And that’s why he has to die.
Ducking behind a small outcropping of stone, Camille took a second to fish her phone out of her pocket. With her free hand, she touched theSOSsigil carved into the back of the Solbourne pin stuck into the lapel of her coat. A small burst of magic made her skin tingle.
Vik’s down. Bring Margot.
That done, she shoved her worry for Viktor’s health into a tiny box and cast it aside. He would survive. He didn’t have a choice.
With her worry compartmentalized, all that remained was fury and the laser focus of the hunt.
Lips curling over her teeth in a snarl, she bent her knees and leapt. Just before she began to fall back to the ground, she hooked her claws into the soft sandstone and began to haul herself up the cliff with dizzying speed.
Going by the direction of the bolts and knowing what any half-trained lout with a bolt gun would do, she used the pockmarked stone as hand and toe holds as she made her way up to the highest point. Above her, a cluster of vegetation-covered boulders loomed.
When a bolt went off, a tiny flash of light illuminated a juncture where two of the boulders leaned against one another.
That the fool hadn’t bothered to use an m-dampener for his assassination was both insulting and a relief. He’d made her job easy.
Camille pulled herself up and over the ledge a few yards from the boulders with one graceful, soundless move. Crouching low, she sucked in a deep breath.
Cat shifter.
She didn’t have time or the wherewithal to be surprised by that. All she needed was his scent in case he ran. Everything else was secondary.
Her steps were silent as she drifted toward the shooter. Each bolt that went off was another rake of her claws against his flesh, another bite she would take.
If one more bolt hits my consort, I will rip his spine out and show it to him.
Camille flexed her claws as the rush of the hunt settled into her bones. It only made her rage expand, its permeating chill radiating out from a solid core of possessiveness.
Circling wide around the rocks, she spied a figure crouched between them, dressed in black from head to toe. It was pure luck that she wore an all black outfit herself. While the figure focused on trying to aim a weapon he clearly barely knew how to use, she was a dark wraith drifting behind him, soundless and deadly.
He didn’t notice her until it was too late to run.
The smell of a burning fuel cell and sharp, sweet ozone lingered around him. As did the bite of singed flesh when he scrambled to change out the cartridge again and burnt the tips of his fingers. Cursing under his breath, he sucked his thumb into his mouth even as he jostled his gun, shaking it like that might make the redhot fuel cell fall out on its own.
Amateur,she thought, stepping behind him with a cold sneer.A dead amateur.
Camille lunged.
While one hand snapped out to wrench the gun from his hands and throw it aside, the other tore into his throat — not enough to kill, not yet — but enough to make him bleed. The shifter froze for a heartbeat before he threw himself backward, attempting to break her hold by throwing her off balance.
He weighed more than she did, but Camille was quick and determined to see him hurt. Letting go would give him the chance to shift, and since he would be that much harder to subdue as a cat, she could not let that happen.
Somewhere far below them, a huge burst of magic rent the night air, but neither she nor the shifter noticed it. They grappled, shifter against elf, claw against claw. He caught her side with his shifted claws and, with a vicious bite, caught her gloved hand between his teeth. Bone snapped, though she barely felt it.
Tearing her hand out of his mouth, Camille let loose a beastly snarl and leapt up. Curling her knees into her chest, she dropped all her weight into the center of his back, sending them both crashing to the ground.
The air was ripe with the scent of crushed plants and blood as she tore at his back, her claws shredding cloth and skin with terrifying ease. The shifter yowled in agony. He bucked, attempting to dislodge her even as his muscles bunched and heated, trying to change even when she had her claws in them.
“You tried to kill my consort,” she hissed in his ear, bloodlust a high, keening song in her mind. “Do you know what that means?”
Fear and anger were ragged notes in his voice when he gasped, “Fucking— I don’t even know who you—”
“So youwereonly after him. You probably should have stayed quiet.” She dug her claws in deeper, until they hit the solid mass of bone. Unlike hers,hisbones were brittle with soft, spongy marrow that could easily be snapped between her jaws.
The shifter let out a hoarse scream and bucked again, but it was no use. Staring down at him like he was little more than a writhing bug, she asked, “Do you know what the punishment for hurting an elf’s consort is,cat?”
Panting, he rasped, “No, you fucking crazy el—”
