Callen whipped his head around, scanning the empty woods behind us. “Off the horse. Don’t move.”
He didn’t give me time to follow his order. Planting a hand on my shoulder, heshovedme from the saddle. I landed in a stunned heap as he leapt from the horse and drew two short swords from his hips.
Three men appeared out of nowhere andcharged.
Three against one. How would Callen survive that?
I crawled back until I was plastered against the tree trunk, my eyes glued to the scene.
Callen readied himself and met the first sword with an easy deflection. With the speed of a striking snake, his other sword stabbed deep into the man’s thigh. He fell.
Two against one, then.
Having watched their friend fall, the two remaining men slowed to attack at the same time. They sliced at Callen simultaneously, and the green-eyed man deflected both before launching into a series of spins and jabs. He’d clearly done this before. Metal clanged as they traded blows, Callen showing no signs of slowing.
A deep, pained cry came from behind me, just down the incline. I peered around the tree to find Joris, the man who’d given Harthon the healing supplies, splayed on the ground before a massive, metal-armored man. Joris’ hands were empty, his brown and gray hair speckled with blood.
The attacker lifted his sword high with both hands.
Joris was going to die. Right in front of me. Another body, slain.
I didn’t think.
I launched to my feet.
“Hey!” I screamed, running a few steps forward.
Koerlyn’s man froze, beady eyes finding me. Recognition flared as he locked onto my eyes.
Clarity washed in as I shrunk back. I didn’t know Joris. He was technically one of my captors. There was no logical reason to do what I just did.
And Joris was not as helpless as he’d seemed. Taking advantage of his attacker’s hesitation, he rolled, pulling a knife and stabbing it under the man’s armor into his belly. The massive sword fell, and Joris stabbed him again, this time in the neck. Blood sprayed. The man collapsed.
But my yell had brought more attention to me than I knew.
Two attackers broke from the thinning fray and sprinted towardme, vicious intent plastered on their faces. Joris lunged toward them, but a wound in his thigh slowed him to a stunted limp.
The urge to retreat rode me hard, but if Callen was still fighting two men, I couldn’t bring two more to him. So I ran hard to the right.
The sounds of fighting weakened as I sprinted away, the men’s metal armor making their pursuit obvious. I had no weapons. No way to defend. All I could do was run. Metal flashed in my periphery just before a third man cut in front of me. I slid to a stop, panting hard as panic gripped me.
Heavy weight crashed into me from behind, and then I was crushed into the ground. Hard metal edges dug into my back as I struggled against the suffocating bulk. Rough hands flipped me. I didn’t even see the fist before it crashed into my cheek, bone hitting bone. Stars burst as the hideous smile above me blurred.
“Got you.” Spit landed on my face as I fought the dark edges of unconsciousness.
Two meaty thuds sounded in succession. Then the man on top of me hooked an arm beneath my neck and dragged me to my feet, my back flush against him. I struggled to straighten my legs as the world spun.
Cold metal bit into my neck, not breaking skin, but pressing.
My vision cleared, and I saw two of my pursuers crumpled on the ground. A dagger protruded from each man’s head. Harthon was in front of us, fury etched into every terrifying plane of his face. His cloak was gone, bearing those muscled, scarred arms slick with sweat. His eyes, dark and lethal, flicked to the knife at my throat before returning to the man at my back.
“Drop the dagger,” the man demanded, digging the blade into my skin.
My eyes trailed to the small dagger in Harthon’s hand as a thin line of hot blood trickled down my neck. Relaxed fingers held it by thepointed tip.
“If you kill her, Koerlyn will make you his plaything. I don’t think it’d be as fun for you as it would be for him,” Harthon said, the casual tone a stark contrast to the tension coiling his body.
The knife’s pressure eased just so. It was apparently all Harthon needed.
