White Horse Black Nights (The Godkissed Bride, #1)(21)

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.





Chapter 8





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 her now. 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.

Myst’s hoof prints lead me on a series of switchbacks to the main road, where her pace changes to a gallop. I follow for a few hundred paces, sensing from the slightly hesitant prints that this is a deception. And sure enough, the trail soon veers off the road back into the forest.

Clever devils.

They wanted me to think they hit the road and kept going to Middleford.

The creaks and scuffs of the forest snap in my ears, awakening my already-heightened sense until the influx of stimulus is almost painful. I appreciate that Sabine has some subterfuge in her. It will serve her well at Sorsha Hall, where cunning is necessary for survival.

I eventually track their path to a stream, where Myst’s hoof prints disappear. There’s no way to follow her tracks in water visually, but Sabine’s scent still hangs in the air. My boots splash over river rocks as I follow the barely-there aroma of violets.

I’m impressed Sabine knows to double back and ride in a stream. But it doesn’t matter. Her evasions would stop a hunting dog, but not me. The truth is, such tactics would be rudimentary, even laughable among hunters, and yet I’m not laughing. Sabine has never trained as a hunter. She’s spent most of her life within a single convent’s stone walls. So how the hell did she figure this out?

She’s even cleverer than I suspected, and so damn determined. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to take any pity on her when she’s mine again.

I will get her to Sorsha Hall.

Though, as I track her and Myst over the next few hours, I start to worry about what comes next once we reach Lord Rian’s home. Sorsha Hall can be a lawless place. No clear-headed individual would dare touch Lord Rian’s bride, but Valvere revelries make wise men foolish. Drunk, dazed, and stupid, some few foolhardy men might set their eyes on Sabine.

Rian will need a bodyguard for Sabine, and it’s imperative that it’s someone he trusts. He decided I was the only one loyal enough to bring her to Duren safely, so why not continue the service? He can find another lead huntsman to replace me. Hunters are as common as whores—maybe not as skilled as me, but perfectly capable of bagging dinner for the Valveres. I’ll need to take some time to investigate the border wall, but that won’t take me away from Sabine for long.

Sabine will never agree. She hates you. She’s going to hate you even more when you catch her.