Page 39 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

Twenty - nine

F lynn bent low over his horse’s neck, kicking the animal’s sides, demanding more speed. Not that the terrified animal wasn’t already giving all she had.

Behind him, the screams ceased abruptly, leaving only the roar of the encroaching flames. Like the beating of hooves, the sound reverberated against his eardrums, as if Hades’ own chariot chased him.

Once he made it out of this mess, he’d need to find himself some new weak-minded mortal to enthrall. He’d warned the fool to ride faster. Pity he’d lost their supplies as well.

The fire raged around him, leaping from tree to tree, consuming everything in its path. The dry timbers exploded with the fury of the inferno, showering burning shrapnel down on him that stung his face and hands.

His frenzied mount burst free from the tree line at last and plunged into the river without breaking stride. Possessed of the same madness as the horse, the same fear-crazed need to survive, Flynn made no attempt to slow the animal until they approached the opposite bank.

Only then did he regain himself, sparing but a single thought to how much he hated the mortality bestowed on him in taking blood. The pure, pitiful weakness that was Mortal.

Still, without Abby’s magic flowing in his veins, he would never have been able to find the crossing in time.

He dismounted, stooping to the ground to scan the tracks around him.

It was the odd huffing noise that caused him to turn in time to witness his horse’s legs buckling. Her great weight dropped to the ground with a thud , signaling yet another impediment to his quest.

Her entire hindquarter had been charred black, her big brown eyes wild with fear and pain. The Glock tucked into his waistband crossed his thoughts. It shouldn’t take more than one bullet to put her out of her misery.

But that one bullet could well be one he’d need in order to get his hands on Abigail and make his way out of this time.

It appeared he’d be walking for a little while.

No matter. They weren’t so very far ahead of him. Their trail was easy enough to follow. He’d find another horse.

And then he’d track them. Following along, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

It was only a matter of time until he’d have Abigail and return to his own time, where he belonged.