Page 24 of White Horse Black Nights

I can’t sleep, and it seems to take forever before I hear Wolf’s snores from across the clearing. Once I’m certain he is deeply asleep, I call to the tiny forest mouse who’s been riding in Wolf’s rucksack since the first night, when I shared my rabbit meat with it.

Little friend, will you help now?

Ready!it answers as it pops its head out.

I hold my wrists out to the mouse, who gnaws at the rope with stalwart determination. In ten minutes, it chews through all my binds.

Onto my shoulder,I tell it.Hurry.

The mouse scampers up my sleeve and settles in beneath the shirt’s collar. I move as silently as I can toward Myst, fully aware that with Wolf’s keen hearing, even a rustle of leaves could wake him.

But it has to be tonight. I hadn’t intended to run until we passed Middleford, but since Wolf changed our route, he’s forced my hand. I can’t afford to head in the opposite direction from where Adan waits.

I climb onto a fallen log and slip onto Myst’s back. I allow myself one final look at Wolf, asleep by the fire. He looks troubled in his sleep, twitchy like he’s dreaming of a fight.

Absently, I run my hand over the sleeve of his shirt hugging my shoulder, dragging my fingers to end at my breastbone, the hollow where my godkissed birthmark rests.

I saw a different side to him tonight—but that’s just one more reason why I have to run. The last thing I need is to start caring about a beast.

Go, Myst.

It won’t be easy to evade a godkissed hunter, but I’m confident that as skilled as Wolf is, I’m cleverer. I’ve had time to study his power and think through how to evade him.

With careful, silent steps, Myst leaves the clearing behind. It isn’t until we’re half a mile away that I finally dig my heels into her sides.

Beneath my collar, the mouse clings on tight.

Now, run as fast as you can,I tell Myst.

Chapter8

Wolf

When I wake, the coals are cold. The moon cuts a jagged sliver in the black night. Judging by her lingering scent, Sabine has been gone for about two hours.

I crouch next to her blanket, examining her binds’ frayed ends, which could only be made by a set of small rodent teeth.

The hunt is on,I think.

I’ve known this was coming since the first day of the ride. It was only a matter of time before Sabine and Myst bolted to meet up with that moronic lover of hers. And I can’t deny that a dark part of me has been looking forward to this moment. The anticipation of Sabine’s escape has been like an itch prickling at my skin, hooking my interest, needling my heightened senses.

Damn, I love the chase.

My veins are already blowing up with adrenaline that throbs incessantly, demanding I chase after hernow. But I tuck that urgency away. I can’t let the thrill of the chase dull my reason. This is no simple fox hunt, and my quarry is much more precious than any deer or grouse. It complicates things that Sabine is godkissed, too. For all I know, she could send a swarm of locusts to devour the flesh from my bones.

The thought, though dark, does nothing to lessen my arousal. Hunting someone with a power rivaling my own is nothing short of intoxicating. Yet as I make quick work of selecting arrows for my bow—not to harm her, only to threaten her—momentary darkness sobers my excitement.

She left you, Wolf, a voice spits.Just like everyone leaves you.

My own parents couldn’t be bothered to claim me. Jocki only wanted me for my godkissed skills in the ring. The other street boys avoided making friends, knowing we’d eventually have to fight each other.

Can I blame Sabine for running? I’d run, too, if I were stuck with me.

A twig snaps nearby, and I banish my self-pity. Judging by the scent, it’s a doe about a hundred paces away. Ignoring it, I scan the dirt around the tree where I tied Myst.

Between the rotting leaf cover from last fall and new ferns sprouting underfoot, tracks would be impossible for most hunters to spot. But with my eyesight, Myst and Sabine might as well have painted red blazes on every tree they passed.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I stalk their path. Sabine’s lingering, sweet floral smell laces the air like perfume. I’m not concerned about their two hours head start. Myst is in good shape, but she can’t gallop all night. Neither can Sabine ride that hard on no sleep, without a saddle or even a skirt. Her bare thighs are going to be rubbed even rawer than they already are. Sooner or later, they’ll have to rest. It isn’t about speed, it’s about stamina.

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