has. The sight of her—alive, defiant—nearly buckles my knees with relief.
But there's no time for gratitude. The thassir crouches, its six amber eyes blinking in that unsettling sequence as it prepares to pounce.
I don't think. I don't plan. I simply act.
I hurl myself between Ronnie and the beast, my wings flaring wide to make myself appear larger. The thassir recoils for just a heartbeat—enough time for me to position myself defensively. Its massive form towers above me, all rippling muscle beneath dark, mottled fur. Its six amber eyes blink in that unnerving sequential pattern, assessing me as a new threat.
"Stay behind me," I growl to Ronnie without looking back. I can sense her there—the warmth of her, the rapid tempo of her breathing.
The thassir's upper lip curls back to reveal rows of jagged teeth, each one longer than my finger. The beast shifts its weight, haunches bunching for attack. I mirror its movements, calculating angles, searching for weakness. I've hunted thassir before, but never unarmed, never with stakes this high.
It lunges—a blur of claws and teeth. I sidestep and thrust my forearm against its throat, using its momentum to drive it sideways into a tree trunk. The impact sends shockwaves through the forest floor. The beast recovers faster than I anticipate, twisting with unnatural flexibility to snap at my wing.
Pain lances through me as teeth graze my primary feathers. I slam my fist into the creature's sensitive snout, earning a high-pitched howl that vibrates through my bones.
"Run!" I shout to Ronnie as I wrestle with the beast, my fingers digging into its thick fur, searching for vulnerable points. "Get out of here!"
"I can't leave you!" Her voice cracks with terror, yet I hear her step forward rather than back.
Gods, this stubborn, impossible woman. Even now, she defies me.
The thassir thrashes beneath my grip, nearly dislodging me. Its claws rake across my side, tearing fabric and skin. Hot pain blooms along my ribs, but I barely register it through the flood of combat focus.
"Ronnie!" I twist to look at her, catching a glimpse of her face—pale in the darkness, jaw set with determination. "Run. Now. I will find you."
"But—"
"I promise." I pour every ounce of command into my voice. "I will always find you."
Something in my tone finally reaches her. With a strangled sound of protest, she turns and flees, crashing through the underbrush. The thassir's attention follows her movement, its body tensing to give chase. I drive my knee into its flank, reclaiming its focus and garnering more of its claws.
"No," I snarl into its face, baring my own teeth. "She's mine."
Once I'm certain Ronnie is far enough away, I stop holding back. With her gone, I don't have to restrain my magic or my strength. I press my palm against the thassir's throat, channeling a current of air magic directly into its windpipe. The beast convulses, claws scrabbling frantically at my chest and arms.
I lean in close, feeling its hot breath against my face. "You should have chosen another hunting ground."
With a vicious twist of my wrist, I compress the air inside its lungs until they rupture. The thassir's body goes rigid, then limp. Its six eyes blink once more, out of sequence, before glazing over.
I shove the carcass away, rising to my feet. Blood trickles down my side, but the wounds are superficial. They'll heal quickly. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making my vision sharper, my senses heightened. The forest around me pulses with new clarity—every rustling leaf, every shifting shadow.
And somewhere among those shadows is Ronnie.
I inhale deeply, catching the faintest trace of her scent on the night air. My wings unfurl instinctively, stretching to their full span despite the cramped confines of the forest. The predatory instinct that helped me kill the thassir hasn't receded—it merely shifts targets.
Find her. Hunt her. Claim her.
The thought sends an electric thrill down my spine. I launch into motion, following her trail through the trees. Her path is erratic—panicked—crashing through undergrowth with no thought for stealth. So easy to track. So completely at my mercy.
Something primal stirs in my chest as I pick up speed. This isn't the poised, careful pursuit of a courier or diplomat. This is something far older, something written into my blood. The chase. The capture.
I leap over fallen logs, weaving between tree trunks. Each step brings me closer to her, and anticipation builds like a gathering storm. I imagine finding her—breathless, disheveled, those defiant gray eyes wide when she realizes I've caught her. I'll show her exactly what happens when she runs from me, when she tries to hide from me.