Page 24 of Embers in the Snow

I’ll mow him down if I have to. There’s no way I’m stopping for this man—whateverhe is.

For a moment, I think about galloping off into the woods, but the snow is thick on either side, and it would just slow us down. Besides, it would be so easy to get lost and disorientated in there, and I might not find my way back to safety before nightfall.

That would mean certain death, for both me and the boys.

I kick my horse’s sides, urging him to go faster,faster.Go!I won’t stop until we reach the safety of Tyron Castle’s stone walls.

But as he nears the strange man, my horse betrays me.

A great shudder courses through the creature. He lets out a whinny of pure panic and rears, throwing me off-balance.

I try to hold on, but the force and the shock is too great, and I’m thrown backwards out of the saddle.

I cry out in despair as I tumble, anticipating terrible pain as I hit the cold ground below.

But I never land.

Becausehe’sthere, right beside me, catching me in powerful arms, and it happens so fast—hemovesso unnaturally fast—that I can’t do a thing as he sets me on my feet and runs his trembling fingers across my cheek, inhaling deeply.

As if he’ssavoringme.

And his eyes are crimson embers, contrasting with his pale cheekbones and brow, giving off a faint glow that’s definitely unnatural.

He’s a monster, just like the wolves that devoured my escort.

Even though I know it’s futile, I try to squirm; to wrench myself out of his grasp, but he’s demonically strong, and he pulls my arms behind my back, encircling both of my wrists with a single hand.

I kick his shins, but I only end up hurting my foot in the process. His body feels like it’s made of steel. I try and bring my knee up—to kick him where it hurts the most—but his other hand clamps across my thigh, and I’m perfectly powerless against his inhuman strength.

Paralyzed with fear, I stare up into his eyes.

His irises are pure red; the color of fresh blood. I wasn’t mistaken. They reallydoemit an unearthly kind of glow, as if his soul has been consumed by arcane magic.

His skin is smooth and perfect, like an alabaster statue. His brows are the same shade of white as his hair.

“Please,” I whisper, hoping that this creature possesses even a sliver of mercy. “Don’t.”

He lowers his face, pressing his lips against my neck. Through the soft material of his scarf, his lips are warm. He inhales deeply.

He’s trembling.

A low rumble emanates from deep inside his chest.

Agrowl.

Suddenly, the thin strip of cloth separating his lips from my bare skin is gone.

I feel them pressing against my neck, and I can’t move.

Hislips!

I can’t do a thing.

I’m a rabbit, caught in a wolf’s thrall.

I am prey.

Something hard and sharp pierces my skin.

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