Page 62 of Feathers and Thorns

“You’ll pay for that!” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

She smirked at him and wiped the blood from the dagger on her trousers. It had not been a killing blow, but it was a start. If he can bleed, he can die.

Their fight continued as his rage fueled him forward. He swung and hacked at her with his sword, but as quick as she was, he was overpowering her. His armor had few weak points, and she was struggling to fight back.

She cried out as his blade sliced into her calf, and she fell hard onto her tailbone. Blood seeped from the wound, surrounding her lower leg in a pool of crimson. She hobbled to her feet, knowing the end was near. She would not die cowering on the ground; she would go down swinging.

She gripped her daggers, her hands slick with blood, and lunged again. He dodged and landed an elbow to the back of her head, making her see stars. He was playing with her now, knowing the fight was won.

Her eyes cleared, and she turned again to face him, limping weakly on her uninjured leg. They had moved away from the crowd now and, in a last-ditch effort at survival, she threw both daggers in quick succession, both aimed for his head. He blocked one with his sword, and the second grazed the side of his temple, cutting off the tip of his ear. Soren watched as a tiny piece of his shaved hair floated to the ground.

He stalked toward her, eyes blazing, and placed the tip of his blade at the hollow of her throat. She would not give him the satisfaction of closing her eyes. Instead, she smiled up at him with a look of defiance and waited for the end, but it did not come.

The next thing Soren knew, she was covered head to toe in blood that was not her own, the sergeant’s body lying lifeless at her feet. The taste of iron coated her tongue, and she struggled to see through the red haze.

Her body sensed him before she could see him, muscles tensing in fear and excitement all at the same time. When her vision cleared, she met his eyes. The familiar icy stare warmed a little as she took him in. She knew how she must look—hair in tangles, bathed in blood as though she were a creature resurrected from the depths of hell. To her astonishment, a smirk played at the corners of his lips, and what Rook said next caused heat to pool low in her belly.

“I like you in red.”

It was hard not to appreciate Rook’s body as he stood before her, covered in the blood of her would-be killer. He looked every bit the weapon Adriel wanted him to be. Corvus had trained him well.

When she didn’t respond to his quip, his look of satisfaction shifted. His brows pinched together, and he sheathed his weapon. “Are you all right, little bird?” he asked, searching her gold-rimmed eyes.

Her mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed thickly, nodding, taking in the rest of him. She had never doubted his capabilities as a fighter and had watched in awe when he had fought General Corvus back in Thorncrest, but this was different. She could practically feel the danger ebbing off of him, like little bolts of lightning whipping and crackling against her skin. She knew it was an absolutely ridiculous moment to be reminded of her deep attraction to him, but she couldn’t help it. She was thankful then for the rush of pain that rolled through her nerves, washing away all her lustful thoughts.

“Soren.”

She looked up when he said her name, as he rarely used it. It was then she realized he had closed the distance between them and was cupping her face.

“I need you to talk to me.”

Her eyes flicked back and forth, taking in their surroundings. It was then she noticed the bodies. Two kestrels and three more of Adriel’s soldiers were laid out before the captives, an arrow through each of their skulls. She met his gaze then, her eyes wandering to the tip of her father’s bow peeking out from behind his back before widening. He killed them all.

The townspeople had gotten to their feet but made no sudden movements. They seemed unsure if they should thank Rook or run from him in the hopes of avoiding his wrath.

Without looking at them, he growled, “Leave. All of you.” It was not a request.

The crowd shuffled away quickly, leaving them alone in the large square.

She licked her lips, tasting the tang of blood, and then pushed through the lump in her throat to croak out, “I think I’m okay.”

He released her face and brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” His tone was strained. “I need to get you somewhere safe.”

Before she could stubbornly reject his offer, he bent and lifted her into his arms, taking care not to brush the large gash on her leg. She could feel the warmth radiating off his chest and allowed herself to lean into him.

Even covered in blood, he smelled like the snow-covered trees that surrounded Thorncrest Manor. She nuzzled in closer, inhaling his scent as her mind swam from the loss of blood. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift as her body went limp in his arms.

* * *

Soren sat up, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. She blinked, allowing her pupils to adjust, and used the momentary blindness to take stock of her body. She rolled her shoulder and could no longer feel the pain that had just radiated there. She dared to look down at her leg, worried she would see a flap of skin hanging limply from bone. To her surprise, the muscle was intact.

She bent her knee and stretched it forward a few times, deeming the appendage fit to participate in a marathon.

“You’ll still need rest.” Rook’s voice drifted over her like a soft blanket. He stood before her in a field of wildflowers, wearing his finest black tunic. His eyes matched the forget-me-nots that she pressed between her fingertips.

She was no longer in a blouse and trousers, but in a white cotton dress that fell to her knees, the soles of her feet pink and bare. Her brown eyes were as rich as the soil between her toes, and her blue-stained hair swayed gently between her shoulder blades.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” she said, picking at her somehow perfect nail beds.

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