The Exile's Path

the sky casting s

ange glow of fire of the pitch torches flashed in the night sky. Constable Vance and six of the town's strongest men h

ers. In reality, they were

e tree branches. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the wooden handle. Every instinct she

the woods, b

lfless. A human girl who grinds dried herbs for twelve silver piece

d looked straight at her from the ridge with calculated, intelligent malice. If Vance and his men provoked it, the creature wouldn't just kill

ed away from

ensuring the bone-handled hunting knife moved smoothly from its leather sleeve. She had no claws. She had no fangs. She was defective, an empty vessel

s, eased the garden gate open without a

the ground was with the

of her feet, how to roll her weight forward silently, how to navigate the thick underbrush without snapping a single dry stick.

ks cracked beneath their heavy boots, canvas rustled, and the smell of their burning pitch torches carried

y were moving along the higher ridge so she

he wind

ntains, sharp and biting. But it didn't

rong, so laced with raw, suffocating dominance, that the hair on Kallia's arms stood straight up. Her ch

th, a sound behind her broke through the quiet not a

rom her boot, and sliding on her heel, slashing the steel blade in a

hand stopped he

ushing precision. With a smooth, effortless twist, the stranger wrenched the

k against the rough bark of an old tree, trap

voice murmured inches from

the hold, but she might as well ha

into the face

ood, his jaw was sharp, carved from ruthless angles, shadowed by a few days of darkness. But it was his eyes that stole

ng wave the undeniable, terrifyin

ore through her bloodstream, so hot and sharp it made her vision blur. Beneath the layers of darkness

hair, her terrified breath. A shudder ran through his massive shoulders. His grip on her wrist loosened

k with an intensity that vibrated right through the bark behind her spine. "These wo

knew what he was, and she knew he could snap her neck before she could blink. But she ha

espite the cold. "And you shouldn't be standing here wasting ti

dark amusement crossing his stern features. "Yo

flinchingly. "A bear doesn't snap a spine with a hunting twist. A bear doesn't leave the car

m his face, replaced by a

of fur, a flash of an inner beast, or a hint of scent he could place. But all he found was

shing unconsciously against the pulse point of her wrist, where her blood was galloping wildl

toward the lower ridge. "Because the wind just shi

y scream shatte