Mark of Love (Love Mark #3) - Linda Kage Page 0,27

weaponless, I blinked, not prepared for him to unarm me so easily.

Dammit. That wasn’t fair at all.

Then he dropped his own blade and snagged my wrist.

I gasped at the contact. He was so fast, though; I didn’t even have time to struggle before he drew me forward and turned my hand over, palm facing up, so he could reveal the underside of my forearm.

My tattoo stood out stark and distinct against the paleness of my flesh. There was no denying its existence.

I bore the mark.

I was a Graykey.

“No,” he rasped, his mouth falling open and eyes widening with horror.

He dropped my arm as if I were diseased—or cursed—and then he tripped backward away from me, his gaze lifting to my face as if I’d betrayed him in the most forbidden and sacrilegious way possible.

“But you can’t be,” he repeated, shaking his head insistently. “How is this possible?”

Something wasn’t right here. If he hadn’t known I was a Graykey—and he clearly hadn’t—then why had he been pursuing me so persistently?

Now wasn’t the time to question it, though. I’d caught him off guard completely by my revelation; this was the best chance I had to defeat him.

Surging forward and striking like a cobra, I grasped his shoulders and simultaneously hiked my knee up, catching him right between the legs.

He sucked in a breath, froze for half a breath as he clutched himself, then he toppled to the side, wincing as he landed on his shoulder in the dirt.

“There’s the money shot,” he gasped, his face contorting in pain as he curled into a ball and tried to look up at me as he cringed. “Well done, my lady.”

“Thank you.” I nodded over his praise before swinging out and knocking the blunt edge of my sword’s hilt against the top of his head.

He grunted before falling unconscious, shoulder first to the ground on his side, where his body went limp and half his face slammed ungracefully into the dirt.

“Damn,” I panted out, bending at the waist to rest my hands on my knees.

Finally. Thank God that was over.

But what the hell was I supposed to do with him now? I blinked at the man sprawled before me, his back facing me, and a new fear clutched my gut.

I couldn’t just let him live. He’d been able to track me for a solid week, and it didn’t matter what disguise I wore; he’d been able to find me again every time. That meant he could in the future, too. If I didn’t kill him now, he could always pursue me, which also meant I’d have no peace, no sense of security, no rest. I’d just be constantly running. More so than I did now.

If I only knew how he’d been tracking me—and why—maybe I could still fix this.

But if he’d had no idea I was a Graykey—

You know what? The why didn’t matter. I didn’t care about his mission or goals. They meant nothing to me. He’d probably been lying anyway. And I just wanted him off my trail.

If a glamour couldn’t divert him, he must have a vial of blood from one of my family members, I finally decided, and he was able to track me that way. No idea how he could’ve gotten that, but I couldn’t come up with any other explanation.

So, really, all I had to do was find that vial, destroy it, and then he’d never be able to follow me again. Problem solved. Plus, I wouldn’t have to kill anyone today, either.

Double bonus.

Except the idea of searching him sent a flutter through me that made me pause. I’d have to touch him, all over, patting around inside his clothes and against naked skin to find the vial.

He was a little too handsome to be doing all that to, at least for my peace of mind. Heat collected under my own clothes. I’m not sure why his features made any difference in the grand scheme of things. But it definitely made everything feel so much more intimate to me.

I found myself focusing on the rounded curves of his ass and how perfectly his dark trousers cupped the tight globes.

The insides of my thighs tingled, and my breasts suddenly felt heavier as I imagined my palm flush against the silken yet hard flesh of his buttocks and slipping over the delectable hills, before heading up that strong back to trace every bump and dip in his spine, until—

“Good God.” Gulping, I glanced away, then circled to the other side of