She shoved up and shot forward again, breathing hard without the benefit of her Belador endurance.
But she was far from beaten.
She battled her way through the undergrowth. The jungle’s teeth scratched her arms and dragged at her clothes. After stumbling into another clearing wider than the last one, she bent over to catch her breath. Human weakness sucked.
The thud of footsteps slowed, then stopped.
She heard him breathing close by, waiting for some reason.
He wanted something . . .
Lust washed over her skin.
There was one thing worse than death, and she would risk supernatural power backlashing in this domain before she’d submit to that.
She turned to face him and leaned to pull the dagger from her boot. If using the power ricocheted back at her, she’d just have to end up cut. She would not give up without drawing blood, too.
Tristan pushed his monster-shaped hands together in front of him then opened his arms, parting the overgrown jungle to accommodate his girth as he stepped into the clearing with a thump, thump, thump.
“I may not be able stop you from killing me to get your pound of flesh, Tristan, but touch me—” She let her gaze drop to the bulge in his pants and spun the dagger in her hands. “And I’ll get my own pound of flesh with one swipe.”
The only part of him that retained any human quality was his black eyes as they studied her quietly.
His eyes were . . . sad.
Had she misread his lust?
She wished she had a better grasp on her empathic abilities, but they were constanly developing.
Besides, how could anyone tell what an Alterant was thinking or feeling in beast state when no one had observed them in a natural setting?
Wait a minute. She was standing here talking to a shifted Alterant.
She tried again. “I want to help you, Tristan—”
Her dagger flew up out of her hands and landed halfway between them, stuck in the ground.
He crossed beefy arms and angled his head. His mouth pulled tight on one side in what she supposed could be considered a smug look.
This might be her best, her only, chance to plead her case to him. “Hey, I’m only here because you turned loose the other three Alterants and the Tribunal thinks I told you to, which we both know isn’t true. I just want to help—”
His snarl clawed her nerves.
That might have been the wrong tactic.
He growled and stomped his foot. The ground vibrated with his fury. Teeth bared and claws extended, he lunged for her.
Evalle backpedaled ten fast steps and lost her footing.
All her attempts to regain her balance and race away ended with her feet coming out from under her. She fell, but she arched to land as far away from him as she could.
When the beast rushed her, he slammed to a stop two steps away, his body plastered against an invisible wall.
His cage.
He rammed the wall over and over again, pummeling the boundary of his prison. He beat the enclosure so hard with his fists that she felt the concussion like multiple blasts of a bomb.
She covered her ears against his howls that were equal parts mournful and furious.
