Page 77 of Cursed Shadows 2

It doesn’t take a scribe to assess my odds here.

I don’t stand a fucking chance. No knife in my boot, no weapons at hand, no dark fae to come to the sounds of my cries. This lane is simply a walled lane, and there are no homes down here—no ears to hear me.

And Taroh…

Slinking into a dusting of light, he looks more furious than I’ve ever seen him, something feral in his wild, gleaming eyes. No twist to his face, no scowl or snarl, just a fierce, unwavering stare locked into prey.

All fae come from beasts. All fae were once animals.

I see that in him now, the awakening of something primal.

I turn—and I run.

The smack of my heels on the ground bounces off the stone walls all around me. But Taroh’s punishing pace is louder, faster, and it rushes up behind me.

Frizzed locks of hair whip my cheeks as I barrel through the shadows of the lane, my boots clomping, hard, on the ground, my harsh breaths a string of tangled gasps and cries.

But no matter how much strength I force into this run—

I hear him gaining on me.

He isn’t as exhausted, he isn’t feeling the aftereffects of the drink and the sex, and he hasn’t endured a too-long walk in this early heat like I have. He has enjoyed his coffees and breakfast, a wash, fresh clothes, and is well-rested.

He has the advantage that’s pushing his pace that bit faster than mine. Not much faster, because I am quick, but it’s enough that I can almost feel his harsh panting on the nape of my clammy neck.

Then the breath is knocked clean out of me.

Taroh slams into my back with enough force to throw me off my feet—and he falls with me.

I have just a moment to cross my arms in front of my face before I crack down on the ground. Not a second later, Taroh slams down beside me.

Panic flurries in my chest.

Get up, get up, get up.

Now is my chance—get up and run, he’ll take too long to recover, it’s the head start I need.

But as I blink against the shadows, I see splotches of white lights and a ribbon of crimson. I frown against it all, then—rolling onto my side—reach my hand up to my face. My fingertips touch to a wet patch on my face, one that streams from my hairline to my eye. A slight trail of blood.

Must have knocked my head on landing.

Still, I brace myself against the hum of aches sprouting on my knees, down my left arm, and thumping in my head. Flattening my hands on the stone, I push myself up onto staggering feet—and with each strain, my moan is long and gravelly.

I get a mere heartbeat to right myself, blink in the darkness, and suck in a sharp breath before the pain erupts in my mouth. The whir of a hand through the air—and Taroh backhands me hard enough that I’m thrown against the wall.

The hot rush of blood fills my mouth.

I blink against the daze, watching Taroh move through the shadows, eyes wild.

His nostrils flare as he closes the distance between us, but the sheer ugliness of his smile is what shudders me.

Then he rushes for me—

I cringe, hands scrambling through the air as though they can’t decide whether to become shields or to claw out at him.

Blood spits from between my split lips as I shriek, “Taroh!”

“Narcissa,” he heaves my name with sheer rage before he strikes again. The palm of his hand slams against my cheekbone—and it feels like it might shatter.

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