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A clatter rose behind her.
A large hand fisted in the back of her coat.
She yelled, and with a quick twist, shed her leather jacket. He snarled. She kept going, eyes trained on the top of the wall. Ripped from their mooring, rose petals flew into freefall around her, the sweet smell spoiled by the scent of her fear.
“Oh, no you don’t,” the behemoth said, latching onto one of her ankles. “Come here, you.”
He yanked.
Truly lost her handhold.
She landed on the grass beside his hooved feet. Not wasting a second, she rolled to avoid him. She wasn’t fast enough. One second, she lay on the ground. The next, he latched on, subduing her with ease. She struggled. He reacted by tightening the stranglehold. Grasping her by the throat, he heaved her off the ground.
Chin pressed to the top of his fist, feet dangling in the air, she got her first good look at him. Twisting black horns. Umber-hued skin and angled cheekbones. Big hands with hooked claws, strong limbs, pale hazel eyes with almond-shaped pupils.
“Let go,” she rasped, kicking at his midriff with her feet. Her boots swung wide. The man-beast shook her, making her teeth rattle. “Put me down.”
He bared sharp teeth. “Shut up.”
Light footsteps echoed along the garden path. “What is it, Samarin? Another warbel?”
Samarin lifted her a bit higher. His brow crinkled, making her aware he had no eyebrows as he examined her. A look of disgust crossed his features. He glanced over his shoulder at whoever stood behind him. “A human.”
A female version Samarin blinked in confusion. “A what?”
“A thing from Earth Realm.”
“Good eating, do you think?” she asked, staring at Truly as though she hadn’t eaten in a month. “Something for the stew pot?”
Samarin shook her again.
Leaves dislodged and fell from her hair.
He tilted his head as though considering. Truly held her breath. She needed this to go her way. No way would she allow anyone to eat her. Samarin’s eyes narrowed. He studied her a second longer, then shrugged, glancing from her to his companion. “Let’s find out.”
Breath stalled in the back of her throat.
“Hang on a second!” Flailing in his grasp, Truly wrapped both hands around his wrist. She yanked, trying to loosen his hold.
Rolling his eyes, expression annoyed, Samarin dropped her. Her bootheels struck the garden path. Her backside followed with a thump. A gasp escaped her. Surprise made her slow, giving him time to re-establish a grip on one of her ankles. With a grunt, he began dragging her across the lawn toward the cottage.
Desperation took hold.
She didn’t care how hungry the pair were, she couldn’t allow it. Refused to let it happen. She had options. She had friends (sort of, if Westvane could be called a friend). All she needed to do was try to reach him.
Try.
Then, if all else failed, try again.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Truly ignored the draw of the cold, wet grass against her jeans and searched for the spark. The black expanse of her mind greeted her. She looked harder, clawing through mental fringes as Samarin dragged her closer to his back door… and his wife’s stew pot.
Terror dredged up an echo of magic. Light eked out of the darkness. Not quite a spark. More of a sputter, but she refused to complain.
She zeroed in on the source instead.
Holding an image of Montrose & Brim’s, the street, her car in its parking spot, inside her head, she aimed her magic. If she could open a door close to the shop, Westvane would be able to detect it. If he reached it, the Slayer would walk through it.
Truly wondered, a bit hysterically, if she’d lost her mind. Her unshakable belief in Westvane suggested she was spinning into uncharted territory. She didn’t care. What other choice did she have? She was no match for Samarin, or the perils that lay inside Azlandia.
