Vengeance of the Hunter by Angela Highland Read Free Book Online Page B

in, valannè , quick as you can.”
    That took doing, for the horses were tired and skittish, balking at their riders asking them to step straight into a hillside. Morrigh was the worst of the three, and only when Julian roused at Faanshi’s side, just enough to call out hoarse assurances, did the stallion subside enough for the elves to lead him into their hiding place.
    Yet that brief show of energy cost the Rook. He sagged hard against Faanshi, leaving her to hold him up as best she could as she guided him into the cave in the horses’ wake. Within, she found space enough to surprise her, though in truth she could not bring herself to care whether their haven was cramped or as spacious as a palace. She made it as far as one of the cold, dry walls before the assassin crumpled, with nary a warning or sound.
    “Julian!” Faanshi caught him before his head struck earth or stone, though his weight pushed her down along with him. Yet he hadn’t fainted; he flinched in her grasp and gave her that same strange, uneasy look she’d seen before. It wrenched her. Conscious of the tension in his frame yet loath to let him go, she pleaded, “Please don’t be scared of me. I don’t think I could bear it.”
    Around them Alarrah and Kirinil were still in motion, the one stripping gear from the horses, the other pacing down the length of the cave. What her teacher sought, Faanshi didn’t know. All her attention remained on the man she held, and only when he finally met her eyes did she relax enough to remember to breathe.
    But oh, he looked different indeed, with two eyes rather than one struggling to focus upon her. The hand that lay limp across his chest was just as great a change, in shape much akin to its mate yet slightly paler of hue. In trepidation Faanshi reached forward to clasp it in hers, and drew in a breath at the contact. He had new skin there, soft as a child’s, untouched by even the faint traces of sun that browned his face.
    There were subtler changes too. Almost vanished was the scarring around his right eye, and a thin streak of white she couldn’t recall seeing before cut through the dark brow above it. White, too, were a few scattered strands mixed in with the black of his hair.
    All in all, she could barely recognize him as the man who’d saved her from the Duke of Shalridan.
    “I’m sorry,” he said at last. His new hand lifted, and he studied his fingers warily before raising them at last to rub at both his eyes. “I hadn’t expected to wake up to this.”
    “Did you expect to wake up at all?” Alarrah stepped close enough to remind Faanshi of her presence. The healer had liberated a blanket from their gear, and she spread it out over the two of them, adding to her, “Stay put. You’ve done well tonight.”
    Grateful for the warmth of the wool, more grateful still for the chance to lie back against the wall, Faanshi murmured her thanks. She would have lost herself in slumber in that instant if Julian hadn’t asked, low and rough, “Are you all right?”
    He’d ignored Alarrah’s query, though he accepted the blanket’s warmth readily enough, shifting beneath it toward Faanshi. In what felt almost like approval her magic rippled out to welcome him, and it seemed inevitable that her arms would follow suit. “I’m well.” That her power felt it had more work to do wearied her all over again, yet all she could think of was his head against her breast, his closeness, his scent flavoring each breath she took.
    All at once, tears prickled in her eyes. The heat returned to her cheeks, and her throat grew tight so that she wasn’t at all certain she could speak. But none of it mattered. By Djashtet’s mercy and grace, Julian lived. Her fingertips found his temple, where his flesh spoke to her of pain that she could soothe. Willingly she let the magic trickle through him as it wished.
    Alarrah went still before her, but only for a moment. Her hands came to Faanshi’s shoulders to let her own