Page 5

I know that.

Every Tallon kid knew that before we learned how to spell our own name. But fuck, there’s something about knowing he’s chasing me that keeps me checking over my shoulder.

Fionn’s fast and he’s getting closer, relentless beneath the dead silver wash of the moon.

I wade through tall crops, pushing ahead and thinking fast. The main lane is somewhere behind me. I sprinted across the yard, then ducked through a gap in the hedge.

There should be a road nearby if I circle around. Maybe another house. Witnesses… Or people paid to keep quiet.

Fuck, there’s only darkness and sprawling land.

The next field rolls unevenly under my boots, and thorny hedges appear as thick blocks.

I swallow the panic before it rises because that makes people stupid. They scream when they should listen, freeze when they should run like hell, and beg when they should bite.

And I sure as fuck won’t beg Fionn Harrington for anything.

I veer right on instinct, and he follows. Something hot and hateful flashes under my ribs because he’s not chasing like a man trying to catch a woman.

He’s hunting me.

Ahead, there’s a stone wall stretching the breadth of the horizon. Low, old, built from gray stone slick with moss, rising out of the grass.

I throw myself at it, trying hard to climb, but the stones are slippery, and the top is higher than I thought.

On my next breath, a powerful arm clamps around my waist.

“I should be angry,” he says. “Instead, I’m impressed you made it this far.”

I twist before he can lock his hold, driving my elbow into his ribs. His breath grunts against my ear and satisfaction sparks through the adrenaline as he takes us both down.

We hit the ground in a brutal roll of mud, grass, and limbs. The air leaves my lungs in a gasp and a dull ache spreads through my shoulder.

“You almost made me work for it,” he says as his weight comes over mine, heavy but controlled, while his hand catches the back of my head to ease its fall.

“I don’t need your help, Harrington,” I hiss, squirming and shoving.

He catches one of my wrists before I can rake my nails across his face, then the other when I try to drive my fist into his throat.

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

He says it against the side of my face, breath warm through the mask, and moves before I can use my knee to lever him off.

“What would be the point in that, little wild thing?”

I try to throw my head into his face only to watch him duck, moving just in time so I headbutt his shoulder instead.

Damn, he’s too quick. I’m surprised that Alasdair's preppy son can take damage and absorb it. I always thought private school boys were wimps compared to my brothers.

“If you’re gonna fight me, do it like a man.”

My arm pulls free of him for barely a heartbeat, but it’s enough to grab the edge of the balaclava and drag it up and over his head.

Moonlight shadows one half of his face, and I suddenly wish I’d left it on him. Having Fionn above me is worse.

The mask made him simple. A threat to fight and hurt. But his face gives the danger striking features and eyes that pull me in.