Page 17

The footfalls round the trunk of the tree.

Briar, who would have been embarrassed by her pitiful attempt, would disparage her further for dying with her face in the dirt. Boiling rage consumes her once more and she growls at the agonizing frustration of being caught, of being weaker, of being helpless. She can’t let herself be taken. Won’t.

As boots hit the snow before the warren, she untucks the blade at her side.

Suddenly, the hunter bends, his arm thrusting through the gap in the roots. He has her upper arm and drags her out into the open in the same second. She does not struggle. The Glacian pulls Dawsyn upright with two hands now, her feet nearly leaving the ground as her chest is thrown against his.

She looks up.

The hybrid.

His brown eyes dart down to the blade she holds against his throat, its point indenting the skin there. He looks back to her, amused. “You going to cut me, girl?”

Dawsyn shakes her head once, her breath fogging with his. She looks into the eyes of the hunter, resolved. “I am going to kill you.”

“Ryon!” The shout comes from the ground, a place higher up the slope.

Without warning, Ryon’s arms encase hers, locking her elbows to her sides. The blade digs into Ryon’s neck, but she cannot move it any further. The vast wings at his back flare out and suddenly, they are airborne. They surge through the air, the wind whistling past. Dawsyn’s stomach flips violently and she almost screams. Then, unexpectedly, his feet hit something solid. The air around them turns still and Dawsyn blinks furiously, her breaths panicked.

“Say nothing,” Ryon hisses into her ear, his breath hot.

One of his hands releases her and goes over her mouth, stifling her jagged gasps. She tries to jerk free.

“I would not do that,” he whispers. “Be still, or I’ll let you fall.” Her breasts pressed painfully to his chest, Dawsyn can see little of their whereabouts. Her eyes shift to the side and she sees treetops.

Treetops.

The world falls sideways.

It is only then that she notices the narrow branch they are perched on, bending under their combined weight, the bristles of pine needles that scratch at her legs. They must be a hundred feet from the forest floor.

“Ryon!” the voice echoes to them, closer than before.

“Shh,” Ryon hisses.

“Tracks from the girl… from another as well,” another rough voice says.

“The bastard half-breed! He’s got her!”

“I hear no horns. He hasn’t got her yet.”

“Maybe he’s playing with her first.”

Dawsyn stiffens.Is this the Glacian’s ploy?

“He’s taken to the skies. If he does plan to pick her apart first, he’ll likely fly the ridge. He won’t wish to share.”

“He’ll share,” the other voice rumbles. “Or have his wings cut.”

The sound of wind bounces to them, growing louder. One Glacian barks a direction to the other. She feels sure they will see her here, but the sound of their wings grows fainter as they fly away.

Ryon’s chest seems to relax some, but his lips remain at her ear. “If you make a sound, I will let them take you and do what they will. Understand?”

Dawsyn nods beneath his hand. One by one, his fingers peel from her mouth. She waits, ready to strike.

The second his hand falls away from her lips, she moves, aiming to drive the blade further into his neck – but he moves, too. The hand that just left her mouth bends her fingers back as she thrusts. The knife nicks the skin at his throat before he manages to disarm her, the blade rolling from her twitching fingers and into his. She hears a low growl, and then he has her encased in the mass of his arms again.

He jumps.