Page 61 of The Last Sanctuary

“No, I won’t. I swear it. Not even then.”

“How noble of you.”

He winced. “Touché.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I get that, but you can. I swear it, I’m on your side.”

She didn’t trust him. She despised him. Didn’t she? Shouldn’t she? He was one of the murderous Headhunters. Yethe’d been true to his word. He hadn’t ratted her out back at the lodge.

He’d also stood by and watched his friends shoot the wolves. He’d done nothing when Rex took her hostage. And yet. He’d refused to shoot her, had turned his gun on Rex instead.

Conflicting emotions roiled inside her. It made no sense. She didn’t understand it, didn’t understand him. His very presence was disorienting, discomfiting.

He was a Headhunter. He was dangerous.

She should kill him right now, while she had the chance.

His weapon was holstered. She held the rifle in her bloodied hands. If she was quick enough, she might get off a shot before he did.

It was the smart move. The right move.

Raven lifted the rifle and pointed it at Damien.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Damien tensed, but he didn’t move, didn’t go for his weapon. He kept his hands up, palms out. “Go ahead, if that’s what you feel like you need to do.”

She should do it. Her father would have. It was too risky not to do it. An image of Zachariah flashed through her brain. Her dad wasn’t wrong. But the right thing wasn’t always the right thing.

There was something in Damien’s eyes, though. A softness, a vulnerability that was hard to fake. She saw it. Even in the fog, the darkness shimmering around the flashlight, still shining a wide spotlight from its position on the ground between them.

Her gut twisted. He was the enemy. He’d also spared her life. Twice.

She could hate him, but she couldn’t kill him. She wasn’t her father.

With a sigh, she lowered the hunting rifle.

For a long moment, they stared at each other without moving or speaking.

“Can I get the flashlight without you trying to shoot me?” he asked.

She nodded.

He bent and retrieved the flashlight, then straightened. “Thanks. You won’t regret this, I swear it.”

“I'd better not.”

He grinned. “Now, we need to?—”

A scratching, shuffling sound came from somewhere behind them.

Damien went rigid. Raven tensed. She held up one finger for absolute quiet.

Eyes wide, Damien nodded. He shifted slightly and unholstered his handgun with his right hand, shifting the flashlight to his left. He pointed the beam aimlessly into the fog, swinging it from left to right.

She strained her ears, trying to make out the source of the sounds. The mist was thick as soup around them. The beam of the flashlight barely penetrated ten yards. For a panicked instant, she imagined Vlad stalking them, prowling closer, unsheathed claws clicking the flagstone.