What was he doing? The only familiar person was walking away. Leaving her with a man driven by the primal voice of his inner animal.
The terror that had been bubbling through her suddenly overwhelmed her. “No!” Lucilla screamed, hating how high her voice sounded, twisting frantically as she tried to get herself free. “Don’t leave me with him! Not with a… a….”
Tor stopped walking and turned slowly to face her. The grim look on his face was enough to make her stop struggling and hang limp.
“What are you saying?” Tor asked softly.
Lucilla didn’t know what to say. Why was he looking at her like that? These men had kidnapped her. She was the one fighting for her life. “I don’t… I… the beast…,” she stuttered eventually.
“Fuck it all to hell.” The snarled curse behind her vibrated through her back.
And then Mathos simply opened his arms and let her fall.
She stumbled, going to her knees, and then she stayed there, bruised and shaken, not sure whether to move as she looked up at the two men. The tight look on Mathos’s face was easy to see, even in the dim light.
“You know what,” Mathos said, his voice deep and rumbling as he looked over to his friend, completely ignoring her. “I’m out. I’ve had enough spoilt little girls for one lifetime. You explain how we’re trying to save her life.”
And then he walked away into the night without even looking back.
It was what she wanted. Wasn’t it? They were kidnappers. Men who hunted women. And there was only one of them now. The civilized one. One of her own people. She had a better chance of surviving with Mathos gone.
So why did she feel like she had just done something awful?
Chapter Four
Mathos stalkedinto the darkness cursing princesses, queens, the world, Tor, Tristan for sending him on this gods-forsaken mission, darkness, princesses again, horses, and, mostly, himself.
What had induced him to take her into his arms like that? You’d think he knew better.
The beast in his belly snorted in wry amusement. Mathos kicked a tree and ignored it.
She had pressed herself back into her horse, mud streaks across her face, eyes wide, her dry lips and the dark rings under her eyes clearly showing that she wasn’t drinking enough or sleeping enough. And he had been filled with an overwhelming need to keep her safe.
Then she’d tried to run, and he’d known that she wouldn’t last more than a day or two in the woods alone, and without stopping to think, he’d pulled her up against him, so soft and warm and vulnerable. His beast had howled to protect her, and he had fully agreed—even when she tried to stab his leg with that ridiculous letter opener—right up until she’d called him an animal.
Gods. Lesson learned. That woman was trouble.
But you like trouble. Especially trouble with big eyes and delectable curves. Beautiful, luscious trouble.
“Shut up,” he told himself with a growl. And then winced, hoping Tor and Lucilla were too far away to hear him talking back to the primal voice inside him. He’d done it most of his life, but he generally tried to do it far away from anyone else. Especially people already prejudiced and filled with hatred towardbeasts.
Gods, that had stung. Which was ridiculous. She was a pampered and bigoted soon-to-be-queen. He had watched as she pulled on her haughty mask, every inch the blank and unfeeling royal. Exactly what he would have expected from Ballanor’s sister.
He tried not to think about how terrified she had been—or how she had looked up from the ground, those huge eyes glistening with unshed tears—before she pulled her face into that closed-off mask.
His beast growled, wanting to go back, and he curved his path back toward the fire instinctively without really thinking about what he was doing.
And then he did think about it and he stopped. Bollocks. If she could rile him up so badly with so little effort, the only sensible thing was to walk away and leave Tor to handle this.
He told himself that he didn’t care whether she had been hurt when he dropped her. He didn’t care that she was alone and frightened. He was absolutely not going to check on her.
Whatever you say.If his beast had eyes, it would have rolled them.But you have to get back there and… not… check on her.
Gods. His beast was right; he had to go back. He needed to hear what was being said between Lucilla and Tor. He was in charge of the mission, after all. More importantly, he was an adult, not a little boy hiding in the woods nursing his hurt feelings. It was his duty to go back and deal with this shitshow.
His beast twitched, but he ignored it.
It only took a few minutes to get back to Lucilla’s mare. He grabbed the abandoned satchel and slung it over his shoulder, then led the mare closer to the camp. Once the horse was safely hobbled, he found a tree to lean on and lurked in the darkness just outside the reach of the firelight.
