Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(18)

Cohen isn’t in sight, though. Disappointment floods me. I want to see him again. To have one more moment with my old friend before . . . and yet I shouldn’t want such things. I’m a traitor to myself. No matter what we were in the past, we are nothing now.

I slip off the horse to follow when the captain spins back. I slump against the mare’s leg, putting on a show of feeling faint. He frowns, eyes flicking to the inn door. This may be a chance to escape. Never before has he left me with a horse and no guards around—?an ideal situation.

“You stay here.” A threat laces Captain Omar’s words as he rushes inside.

Eager for an arrest, the man has left me completely unguarded. As I turn to mount the horse, an arm wraps around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides. I yelp and struggle against the strong hold.

“You didn’t think I’d let them catch me, did you?”

The familiar husky voice floods my senses. Cohen. It takes a beat to realize I’m sinking into his warm embrace instead of combating it. To remember the reason I’m here.

I shove an elbow into his gut. Heel to his foot.

His grunt breathes warmth over my cheek. “Stop moving or I’ll knock you out,” he growls against my ear. “I swear it.”

He loses his grip, freeing my elbow, which I throw back into his face. Hot blood spreads against my skin. I spin to find those hazel eyes that I haven’t seen in fifteen months flash, angry and wild. He shifts and manages to get one arm around mine, clamping my swinging limbs against my torso, while one hand smothers my mouth.

He removes his hand, and I suck in a quick breath and cry, “CAP—”

Cohen smacks a cloth over half my face, forcing me to inhale a sickly sweet scent that scorches my nostrils. Poison! I squirm, twist, buck. My lungs burn with the desperate need to take a breath.

“Shh, shh,” he’s saying as spots dance across my vision.

I gasp for air and the world tilts on its axis.

“Sorry, Dove. I didn’t want . . .” A fog hides his words.

Everything fades.





Chapter

9


I HEAR THE CRACKLE AND HISS, THOUGH I CANNOT seem to push off the weighty darkness. It’s been years since I’ve woken like this, half-asleep and conscious at the same time. Somehow I rally enough energy to pry my lids open. A blaze dances in a stone hearth. I try to look around the otherwise dark room, except my vision is spoiled with white splotches of light as dull pain hammers behind my eyes. I blink, making out a straw mattress beneath me. A table by the fireplace. One chair. Curtains over a window.

The last thing I remember was the captain . . . tracking in Fennit . . . the captain told me to stay . . . and then . . .

Cohen attacked me.

I push up against the bedding, needing to stand, and my scars smart from sleeping on my back again. The remaining scabs create the worst kind of itch that’s nearly impossible to reach on my own. Once I’ve managed to sit upright, the vertical position puts a bright burst of pain behind my eyes. An awful sound like a braying of a donkey slips from my mouth, and my fingers clutch my head. Boil me.

“The sleeping concoction leaves a nasty headache.” Cohen stands just inside the doorway.

The sight of him knocks the wind from me like the time I fell out of Papa’s walnut tree. It was ages before my lungs could fill with air—?that same aching breathlessness catches up with me now despite my horrid headache. The firelight glances off Cohen’s hair, making his messy brown strands appear sun kissed. His eyes are warm molasses sprinkled with gold dust. His pursed lips . . . The sight unhinges me. What am I doing?

I open my mouth. Close it.

Cohen crosses the room and drops into the chair an arm span away. I’m hit with the strangest compulsion to reach out to him.

“You might want to take it slow.” He props his elbows on his knees. His tunic pulls across shoulders that are broader and more muscular than they used to be. It’s not the only noticeable change. His beard is fuller, his voice deeper. Not that it matters. He killed my father.

“You put up quite a fight. Not that I expect less from you.” His hand strays toward my face. I sit motionless, staring at his fingers.

“No,” I croak. “Don’t—?don’t touch me.”

His fingers curl into his palm, and his frown looks like disappointment as he sets his hand on his lap. I should be relieved. I am.

My life for his. The deal with Lord Jamis echoes in my head, filling me with doubt and shame. Which makes little sense, considering all the evidence.

“Let me check your head,” he says.

I set my feet on the floor. “Don’t touch me. I—?I will kill you.” The words come out because I should be filled with vengeance.

He leans back in his seat. “Yeah, Dove. But not today. You’re not in any condition to do much damage to anyone. Nor will you be for another few hours. Give or take. Till then, I’ll rest easy.” He winks.

Anger fires through me. His arrogance and ease are too much. I reach for my boot where the blade is tucked against my leg and end up listing to the side.

“You’re not even standing and you’re swaying. Lie down, Dove.”

“Don’t . . . don’t tell me what to do. And don’t call me that!” My voice rises and the hammer in my skull pounds faster. I let my hair fall in my face to hide my grimace.