With a flash of black and steel, she launched from the darkness and landed on his back. With a screech, she brought the knife around to his front and—
—in a whirl of power and speed, Lucien feinted to the left, tossed her off him, and avoided her slashing blade.
She pivoted on the spot, horror widening her eyes that she’d missed.
I rushed forward to do...what?
Too late.
With a snarl, Lucien spun to stand behind her.
His body so fluid, so lethal—exactly like the panther he’d tamed. His hand snaked around her, and with a brutal grace, jerked her back against his front. With one arm wrapped tight around her waist, he snatched the dagger from her hand. It flashed in the firelight just as her shrill scream split the night.
A wet, red-black waterfall poured from her throat as he slit her neck.
She moaned, choked, then collapsed at his feet.
My hand flew to my mouth.
A tiny gasp escaped me.
His head snapped up.
His eyes locked on mine, smouldering black and burning with hate. Out of the shadows, the panther stalked, growling low with its back arched.
Run.
I spun, pebbles scattering and my coat whirling around my legs.
My sneakers dug for purchase. I managed to flee for a few horrendous heartbeats, but then he was on me, shoving me into a young sapling and slamming me against its trunk.
Spinning me to face him, he locked one hand around my throat. Throttling me against the tree, he pinned me in place, his breath fast, and nose almost touching mine.
“Were you in on it too?” he growled, his voice ragged and rough. “If she failed, are you the back-up plan?” He smirked, his eyes almost alight with insanity. “Go ahead then. I’m waiting.”
His fingers tightened, making my pulse flutter. The torchlight etched his face with gold and orange, glistening on the scarlet streak over his cheekbone.
Blood.
Herblood.
An instant migraine pounded in my skull. My vision turned grey. My knees threatened to buckle and my body—well trained in cases such as this—reached for the nearest thing to stay upright.
My hands landed on his hips, my fingers digging into the hardened muscles and bone.
He froze, his eyes locking onto mine. “What are you doing?”
I licked my lips to answer but his hand on my throat flexed. I tried to let him go—to stop touching the very man who wore the blood of the girl who’d tried to kill him—but I really didn’t want to collapse at his feet.
“Well?” His gaze wasn’t steady as he studied my face. Deep in his almost-black pupils, madness seemed to flicker. But beyond that was something else. Pain.
Leaning over me, his lips pulled back in a sneer and any signs of agony vanished. “Answer me. What thefuckare you doing touching me?”
Did he think I could talk with him squeezing my voice box?
Keeping one stabilising hand on his hip, I raised the other and hesitatingly tapped his hand on my throat.
He narrowed his eyes.
