Page 35 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

“A nora!”

Hunter heard a bellow rend the air and his throat felt like it was being ripped apart.

In his panic, he didn’t realize the frantic shout came from him as he ran down the hill toward the burning cottage he’d just seen Anora disappear into with an elderly man.

He watched her struggling under the weight of the body she was trying to drag from the cottage.

She had hooked her hands under the arms of the person and was pulling the body backwards through the door and out to the path in front of the cottage.

His heart had already been pounding nearly out of his chest when he saw her emerge from the cottage, but when he saw her go back into the burning building, he was sure it stopped beating.

What the hell was she doing? He ran as fast as his legs would carry him toward the collapsing structure, praying the entire time to a god he was certain had already forsaken him.

Everything he’d ever learned went right out of his head as he ran straight into the inferno to get to Anora.

He’d learned from a young age that the only person who cared about him was himself, and living to fight another day was more important than anything else.

He’d found nothing and no one worth the sacrifice of his own life.

Until Anora.

Smoke poured out the door and roof of the cottage and he could hear timbers falling, but that did not stop him from charging headlong into the blazing hell.

This will be how I die. He heedlessly searched through the smoke for Anora inside the cottage.

Through the haze, he saw her bending over another body, pulling at its arms and trying to tug the lifeless form toward the door.

He reached her in two steps, grabbed a fistful of the tunic covering the man’s chest to lift him off the floor, then grabbed Anora’s arm and pushed her ahead of him toward the door with a bellowed command. “Go!”

The trio cleared the frame of the opening and were only a few steps away when the cottage collapsed completely, shooting flames high into the sky as ash and sparks rained down on them.

Hunter did not let go of Anora or the man he dragged by his tunic until they were a good distance from the burning structure.

To his relief, someone had picked up the woman Anora had pulled from the cottage and moved her out of harm’s way as well.

He lowered the man completely to the ground and released his tunic, then spun Anora to face him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice sounded feral and angry, even to his own ears.

“Stop shouting at me,” she huffed in a hoarse voice, “and quit shaking me.”

Hunter realized then that he had a death grip on her arms and was shaking her in his desperation to assure himself she was truly safe. “You could have been killed!”

“I couldn’t let them die,” she said defensively, trying to break free from his grip. The anguish visible on her face nearly broke him. “Please, let go.”

Hunter did let go, but only long enough to pull her into his chest and wrap his arms tightly around her with his cheek pressed to her hair.

She smelled of smoke, but he inhaled gratefully.

She was alive and—at this very moment—safe.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” He suddenly felt like he couldn’t get a breath into his lungs past the lump in his throat.

He gasped, his head spun, and he fought to keep his legs from buckling.

He’d never felt anything like this before and he wasn’t sure what was happening to him.

All he knew was that he had to keep holding her as tightly as he could.

“Hunter,” he heard Anora say in a gentle tone in his ear. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, like the voice of an angel. “Please, let go. You’re hurting me.”

He released her and ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself for losing his mind and his inability to piece what little sense he had back together.

She held her arms out at her sides, and it was then that he noticed the sleeves of her chemise were in shreds from the many places that sparks had landed on the fabric and burned through to her skin.

Gently, so as not to hurt her, he took her hands and carefully rotated them until her palms faced up so he could see the extent of any damage.

“Anora,” he groaned as he released her hands and circled around her to assess the full extent of her injuries.

To his immense relief, he did not see any significant burns or scrapes anywhere else on her body other than the scattering of burns on her arms. Her face was streaked gray from the smoke and ash, and the stray hairs that had escaped from her plait were singed. “How much does it hurt?”

“Not enough to be of concern,” she said, her head cocked to the side as she studied him. Before he could think too long on why she was looking at him that way, she averted her gaze and said, “We cannot just stand here. There is more to be done.”

“Burns can be serious. You need tending to as soon as possible.” His experience with injured soldiers had taught him that the sooner the wound was tended to, the better the chances of healing without infection.

Especially burns. He’d seen too many men perish from an injury thought to be inconsequential.

She shook her head as she looked at the burning village around them. “There are others hurt far worse who need attention first.”

The earth shook as a thunderous pounding drew near.

Riders. Instinctively, Hunter shoved Anora behind him as he turned to face them.

A contingent of men wearing the familiar regalia of the Hawkspur Castle guard rode into the village with swords drawn as they scoured the lanes of the village from atop their horses to ensure the enemy was gone before dismounting to appraise the situation.

“They are gone,” Hunter called out to the men. He recognized the leader of the group as Bard, another one of Hawk’s elite force.

He relaxed his grip on Anora, and she immediately scurried out from behind him and went to the old couple, now being tended to by another woman who looked just as bedraggled and soot smudged as she did.

He reluctantly watched her go, then turned back to Bard, tamping down the beast inside him who wanted to carry her away from here and hide her away somewhere for the rest of their lives to keep her safe from the dangers of the world.

Bard shouted orders to the men, directing some to assist the injured and others to put out the fires.

Two soldiers were sent back to Hawkspur to fetch more men and wagons for transporting people to the castle.

After he’d dispensed all the men to their duties, he turned to Hunter and clasped arms with him.

“What happened here?” Bard asked Hunter, walking briskly toward the largest fire in the center of the village.

“I saw the glow of flames on the horizon and went up on the ridge to see what was afoot,” Hunter explained, scrubbing a hand over his face. “A band of men was riding away from the village on the south road. I tried to intercept, but they were too far gone.”

“With no insignias or hint of who they were,” Bard said through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Bard was rarely without a smile on his face or a jest on his lips, but he was also a realist with razor-sharp instincts.

There were only a handful of men that Hunter fully trusted to fight as his side in a battle, and Bard was one of them.

“They’re getting more deadly,” Hunter said with disgust. For months, bandits had been causing disturbances, destroying property, and harassing the tenants of Hawkspur, but this was far and beyond the mischief of prior incidents.

“Hawkspur needs more men if they are to stand guard at the castle and also at every settlement.”

Bard grunted in agreement. “Hawk will want to hear about what you saw. Let’s get this done and the villagers back to Hawkspur, then you can meet with him.” Bard clapped him on the shoulder then returned to directing the efforts of his soldiers and the able villagers.

By the time the fires were extinguished, or at least reduced to smoldering piles of ash, the dead buried, and the injured loaded onto wagons, Anora looked like she was ready to topple over from exhaustion.

She practically swayed on her feet as they watched the last of the villagers leave for Hawkspur Castle under the escort of Bard and three of his soldiers and did not protest when he offered her horse to a man with a heavily pregnant wife.

The journey to the castle was short, less than four miles, but still daunting for a woman who looked on the verge of giving birth.

Hunter settled Anora on Shadow’s back, then swung up in the saddle behind her, nudging his horse into an easy walk once she was settled in his arms.

She was covered in soot and ash and smelled of smoke and sweat, and he never wanted to let her go.

Her bravery in the face of danger had been magnificent.

She’d not hesitated for even a breath before risking her life to save others, and she’d refused to leave before making sure everyone else was cared for.

Hell and damnation, but it was getting more difficult to pretend that he wasn’t completely and hopelessly enamored with her.

Now, she leaned her weight against his chest as she rested her head on his shoulder and a cold, hard part of his heart softened.

He knew he’d regret it later, but he wrapped his arm around her and breathed in, searching for the lingering scent of the honeyed soap she favored under the stench of the smoke, as she cuddled into him.

“Where are we going?” she asked sleepily when he identified himself to the guards patrolling the perimeter of Hawkspur village before he turned the horse away from the main road and onto a narrow path.

“I’m bringing you to Galiena.”