Page 127 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

I press myself to my hands and knees at the pond’s edge.

“Sabine. You will soon regret resisting me!” As he swipes an arm for me, I gulp in a breath and fall backward.

I plunge into the water?—

—where everything is dark?—

—and cold?—

—and deadly?—

—until a small, squeaky voice with a hint of burbling water calls,This way!

Chapter 33

Basten

As Ninth Hour rings from the distant castle, I crouch by a game trail, studying the trampled grass. There’s no mud here to capture a footprint, but it’s clear enough that something heavier than deer passed this way. The grass’s bend suggests a person weighing around one hundred twenty pounds with a running stride of forty inches.

I lower my nose to the grass to breathe in.

There.

Sabine’s violet blossom scent slams into me like a shot of adrenaline. It’s heady. Intoxicating. But then, I grimace and spit into the dirt. Her normal scent is tainted by the bitter bite of her fear. Thinking of her, fearful and alone, makes my stomach revolt.

“If that fae bastard has touched you…” I mutter between clenched molars. I grip a fallen branch, squeezing so hard it snaps. I close my eyes, imagining it’s Artain’s trigger finger.

You’re a fool to fall for his tricks, I berate myself for the hundredth time. Growling, my muscles bristle as I think ofhis pretty-boy smirk. The urge to strike something is overpowering, and I settle on giving myself a good smack in the jaw.

Pain shoots through my head, but I only growl again.

It doesn’t hurtenough.

I need my physical pain to match my inside pain. It’s my fault that we’re trapped in this twisted game. I thought I could outsmart a fae. Still, that wasn’t even my greatest mistake. If I could do everything over again, I’d have taken that first look at Immortal Vale in his fae regalia, thrown Sabine over my shoulder, and gotten the hell out of Drahallen Hall on Day One.

Now, I’ve put her in danger. And if the only way to spare her from the fae’s bottomless well of depravity is to win, then I’ll fucking win.

Even if it means putting myself in the grave.

I open my eyes and stalk forward after Sabine’s trail.

It’s a tricky thing, tracking her. I don’t mean that it’sdifficult. On the contrary, it wouldn’t be easier to follow a guide rope. Her scent is splashed on every tree she brushed by. If that wasn’t enough, it’s more than clear by the animals’ reactions that she’s passed this way. Robins cluster in the branches overhead, watching me like her guardians.

When I say “tricky,” it’s because I don’t want to catch her too fast.

The way I figure, this game won’t end until sunset. So, if I catch her now, I have to hold onto her for seven more hours until dusk. Which is an eternity when you’re trying to cage a spitting wildcat. I might not remember our past together, but all it takes is one look to know she’s a woman who puts up a fight.

And herscreams?

Might as well be a blazing signal fire to draw Artain straight to us.

So, it’s best to let her run—on a leash, of course. Her scent tells me that she’s about ten minutes ahead of me. Which is perfect. That’s enough space so that her spies don’t fly off to sound the alarm, but I can snatch her quickly if needed.

The game trail splits, and I sniff the air. Sabine turned left toward the tributary stream, following a female deer. A bird was with her—probably one of those robins, judging by the faint scent of mealworms, their preferred snack. The other forest smells are expected: rotting mushrooms, fox scat, pine resin.

I don’t detect a glimmer of Artain’s wild mint scent.

I take the left trail along the riverbank. I should be relieved that there’s no sign of my competition. It means Artain hasn’t found Sabine’s trail yet, which makes sense—he lacks my heightened senses. But the bastard is nearly godkissed fast. And smart.

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