Page 103 of Esperance

That was something Ford or Argent would say. The corner of his mouth actually twitched. “I’m completely serious. Now, go.”

She was visibly torn. Her stance shifted as she wavered, her gaze flicking from him to the trees behind her, and then back toward the path they’d left behind. Then she focused back on him. “I don’t know who they are, but they’re dangerous.”

She was worried about him. That warmed him, though he figured now wasn’t the time to really dwell on why. “I’ll be careful.” She didn’t look wholly convinced, so he added, “I’ve fought in the jungle. I know some tricks.”

The enemy was nearing; he could hear the rustle of leaves and underbrush. This time when Carver motioned for Amryn to go, she did.

The moment she was out of sight, Carver moved for the nearest tree and scanned the crooked limbs, quickly finding what he was looking for.

By the time the four men crept into view, he was in position in the branches. The men wore dark clothing, but not uniforms. They all carried knives, and the one in the lead was focused on the disturbed foliage, tracking their prey. His eyes darted forward, catching the path Amryn had taken.

Carver held his breath and waited until two of the men were directly beneath him. Then he kicked the large green snake from his coiled perch, and the thing hissed and thrashed as it fell. It landed on the shoulders of the two men with a thud that took them both to the ground.

Their screams pierced the air—pain and alarm. The monstrous snake wrapped around the torso of one man, even as it bit the other’s nearest arm. Carver barely registered the flash of fangs or blades as the two men attacked the twisting body of the creature.

His focus was on the other two men, who’d staggered back in shock.

Carver jumped from the tree, his boots clipping the shoulder of their tracker. The impact vibrated up his legs, though he managed to keep hold of the club in his hand. He was the first to roll to his feet.

The man he’d knocked down sprang up a moment later. His knife was gone, and one hand gripped his upper arm. He stumbled back from Carver, and the fear that etched his expression made it perfectly clear he knew who Carver was.

The fourth man, however, was over his shock, and he charged Carver from behind.

Carver spun, and the club slammed into the man’s swinging arm. There was a terrible crack, and he howled and dropped his blade.

The tracker—now recovered—grabbed his knife and pressed his advantage.

The gruesome sounds coming from the bushes nearby were a horrible backdrop as Carver ducked, sidestepped, and swung his club. Bones snapped as the snake constricted more and more tightly around the two men, who were now only gasping as they cried for help.

Carver kicked the tracker’s knee, and the man collapsed. He grabbed up his knife just in time to parry a swipe from the other attacker. The man fought with only one arm, since the other hung limply at his side.

It didn’t take long for Carver to disarm him, and then he stood over both fallen men, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Tell me who you are or you’ll join your friends,” he growled.

The man with the broken arm looked downright terrified. Sweat dotted his brow as he kept looking toward the nearby bushes. The writhing body of the snake and the men it strangled could just be seen through the thick leaves.

Even though the tracker gripped his dislocated knee with white-knuckled fingers, he only looked furious. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded.

Carver let a little more of the Butcher shine through as he gave a sharp smile. “Where you’ll never find her. Now, who are you, and why did you attack us?”

The tracker’s lip curled in a sneer. “Youwilldie, General. Where we didn’t succeed, someone else will.”

“You came all the way to a remote mountain in the jungle to kill me? I’m flattered.” Carver kicked the man’s injured knee. The tortured scream tore at festering wounds inside him, but there was no place for hesitation here. “Who are you?” he snarled.

The tracker’s lips were mashed together, preventing further screams.

It was the other man who spoke, his voice shaking. “Even if you beat us, you’ve lost. Four men were sent for you, but eight men went for the prince.”

Carver’s stomach dropped.Argent.

He didn’t let fear invade his expression. He wouldn’t let anything break the hard façade he wore. “Who. Are. You?”

His eyes were on the weakest link, but he still saw movement from the edge of his vision as the tracker’s hand flashed for his boot.

“No!” Carver moved to stop him, but the man had already buried the small knife in the side of his friend’s neck.

The man fell back, gripping the knife in his neck before he shuddered and died.

Carver tackled the tracker, pinning his wrists to the ground beside his head. “Your death won’t be so easy,” he promised darkly.