Page 7 of Rook
And the woman, Sasha, was somewhere in those woods, more vulnerable than anyone. She’d run off on her own, panic and survival instinct driving her deeper into the dark. She didn’t know what hunted her, not really.
He spared a glance for the human the slavers had murdered. Now, he was nothing more than blackened bones, dragon fire having devoured everything within him. In another few minutes, he’d just be dust. The faint, sickly-sweet smell of fat and flesh burned to nothing hung in the air. Rook pressed his lips together, jaw clenched.
Another crime to add to the slavers’ tally.
He turned away, refusing to linger. More lives were at stake than a fool who’d sold out his own kind for a handful of credits.
Rook spared one last glance down the slavers’ path, his senses straining for movement. They wouldn’t leave the planet just because they knew he was hunting them. Besides, they couldn’t leave until the planetary convergence in six days. The window for transit was narrow, dictated by the complex dance of stars and gravity wells. Until then, they were trapped there.
So was Rook, for that matter.
He listened for signs of Sasha. The woods pressed in close, shadows thickening as the last light faded. Darkness was falling, the kind of black that swallowed sound and blurred the edges of everything. The wind had died, leaving the forest heavy and silent, broken only by the distant call of an owl and the soft drip of water from branches overhead.
He summoned flame and held it before him, a pale orb hovering above his palm. The fire flickered, chasing back the dark, but it wasn’t enough. The trees hunched close, their trunks swallowing the light, and every branch seemed to move with a life of its own. He moved slowly, his boots squelching in the damp moss, eyes straining for a flash of movement, an echo of breath.
His instincts raged, screaming at him to find her. To protect her. He wasn’t sure what else.
There was a pull in his chest, sharp and insistent, that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the strange, electric awareness he’d felt from the moment she crashed into his life. His hands tightened, the flame in his palm flaring brighter.
He caught up to her at a small stream, the water rushing over smooth stones in a quiet, bubbling song. She crouched on the far bank, eyes wide and wild in the firelight. When she saw him, she jerked upright and hurled something dark his way.
Rook dodged, his body moving on instinct, but as water rained down over him, cold and sharp, soaking his collar, he realized it wasn’t a weapon.
It was a canteen. The cap clattered across the pebbles, rolling to a stop at the edge of the stream.
He squashed his fire, letting the light gutter out, and held his hands up in what he hoped was a gesture of surrender. The world snapped back to near darkness, the only illumination a thin silver band from the rising moon and the gleam of the stream at his feet.
Sasha was panting, her shirt smudged with dirt, her hair coming out of its tie in wild, tangled waves. Her cheeks were streaked with grime, and a scratch high on her jaw was bright with fresh blood. She looked wild and beautiful, as fierce as any creature he’d ever hunted.
And that was certainly not the time to notice.
His dragon didn't give a damn about timing. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. A low, electric awareness vibrated under his skin, a restless heat that made his palms itch. His eyes traced the curve of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. She was a mess, but the wildness in her eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw sent a surge of protective possessiveness through him.
“You’re one of them!” Her voice hit him like another splash of water, cold and accusatory.
“I assure you, I am not.” He took a step closer, careful to keep his hands up, palms open and empty. She held her ground, feet braced on slick river stones. Probably because another step back would put her in the stream, and he doubted she’d risk a tumble with him so close.
“You … How did you … What’s going on?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t back down. If she had another canteen, he was certain he’d be doubly soaked.
“I am sorry you have been mixed up in this,” he said. “Those men are slavers from my home planet. I am hunting them to bring them to justice.”
“Planet?” Her voice rose with disbelief. “You’re a freaking alien? But you look …” She trailed off, her eyes raking over him, searching for something otherworldly.
He would have shifted forms if he had the space or the time. He refrained from summoning fire again. She’d seen it once. She knew. She just had to get over the shock. He felt a pang at revealing his secret, but he had little other choice. Unlike the slavers, he wasn’t going to murder a witness. Who would believe her, anyway?
“You are in grave danger,” he warned. He let the words hang, heavy and honest.
She stared at him, every muscle tense. “How can I even understand you if you’re from another planet?” Her suspicion was sharp, but underneath it, he heard the tremor of fear.
He tapped a spot behind his ear, then under his throat. “I have translators. So do the fugitives. They are common for intergalactic travelers.”
“Intergalactic. Oh my god.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, fingers trembling. The moonlight caught the edge of her jaw, the scratch there dark and vivid.
He needed to keep them moving. “You are in danger,” he repeated, his voice more urgent. “Those men will either kill you or try to capture you. I give you my word as a Dragon Lord that I will not let that happen.”
She stared at him, blinking rapidly. Each breath quickened, fogging in the cool night air. “Lord? As in, what, god?”
“Do you not have lords here?” He was sure he’d read something about them on this planet, though his dossier had been scant.
