“I’m ready,” Kazim said, vines writhing around his feet. “Tareek . . . land as close to me as you can. I’ll try to keep her from dragging you out of the sky.”
Try. Not the most inspiring word.
Tareek nodded anyway. Despite past experience and his disquiet, cowardice wasn’t an option. Ever. So instead of banking hard and flying away, he sliced through the thin clouds, descending another hundred feet to set up his approach. The Limwoods hissed in warning. Kazim murmured his reassurance. Tareek held his breath and, painting an invisible target on the rocky ground at the assassin’s feet, tucked his winds in tight. Gravity took hold, yanking him out of the night sky. The ground rose to meet him. Deadly vines snapped skyward, shooting above the treetops. Frigid air burning across his scales, Tareek counted off the seconds. Three . . . two . . .
One!
Tareek shifted from dragon to human form and tucked into a somersault. Smaller equaled better right now. And creating a diversion? Well now, that equaled an excellent plan. If the Limwoods couldn’t find him in the chilly swirl, the greater his chances of reaching the ground in one piece. Free-falling fast, he conjured clothes and flipped into another revolution. The forest hissed. Vines whiplashed, slicing above and below him. One mind-torqueing turn spun into more and—
Slam-bang. His feet rammed into stone.
The hard landing sent his knees rebounding into the wall of his chest. Bone cracked against bone. Air rushed from his lungs and pain struck, decimating rational thought as he doubled over. As he wheezed, struggling to breathe, the Limwoods rose with predatory intent. Crouched in a ball, Tareek listed to one side, knocking into Kazim’s legs.
Creepers curled around his forearms, Kazim widened his stance, supporting his sideways slide. “Stay still, Tareek.”
Excellent advice. Music to his ears. Especially since he couldn’t catch his breath, never mind move. Which meant Kazim better think fast and work smart. Otherwise the Limwoods would strike and he wouldn’t stand a chance. But as the thought circled and worry expanded, something miraculous happened. The vines withdrew, releasing the assassin one tendril at a time before retreating toward the edge of the dell.
Exhaling long and slow, Kazim raised his head. Eyes as dark as midnight met Tareek’s. A moment later, the Persian’s mouth curved. “One beast tamed. One scaly arse saved.”
Levity lived in the words. The kind of teasing designed to do one thing: lessen the tension and break the stranglehold of unease. Normally, Tareek would’ve appreciated the effort. But not right now. The frivolity didn’t belong. Hristos, that had been close. Far too close. And as the wind picked up and storm clouds rolled in to hide the moon, deepening the night shadow, Tareek fisted his hands to keep them from shaking.
God-awful memory. It refused to let him go.
“My thanks, Kazim,” he whispered, forcing air into his lungs, giving the assassin his due. ’Twas only fair. The male deserved the praise. As much as Tareek could throw his way. Sure, Kazim might like to tease, but the assassin was solid when it counted. “I owe you a—”
“Nay, do not.” Kazim shook his head and held out his hand. Tareek hesitated a moment, then took it, allowing the male to pull him to his feet. “We’re family now, remember? Brothers look after one another, fratele.”
Unable to find his voice, Tareek nodded.
Kazim slapped him on the shoulder. “Better?”
“All good,” he said, even though it wasn’t true. At least, not yet. Mayhap in a minute or two when the tension cramping his muscles loosened. Night vision pinpoint sharp, Tareek glanced toward the forest’s edge. Magic coalesced into an entity, staring out of the darkness. Revulsion shivered through him. He swallowed the bad taste in his mouth. Well, so much for hoping for a moment of relaxation. Loosening up wasn’t possible inside the enchanted forest. “How long do we need to be here?”
“A while.” Frozen leaves crackled as Henrik walked his warhorse forward. Hazel-gold eyes met Tareek’s a moment before his friend tipped his chin, sending a silent inquiry. One that asked “you all right?” without him saying a word. “Enough time to rest and regroup.”
The undertone put Tareek on high alert. His gaze narrowed on Henrik as suspicion rose out of experience. He swallowed a snort. Wee whelp. Rest and regroup, his arse. The male was up to something. Something important. Something he wanted to hide from the others. Tareek could tell. Aye, Henrik looked calm enough, but Tareek knew he churned beneath the surface. He detected the upheaval in his emotional grid. Understood the doubt, dread, and pain that drove his friend.
Even as a lad, he’d been that way—reckless and volatile. Passionate as well, far too intense for his own good.
Which meant Tareek had work to do. Cracking through the male’s guard wouldn’t be easy. Nor could he do it here, in plain view of his fellow assassins. Respect deserved its day, and caring equal measure. No way would he challenge Henrik in front of the others. If he tried, the whelp would dig in and he wouldn’t learn a thing.
Certainly not enough to help with whatever Henrik had planned.
Rolling his shoulders to combat the tension, Tareek strode across the low bluff. With a hop, he leapt off the edge. Icy turf crunched beneath his soles as he touched down in front of Henrik. “Got a spot to rest in mind?”
Henrik nodded. “A cottage. Three, mayhap four, hours from here.”
Interesting. The information, sure, but mostly Henrik’s knowledge of the Limwoods. How the hell had his friend come by it? Good question. Particularly since he knew Henrik had never been inside the forest before. Hmm . . . another mystery to solve. One that fed into an even larger one. Sidestepping, Tareek came alongside his friend and—
Jesus.
He blinked, realizing two things at once. The first? Henrik wasn’t alone atop his horse. And the second? He really needed to pay more attention. No way he should’ve missed the small form in Henrik’s arms. Or the strong female energy surrounding his friend. Leaning right, he peered around the curve of the hood covering her head. A ringlet of red hair peeked out, looking lush and thick against her smooth skin. Fast asleep, auburn lashes made half-moons against her pale cheeks and . . . ah hell. Here they went again. Despite his rough beginning—and the fact he’d never been accepted by the fairer sex inside White Temple—Henrik loved women.
Evidence of it pervaded the male’s life.
Especially while visiting Ismal, the marketplace nestled at the foot of the Carpathians.
Females threw themselves at Henrik. Not surprising. Most women coveted a strong male. And Henrik? Hell, he had it all—good looks, a menacing vibe, and more charisma than any male ought to possess. But ’twas his reputation more than anything that made him so popular. Generous to a fault, skilled in the sexual arena, he liked to take his time with a female. His renown preceded him wherever he went. Females talked and word spread quickly, giving rise to the rumors . . .
Go to bed with Henrik. Never leave unsatisfied.
Normally the axiom wasn’t a problem for Tareek. The lad deserved his fun, after all. But as suspicion opened the door to possibility, his instincts served up the facts. His friend wanted the female sharing his saddle. Tareek smelled it on him—the yearning, the need, the desire for closeness that brought most males low. Unprecedented. Unsettling. Troublesome too. Henrik wasn’t prone to entanglements of any kind. He liked to play, not commit. But as his gaze met and held his friend’s, the truth couldn’t be denied. Henrik was wildly attracted to her. Was already invested in her well-being. Which meant he was going to get burned in a big way, ’cause . . .