Braided hair, sharp jawlines, scarred brows.
Shifting muscle, corded veins, curious eyes.
I avert my gaze with a startled gasp. Tides ravage me.
“Stoat maneuver,” Daak’s father calls. “Quickly.”
The men disappear into the underbrush like wraiths.
Sorka turns to me. “He’s after you?” I nod stiffly. “Stand in the middle here. Do not be afraid, Princess. We won’t let him touch you.”
But can they keepmefrom touchinghim?
I hope so.
Sorka vanishes into the forest, too. I swallow hard, facing the dark woods. My heart hammers frantically in my chest, my skin burning up. Ghosts of rough, calloused hands glide over me. How would their long braids feel dragged against my skin?
My skin prickles, every nerve alert.
Minutes later, and there—hestrides through the trees.
Every thought evaporates from my mind. My body thrums with need, all interest in the Tundrayni warriors swept away by the violent tide that is my husband.
He sees me. His fingers flex, as if resisting the urge to reach for me.
His full lips curve into a sensuous smirk. My heart stutters.
Why was I running from him again?
His stride slows as he nears, molten steel eyes fixed on my face.
I take a step toward him.
Then, another.
And another.
Before I know it, I’m bolting through the trees in a desperate bid to reach him.
Ineedto reach him.
But I never do.
A low clinking rattle is the only warning before an iron chain whips through the air, slinging around Zev’s neck. His hand flies up, two fingers wedging beneath the chain just before it tightens into a noose. Six men leap out from behind trees. Two grab Zev’s arms while the other four anchor his legs.
My husband doesn’t even try to fight.
Thick iron cuffs, three times the width he’d suppressed me with, shackle his wrists with resoundingclicks.
But he keeps his eyes on me. The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh. Almost like he thinks this is a joke. LikeI’ma joke.
I have to force my feet to stay rooted to the ground. Beads of sweat dot my forehead, and my heart pummels my ribcage as if it means to escape.
“The Dark Commander himself,” Sorka drawls, coming to stand beside me. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about this day.”
Zev’s grin is razor sharp. “I haven’t thought about you at all. You are?”
Daak’s father scowls. “Sorka. General of the Tundrayni army.”
