First visible blood, but it had almost been his own. He’d miscalculated, slowed his own reaction too much.
The assassin hissed behind his mask—pain or anger—but he didn’t retreat, didn’t disengage. He pressed forward, trading precision for speed. Desperate tactics.
Three strikes came in rapid succession. High, low, high again. Zach deflected the first with his blade, caught the second on the reinforced edge of his belt. The third sliced across his shoulder in a burning trail of pain. Damn it. He’d moved too slow again.
He pushed the pain away and struck back: his blade found the attacker’s thigh while the man was overextended from the third strike. Deep enough to hit muscle.
The man’s stance shifted, weight transferred off the injured leg. His breathing changed again—quicker, shallower. Pain and adrenaline competing.
The assassin’s body language altered: shoulders squaring, knife angle falling, eyes visibly narrowing through the mask holes. He was calculating. Looking for an exit.
The man feinted toward the beach—a convincing sell, body weight shifting south, knife hand dropping slightly. Then he pivoted hard, faster than his injuries should have allowed—straight toward Emma.
Emma twisted away, but the sand gave under her foot and she stumbled.
Zach’s heart stopped.
The assassin’s hand shot out, grabbed Emma’s arm, and spun her with brutal efficiency. Her gasp of surprise cut through Zach’s focus like a blade. The attacker shoved her into Zach’s path, using her body as a living obstacle.
He caught her on pure instinct, his knife hand moving away from her body in a wide arc, his other arm wrapping around her waist to keep her upright. She fell against him, off-balance. Her sandalwood-vanilla scent flooded his senses.
Half a second.
That’s all it took.
By the time he steadied Emma, the assassin was ten yards away, crashing into the tree line in a spray of broken branches and scattered leaves. The blood trail was obvious—dark drops on light sand, then smears on vegetation. Gone.
Zach’s entire body vibrated with the need to pursue. To finish it. Every instinct screamed at him to track the target, follow the trail, and neutralize the threat permanently. His Guardian ability surged in his chest, demanding he hunt, demanding he end this.
His muscles coiled. His grip tightened on the knife. The tree line was right there. The target was wounded. Without a witness, he could take down the attacker in seconds.
Emma was shaking in his arms. Her fingers clutched his shirt. Her breath came too fast, pulse hammering against his forearm where he held her.
The attacker might have backup waiting in those trees, leading him into an ambush. Could have a secondary weapon positioned. Could have explosives. Could have?—
He cut the thought off and forced himself to breathe. To think instead of react. To be tactical instead of emotional.
The mission was to protect Emma, not leave her alone to chase threats, to satisfy his own burning need for completion.
Protect her. Get back to the cottage under cover.
This was why caring was dangerous.
Chapter 26
Secrets Revealed
Emma couldn’t bringherself to release her grip on Zach’s shirt, couldn’t get her breath back under control. Someone tried to kill her.
Zach pulled back from her, gripping her shoulders, scanning her body. “Are you hurt?” His voice came out rough, scraped raw by adrenaline and fury.
She shook her head, her eyes wide, hands trembling, thoughts in a whirl as she stared at the bolt lying in the sand ten feet away.
“You—” She drew back, staring at him. Her gaze moved from his face to his hand to the bolt. “You caught it.”
How the hell had hecaughta crossbow bolt?
He didn’t answer, his attention locked on the tree line. “We’re going back to the cottage.” He took her arm, already moving, positioned between her and the direction the attacker had run. “Now.”
