Page 128 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

That’s why I keep glancing over my shoulder, scanning the shadows. If he’s so quick, why hasn’t he swept through the forest by now?

Yeah, I don’t like this.

As I round a bend, a sound ahead brings my feet to an abrupt halt.

A human sound. A woman’s. Ayelp.

My heart smashes against my ribs as my body screams at me to run toward the sound. To move. But I force myself still.

Is it a trick?

I cock my head, straining my ears. The gods-damned stream’s burbling cuts my hearing range in half. Normally, Icould pick up on a squirrel’s chit from half a mile away, but now, I strain even to hear a leaf fall nearby.

Then, I hear it again, clear this time.

That’s Sabine’s cry. No mistake. It’s a quarter mile ahead, and I can hit that distance in a minute and a half.

I tear through the forest, ignoring the ache in my muscles. For Sabine, I’d run until I collapsed, bruised and spent in the dirt. I’m not sure which churns harder, my heart or my mind. I have to get to her. The world will burn before I let that fae bastard place his filthy hands anywhere near her.

As soon as I round the stream bend, I pick up on their scents:

Artain’s wild mint aroma meanders through the air like oil on water, oozing confidence. Whereas Sabine’s violet scent cuts straight to my nose with the sharp tang of fear. It coats my tongue, driving me into an even faster run.

I crash out of the woods at a clearing at a pond’s edge. As I skid to a stop, I throw out my senses to take stock of the situation.

Artain is on his knees at the water’s edge.

The water laps against the bank—recently disturbed.

Five dead deer lay bleeding out into the trampled grass, gold-tipped arrows shot with godly precision into their hearts. The tang of their blood hangs in the air, but beneath it is the salty scent of Sabine’s tears.

Artain clocks me immediately.

He jumps to his feet with inhuman speed, tossing a pebble casually in the air and catching it. “Well, well. Lord Basten. Perhaps not a bad huntsman after all—though you’re too late.”

In a flash, I have my bow drawn, the arrow aimed square at his chest.

“Where is she?” I demand. “I can smell her all over you.”

There’s a new edge of cruelty in his eyes, though I suspect it was always lurking beneath his smiling facade. He strokes his chin, eyeing my arrow with unsettling calm. “The terms state we can’t kill one another.”

“Fuck the rules—I’m dead anyway, right?”

He tosses the pebble again. “Go ahead, then. What part of “immortal” don’t you understand? Let that arrow loose and see how much it slows me down.”

Anger burns through my forearm as I strain to hold the bow drawn. Every instinct screams to let my arrow fly. Maybe it won’t kill the bastard, but hey, at least for a minute, it would wipe off that smirk.

“I’ll ask again,” I challenge. “Where. Is. Sabine?”

Artain flings the pebble into the stream, where it skips twice before plunging underwater. When I narrow in my vision on the sinking pebble, I can make out water plants still disturbed beneath the surface, as though something large swam recently through them. The trail leads toward a beaver’s dam on the opposite shore.

“The beavers,” I realize. “They helped her.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He combs his fingers through his hair to tame it back into place. “She’ll be soaking wet now. Even easier to track. I’ll have her back under me in five minutes to finish what we started.”

My arrow point trembles as rage blurs my vision. “You. Don’t.Touch. Her.”

“Oh, I’ll do much more than that when she’s mine every night.” He draws his hunting knife in one smooth flick of his wrist. “I just have to put you in the grave first.”

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