Page 11 of Too Dangerous To Die

Aheartbeat later, another comes, aimed lower,toward me.

He moves again, a snarl ripping from his lips. His arm sweeps across my chest, knocking me backjust before the arrow embeds itself in the stone where I had been.

I barely have time to think beforethe hunters step into the temple.

Dark elves.

Their silver hair gleams under the moonlight, long daggers glinting in their hands. They move with the practiced ease ofkillers,their crimson eyes locked onto me with somethinghungry, merciless.

The tallest of them tilts his head, appraising the scene. His gaze flickers over Rhaegar—his shifting form, his too-dark eyes.

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face.

"Impossible," he murmurs, rolling his shoulders. "You should be stone."

Rhaegar does not answer.

But Ifeelthe heat building beneath his skin, the slow, simmeringragewinding through his body.

The lead hunter clicks his tongue, gaze returning to me. "You should have run faster, Purna."

I bare my teeth, forcing my chin up. "You should have aimed better."

Helaughs.

"Brave little thing," he muses. His blade shifts, glinting as he moves closer. "But bravery will not save you. Not from us. And certainly not from him."

His eyes flick toward Rhaegar again, assessing.Curious.

But there's a hint of understanding in there.

My stomach drops as realization flickers across his face. He sees it.He knows.

The bond.

They must havesensed it.The way my magic has twisted, the way my aura now flickers with somethingwrong.

The hunter exhales sharply, a smirk curling at the tips of his lips. "Oh, little healer," he murmurs. "What have you done?"

Rhaegar moves.

It isnot human movement.

It istoo fast, too fluid.One moment, he is beside me.

The lead hunter’sthroat is in his grip.

A sharpcrack.

The elf’sbody goes limp, his neck snapping like brittle bone.

A beat of silence.

Then chaos.

The remaining hunters moveas one, their blades flashing in the dark.Rhaegar does not falter.

He is astorm given form, a living nightmare.His wings unfurl, half-formed but stillpowerful enoughto send one of the elves staggering back. Claws—because that is what they are now, what his fingers have twisted into—slash across another hunter’s chest, parting leather and flesh.

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