Christine got worried about me and came out to fetch me.
Some English aristocrat I was. I couldn’t even take a walk on my own estate without needing a rescue.
But…
Wait.
That wasn’t Christine.
The figure was too tall.
The shoulders too broad.
It was a man.
No, it was the man.
I stopped dead.
Holy hell.
It was Dair.
What was he doing there?
Panicked, I stared at him.
He kept prowling toward me.
Even more panicked, I looked left then right.
All I saw was fog, drizzle and the bleary outline of some faraway trees.
Totally panicked, and not thinking, I turned on my Jimmy Choo and started running.
“Blake!” Dair bellowed.
I kept running.
In my dash, I tripped over a rock (or something), flew forward while careening, nearly went down, jarred my back with the effort not to (and it hurt like crazy), but I righted myself and kept going.
“Oh my God, how do people do this?” I wheezed as the trees started to take shape through the mist.
“Blake!”
That sounded closer.
A lot closer.
I kept running.
I heard him bounding after me.
Trust me to get in a foot chase with a professional athlete.
Someone shoot me.
I hit the woods and zigged and zagged through the trees.
