Page 44 of The Blood that Binds Us

“The horses are winded—we can stop at the next river.”

“No time,” he grumbles under his breath.

I run my hand along my mare’s neck and give her a few gentle pats. She whinnies in response, but the sound is strained. “If we don’t break them for water and rest, they’ll collapse, and then none of us are making it back before the storm. We’re stopping.”

“They’re bred for endurance—they’ll be fine,” he snips back as if empathy for the steeds is nothing but a nuisance.

“Your compassion for the comfort and lives of others is inspiring, Your Grace. Truly.”

As if on cue, rushing water burbles in our ears from the woods at our right. I tug on the reins and steer the mare towards the running water, and she changes direction eagerly.

“Get back on the road,witch.”

I ignore him, and he curses under his breath behind me.

“If you are foolish enough to stop with that storm brewing on the horizon, I will not have an ounce of regret leaving you here to wilt in the woods.”

“Likewise, Your Grace. Don’t expect me to stop when I pass your sorry ass on the road next to your collapsed horse,” I call over my shoulder.

A stream of obscenities chase after me, but I ignore them all, my mare and I ducking into the tree line.

She eagerly laps at the water as I rummage through the saddle bag and pull out some apples I stowed away for her. I scoop my canteen into the river, down the entire contents, then fill it again and tuck it away for later. Dropping to my knees, I lean forward and splash water onto my face and rub vigorous circles on my cheeks, ridding my skin of the collected dirt and sweat.

My lungs turn to ice.

I want to believe it’s from the frigid water I dumped into my belly too quickly, but the hairs standing on the back of my neck warns me otherwise. I jump to my feet, swiping the dagger from my thigh and spinning around, ready to drive it into the gut of whoever pussyfoots behind me.

A hand vices around my wrist, halting the blade mid-swing.

“For someone who faults me for lacking compassion, you certainly have an affinity for violence, little witch.” Sin releases my hand, apparently confident I’m not going to thrust it through his chest.

Foolish man.

I push past him, feed my horse the plump red apples, and pull out a few more for Sin’s steed while he refills his canteen in the river.

“I was quite content to wilt alone, Blackheart.” I scratch Sin’s dark brown horse under his chin, and he nods his large head in approval.

“The only reason I came back was because you have demonstrated a pattern of luring in Legion soldiers, and I’m not in the mood to grind Legion skulls into dust today.”

“Or feed me their innards?” I ask, throwing his words from the Rut back at him. I’m still furious with him for throwing himself between me and Marcus like I was a doll being played with too roughly. But I would be lying to myself if it didn’t stoke a different feeling in me too—one more complicated and far more dangerous than fury—watching the Black Art threaten someone in my honor.

But I wouldn’t dream of letting him know that.

“Keep defying orders, and it will beyourinnards I leave for the vultures.”

I move to the side of his horse, offering a few pats and adjusting his saddle bag. “Charming as ever, Your Grace. Pray tell—do you engage all your prisoners in such meaningful conversation?”

He splashes water on his face and runs his wet hands through his long hair, the backs of his shoulders pulled tight under his fitted black shirt.Does he have all his clothes tailored a size too small to show off his muscular physique?Knowing the Black Art’s taste for arrogance, it would not surprise me.

“I think we’d both be more content if you refrained from opening your mouth at all, little—”

Thunder claps above us like two boulders hurtling into one another. But even that’s not loud enough to mask the breath that whooshes from my lips as Sin’s horse plants a hoof into my rib cage. I’m on the ground a second later, my hand pressed to my left side, my ears barely recognizing the sound of both horses fleeing as the thunder quakes the ground and lightning strikes close by.

He's on me immediately, prying my hand away to assess the damage. At least that’s what I think he’s doing. Maybe he’s using my vulnerability to shove his sword through my chest instead.

“Shh, Wren, it’s okay. I have you, I have you.”

For a second, I wonder why he’s shushing me, and then I realize those strangled whimpers I’m hearing are falling frommylips. Sliding a hand under my knees and another under my shoulders, Sin lifts me off the ground in one gentle sweep. I don’t protest. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

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