He veered right, angling up a steep slope between ancient oaks. They reached a massive tree with wide, gnarled branches hanging low like welcoming arms.
“Up,” Rell said, boosting her toward the lower limbs.
Elora scrambled up the tree, and Rell followed. They climbed higher, leaves thick around them, until they were well hidden in the tangle of branches and shadows.
Below, the footsteps grew louder.
Rell’s grip tightened on a branch as the first figure came into view—massive and broad-shouldered, his head swiveling as he scanned the woods with a hunter’s eye. Another man joined him, then a third, each one built like a damn bear. They moved with purpose, spreading out beneath the trees in search of their prey.
Bastards really were like roaches.
Rell dropped his gaze to Elora, her eyes wide and focused as she watched the Snatchers trample through the underbrush. She’d gone tense beside him.
Rell slid his dagger from its sheath with a quiet, metallic whisper. It felt good in his hand, familiar, eager. Below them, the Snatchers moved with slow confidence, like they’d already won. Like they thought they'd caught something weak.
He grinned.
Idiots.
Beside him, Elora selected a vial from her belt, with a swirling silver mist trapped inside. Fog.
She looked at him, waiting for his signal. He gave a sharp nod.
She opened it and poured it over their enemiesbelow.
Instantly, the forest floor erupted in thick, roiling mist, a swirling cloud that swallowed the Snatchers whole. Their grunts of surprise were music to Rell’s ears.
3… 2…
He jumped.
His boots hit the first Snatcher, driving the man to the ground with a wheeze of stolen air. Before the bastard could scream, Rell jammed his dagger into the man’s neck.
The second came at him blind, swinging wild through the fog. Rell ducked the first blow, stepped inside the second, and drove his elbow into the man’s throat. He went down hard, gasping, gagging.
Then a snarl ripped through the mist.
Elora.
She had landed on the back of the third Snatcher, her legs coiled around his waist, her arms hooking around his throat as her claws tore deep across his shoulder. He screamed and bucked, spinning in circles as she held on, teeth bared, feral and focused.
Another Snatcher stumbled into view from the fog, and Rell met him with a quick strike to the knee. As the man fell, Rell twisted and drove his dagger into the back of his skull.
The fog clung low, muffling the grunts and cries, turning the fight into something ghostly and surreal.
One of the men tried to stand again—Rell stabbed him square in the gut.
A body slammed into the ground nearby.
She’d brought the big one down, and now she was crouched over him, her fangs bared, claws pressed to his throat. Her breath was ragged, eyes wild. She looked like something out of a nightmare, and Rell couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips.
She was terrifying.
She was magnificent.
And every single one of these bastards had picked the wrong fucking girl.
The man beneath her whimpered, blood running down his temple, mixing with the dirt. Elora’s claws hovered just over his throat, her muscles tight with the promise of one final strike.
