Gandrett bared her teeth at the thought and grabbed a second arrow with her free hand, watching the wolf prowl toward her, claws sharp as needles piercing deep into the mossy ground with each step it took.
“You don’t have anything better to do, do you?” she snarled, readying the arrows to ram them into the beast’s chest or neck should it attack.
The wolf stared back at her, growling again as it studied its prey. Easy prey, too easy.
Then it leaped off the ground, a gray thunderstorm, coming at her. And Gandrett braced herself for the impact of claws and teeth.
That wasn’t how he’d planned things. Not like that.
Nehelon leashed his rage and unleashed his magic as he heard the deadly growl through the forest. He didn’t need the birds to tell him what was happening even though he had instructed a few to follow Gandrett through the woods, to alert him if things went wrong.
They had. He could feel it in his very core as the forest shuddered with her scream—
And Denderlain’s horses and hounds were nowhere near her. If he didn’t react, she might die.
How he wished he’d had time to pick a wolf and tame it so he could order it to protect Gandrett rather than let a random one eat her alive. But that took time. The wilder, the more predatory the animal, the more difficult.
Tendrils of power probed their path through the tree branches and roots until he found her, too far away to draw his sword and strike the wolf down, but he made the closest willow grow some branches that put a leash on the beast so he could at least pause it until his arrival.
The wolf struggled under his power. He didn’t need to see it to feel the wild energy, the fury of the predator. It was a fully-grown male, ready to sink its teeth into the girl he needed to save his world.
So Nehelon ran. He ran like the wind, commanding the latter to carry her scent toward him, to tell him if she was alive. Until he could hear her heartbeat, slow and weak instead of thrumming of fear as he’d been expecting.
When he broke through the thicket, the wolf was growling in his prison of willow rods, some curling around its flanks and haunches, some around his neck and maw.
“I’m sorry, friend,” he said to the wolf as he scanned the area for Gandrett, “but this woman is not meant to be your meal.”
He spotted her near a tree trunk, chest moving with slow, labored breaths, her gold-flecked eyes hidden behind her lids.
“Gandrett.” He was on his knees beside her, his own heart uncertain of whether to gallop at the pace of panic at her motionless form or the pace of quiet relief at her flat breath and remaining heartbeat. “Open your eyes.”
She didn’t respond. Neither did she open her eyes or twitch, nor did the rhythm of her heart change. Unconscious, he diagnosed and sniffed. The iron tang of blood filled the air, and when he scanned the scene, he found a spot of crimson blood at the bark of the tree behind her.
And a matching spot on the side of her head.
Nehelon cursed violently. What had he been thinking? He should have stayed closer.
His hand reached for hers, squeezing gently.
No response.
His free hand reached for her chest, checking if the knife was still there and careful that the knife was the only thing he touched. It was there—resting solid and lethal between her breasts. He swallowed at the thought and turned his attention to her thigh where, without lifting her skirts, he could tell that the dagger was still strapped and sheathed.
He should have listened to her, should have given her a hunting knife to protect herself from the wolf. His mind had been set on Denderlain and Denderlain only. That she’d need protection from him, but from the wolf—
“I’m so sorry,” he breathed as he studied her shape, stroking over her forehead with one hand before he rested it there, ready to heal her. Just enough to be certain she’d survive the attack. It was a miracle the wolf hadn’t shredded her apart with its claws. He scanned her body for more wounds, scratches he had missed, and when he found none—only a half-torn sleeve—he let his magic flow into her. In the background, the wolf continued his growls.
It tingled in his fingers when he touched her with his power. A sensation that slowly spread through his hands, his arms, and ventured into his chest where it lingered for a long moment until he let go as her scalp knitted itself together enough so he was convinced she would wake up again.
“I am so sorry, Gandrett,” he repeated. And as he drank in her slender shape, her waist so small his hands might fit around it if he dared hold her, he sat back on his legs, knowing that this might be the last time he saw her. She had promised she’d return with Joshua so she could see her family again. Not for him. She hadn’t promised that. And it had torn him apart, still was tearing him apart that she couldn’t give him that little. He would never ask anything of her. Never demand. Not the way the men in this world did. For his world—the world of a different time, of a kingdom that was unscathed—no longer existed. Unless she made it back to him.
“If you can’t promise me,” he leaned down, bracing one hand beside her head, the other one brushing along her temple, “I promise I will make sure you make it back in one piece.” He studied her face. The thick rim of lashes, which were two dark half-moons against her sun-kissed skin, her lips pale from fright and unconsciousness. “Back to me.” And he closed that gap between them, brushing his lips against hers ever so slightly. Just to feel what it could be like if he had a choice—even if Vala would damn him for this.
He lingered. A moment. Two. Even the wolf had gone silent ensnared in the willow branches.
And it was one moment too long.
Her mouth opened, not for him but to suck in a breath as she opened her eyes and found him so close. Too close.
He pulled back enough to let her sit up, but she remained on the ground, eyes shuttering as if she wasn’t certain she was dreaming, her expression dazed. But no word rose from her lips though the color returned to them with every breath she took anew.
He wanted to tell her, wanted her to know that she was the key. That he needed her. And that this had never been meant to happen.
But the whinny of horses and howling of hounds closing in stopped him dead before he could even find the words to say it.
They were coming. Denderlain and his hunting party. And it was time for Nehelon to leave.
So he squeezed her hand once before he got to his feet. “Don’t forget I promised.”
With those words, he freed the wolf and vanished into the thicket.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The trampling of hooves, too many of them, too close, and excited barks woke her. And there were voices—
Gandrett blinked her eyes open to find Lim’s black eyes gazing down at her as if to inquire if she was all right.
In response, she groaned, alerting the riders of the other horses and their hounds alike.
“Are you hurt, Miss?” a middle-aged man asked as he slid down his horse. “Did it get you?”
Gandrett tried to shake her head but found the throbbing too painful. So she just blinked.
What happened? She remembered the cracking sound of a whip that had followed the wolf as it had launched itself toward her. She had tumbled back to escape the beast and positioned her arrows before her chest, bracing herself to pierce it in whatever way she could. But something had swirled the animal to the side, making its shoulder hit her rather than its claws and teeth. Instead, the impact had propelled her into the nearest tree trunk at which’s roots she was now sprawled.