Page 78 of Cursed Shadows 2

My legs buckle and I hit the harsh road. My hands slap down on stone, the force of the impact enough to ache my elbows.

“Will your dark one weep when he sees how I have claimed you.” His boots smack back and forth as he paces my crumpled body. “Will he tend to your wounds or fuck his scent into you?”

Mutely, I stare down at the droplets of blood between my splayed hands, running hot and red from the cut of my lips, the crack of my cheekbone, the ache of my head. But I don’t quite see it.

“Say you survive—survive all the ones who will go against you in the Sacrament,” he pants the words, a storm of adrenaline powering through him, all the way into his fists tensed at his sides, “survive the light and the dark ones who will cut you down for your slights… then maybe, if you are so fortunate, I will wed you still.”

He pauses in his pacing, his boot coming to press into my back. With a shove, he forces me down on my belly.

My cheek is smushed against the cold stone of the ground, wet with blood and tears, and all I manage is a whimpered, “Please…”

“Let us be creative, Narcissa… How should I punish you in our marriage? Perhaps I could carve my name into your flesh, bite my mark onto your—”

Oomph!

It’s all I hear, the grunt of air slammed out of a body before a smack, then a crack that cringes me against the ground.

Taroh’s boot is gone from my back.

Face twisted, I turn my watery eyes around the lane. Shadows creep into the pockets of light, and through the glaze of tears, I focus on the edge of one dusty spot of light.

A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette stands over a crumpled one.

I blink once, twice, then utter a stifled sob of relief.

Yellowish hair, tugged into a rather messy bun, no shirt to cover his golden chest, but he wears wrinkled combat trousers and leather boots, and the sparse light dances off the silver blades he has strapped to his legs and biceps.

Rune stands over Taroh.

A feral instinct alights his canary eyes into something brighter than the sun rising over a field of wild daffodils. It should be beautiful, and maybe it is, but all I see is the ferocity of this dark male who shines like a light god.

Another heavy breath ribbons through me, and I slump.

I don’t bat an eye as Rune kicks out—and the toe of his boot connects so hard to Taroh’s stomach that he’s sent flipping through the air. At least a few ribs are cracked from the impact, I don’t doubt it. But I couldn’t give a fuck about Taroh and his injuries.

So I don’t bother so much as sparing him a glance as I push up onto my knees. My watery eyes are for Rune and him only as he pulls away from the opposite wall.

His gleaming eyes are lemon shavings that shine in the dark. His gaze cuts to me and holds for a beat before he steps forward.

He isn’t the male to offer his hand. Dark ones feel such little compassion or even sympathy, but he shows enough with that step.

The little I know of Rune, I sense about him that he would have stopped Taroh even if I wasn’t with Daxeel, if I was a mere a stranger on the street.

I think the same of Daxeel, too.

Samick, I have no idea. I get the feeling he would just kill anyone and everyone on the road because they are in his way.

Accepting his step as an ease, I wipe at my cheeks. “I’m either the luckiest or the unluckiest in all the Midlands,” I heave out the words with a watery sigh. “Going to Comlar by any chance?”

His mouth flattens. He looks me over, lingering on the wounds my face wears, then nods once. “It’s fortunate for you that I decided to go ahead of the others.”

Rune just watches as I struggle to my feet. He makes no move to leave me behind as I swat again at my cheeks, sniff back a snivel, and—for some vain reason I can’t understand right now—smooth out the skirt of my dress.

With a thick swallow, I fix my wavering expression on him and nod, firm. “And you’ll walk me?”

“Yes,” is all he says before he pushes into a stride, then starts up the path.

I fall into step beside him. Trickles of anxiety still ache my finger bones. I flex them as if to shake them out.

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