Page 25

RONNIE

M y lungs burn with each desperate breath as I crash through the underbrush, branches whipping against my face and arms. The darkness swallows everything but the immediate ground before me, and I stumble over roots and stones that seem to reach up from the earth specifically to trip me.

"Keep moving," I gasp to myself, pushing my tired legs forward. "Don't stop."

The forest is alive around me—chittering, rustling, watching.

Each sound makes me flinch, imagining those six amber eyes blinking in that hideous pattern, that massive form lunging from the shadows.

Nothing prepared me for facing one up close, for the stench of its breath or the strange clicking sounds it made deep in its throat.

I wouldn't have stood a chance if Araton hadn't appeared.

Araton.

His name pulses through my mind with each frantic heartbeat. The image of him throwing himself between me and the beast, wings spread wide and magnificent, plays on repeat behind my eyes. The raw command in his voice when he'd ordered me to run. The promise.

" I will always find you. "

A shiver that has nothing to do with fear races down my spine.

I shouldn't be thinking about how those words affected me.

I shouldn't be remembering the heat in his golden eyes, or how the muscles in his back flexed as he wrestled with the beast, or how something primal and feminine inside me responded to his protective display.

But I am.

I slow my pace slightly, straining to hear any sounds of combat behind me. The forest has gone eerily quiet—no snarls, no crashes, no cries of pain. Either Araton has killed the beast... or it has killed him.

My stomach drops at the second possibility, a cold dread washing through me. No. Not him. Not now, when Millie has just found her father, when I've just started to...

To what? Let him in? Trust him? Want him?

All of the above, whispers a traitorous voice in my head.

I shake the thought away, focusing instead on the path ahead.

The trees are thinning, moonlight filtering through the canopy in silver patches.

I should stop running. If the thassir is dead, I'm only exhausting myself needlessly.

If Araton is searching for me, I should make it easier for him to find me.

But something keeps me moving, keeps my feet flying over the forest floor. Something that has nothing to do with the thassir and everything to do with the man pursuing me.

Because he is pursuing me. I know it with a certainty that settles deep in my bones.

The image of Araton tracking me through the forest sends a thrill of something dangerously close to excitement coursing through my veins.

I remember how he looked that night he found me in the garden—wild with possession, golden eyes blazing, backing me against the wall with predatory focus.

How thoroughly he claimed me, punishing and passionate all at once.

We haven't shared my bed since that night. Why is that all I can think about now, with danger barely behind me and my daughter waiting anxiously at home?

Because you're running from the wrong thing , that same inner voice whispers. Always have been.

I push harder, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The forest floor slopes gently upward, and I follow it, seeking higher ground. My legs tremble with exertion, but I ignore their protests.

A twig snaps somewhere behind me—too deliberate to be the wind, too subtle to be the thassir. My pulse quickens. He's found my trail. He's hunting me.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, heat pools low in my belly, a shameful excitement I can't quite suppress. I blame it on the adrenaline, on the fear, on anything but the truth—that part of me wants to be caught.

"Stupid," I mutter to myself, pushing a sweat-soaked strand of auburn hair from my face. "Focus, Ronnie."

I reach the top of the small rise and pause, gulping in air. The forest spreads out below, silver-touched in the moonlight. I should be able to spot him if he's following, should be able to?—

Another sound, closer now. The hair on my arms rises.

He's toying with me. Making just enough noise to let me know he's there, but not enough to reveal his position. The bastard.

"I know you're there," I call, my voice steadier than I expected. "If you're going to stalk me like some beast, at least have the decency to show yourself."

Only silence answers me, but I sense his presence like a physical touch on my skin. He's watching. Waiting. The knowledge prickles along my spine, a delicious tension building between my shoulder blades where I imagine his eyes are fixed.

I shouldn't find this arousing. I shouldn't be standing here, heart racing, body humming with anticipation. I should be practical, sensible Ronnie who doesn't have time for games or danger or desire.

But tonight, with the moon high and my blood singing from narrowly escaped death, I am not that Ronnie.

I pivot to run again, but a sudden rush of air displaces behind me—then strong arms lock around my waist, spinning me around with dizzying force. A startled gasp escapes my lips, but it dissolves into something closer to a sigh when I see who's caught me.

Araton.

His wings are partially extended, creating a dark canopy above us.

Moonlight catches on the silver flecks scattered through his dusky gray-blue feathers, making them shimmer like stars against a twilight sky.

There's blood smeared across his bronze skin—some streaking his bare forearm, more splashed across his jaw and throat.

His clothing is torn in places, revealing glimpses of taut muscle beneath.

But he's grinning. Gods help me, that insufferable, gorgeous grin with the dimple cutting into his right cheek—the real smile, the one that reaches his golden eyes and sets them ablaze.

"Look what I caught," he purrs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my body where he holds me against him. His hands span my waist possessively, thumbs pressing into my hipbones through the thin fabric of my dress. "A wild thing, running through my forest."

"Your forest?" I arch an eyebrow, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the excitement coursing through my veins. "I wasn't aware you'd claimed these woods, xaphan."

His eyes darken at the challenge in my tone. "I claim what's mine."

The simple declaration sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. I should bristle at his arrogance, should push against his chest and remind him I belong to no one. That's what practical, guarded Ronnie would do.

Instead, I find myself leaning closer, drawn to his warmth and the scent of him—sweat and blood and something distinctly male that makes my mouth water.

"You're bleeding," I say, reaching up to brush my fingers along a gash on his shoulder.

"The thassir objected to being killed." His smile turns predatory, eyes tracking my every movement. "But I needed to find you."

"And now you have." The words come out breathier than intended, betraying my arousal.

His nostrils flare slightly, and I know he can sense my desire—the quickening of my pulse, the flush spreading across my skin, the subtle shift in my scent. A hunter attuned to his prey.

"You ran from me." There's an accusation in his voice, but also wonder, as though he's both irritated and impressed.

"You told me to." I tilt my chin up, meeting his molten gaze head-on. "Or have you forgotten shouting at me to run while you wrestled that beast?"

His hands tighten momentarily on my waist. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

And I do know. He's not talking about tonight. He's talking about three years ago, when I slipped away without a trace, taking his child with me. When I ran from the intensity of what was building between us, from the vulnerability I couldn't bear to face.

But tonight, with the moon high and death so recently cheated, I find myself unwilling to resurrect old hurts. Not when his body is pressed against mine, hard and vital and alive. Not when his wings curl around us, creating an intimate space that feels separate from the world.

I trace a finger along his jawline, collecting a smear of blood. "Now that you've caught me, what are you going to do with me?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities. His eyes go positively molten, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of gold remains. His wings ruffle slightly, the feathers making a soft susurration in the stillness of the forest.

One hand slides up my spine to tangle in my hair, sending a cascade of shivers across my skin. He pulls, just enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat to him. I should feel vulnerable, but all I feel is a desperate, clawing hunger.

"Eat you, of course," he growls against my ear.