Prince of Cats - Tasha Black Page 0,19

saved our asses.”

“So then it’s my turn next time,” he said with a wry smile. “And not all problems can be solved with a bow.”

“Sounds like something someone with no bow would say.”

She smiled and sunlight burst through the clouds in his heart.

They travelled on for the rest of the day, taking breaks when they needed, and not pushing too hard.

By the evening, he knew they had to be close. The landscape was full of Autumn glory now. The trees shone bright with scarlet and gold.

Piper walked beside him without complaint.

He had always thought of humans as weak creatures, but this one was strong. The baby was heavy, yet she carried him and herself with such dignity, never asking for a break for herself, but only when it was time to feed the child.

“We should be close,” he told her quietly.

She nodded, looking thoughtful.

He was about to ask what she was thinking, when the breeze carried a scent to his inner cat.

He snapped his head back to the horizon.

Two figures had appeared in the distance. They were wearing Autumn Court livery. A rescue party, as he’d expected.

Although that wasn’t the scent that had caught his attention.

He was probably weary from the journey.

“My men,” he said, waving to them. “They’ll get us back in no time.”

Piper shaded her eyes with her hand.

“How can you tell who they are?” she asked. “They’re so far away.”

“It’s their clothing,” he explained, as they walked. “The pale brown leathers with red markings are the Autumn Court livery.”

She nodded.

The breeze changed and he scented it again, the same whiff of brimstone he’d thought he tasted before.

“Wait,” he told her, putting an arm in front of her.

She froze in place.

He closed his eyes and allowed the lynx closer to the surface.

Instantly, he was drowning in the repugnant scent of some kind of dog.

No. Not just any kind of canine. He knew that scent.

His eyes popped open and he gazed at the horizon in horror.

“Killian?” Piper murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“Run,” he breathed.

14

Piper

“What is it?” Piper asked, fear creeping into her voice.

What kind of creature could possibly make Killian so upset? He hadn’t reacted like this when a giant boar had been charging them.

“A hellhound,” he snapped, “Now move.”

He grabbed her arm and dragged her back in the direction from which they had come.

Piper ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

But with the baby in her arms, she knew they could not outrun the men and the hound that barreled toward them across the plain.

Killian half-carried her up a rocky ridge.

When they reached the top, she dug her heels in.

“Piper,” he panted. “Please. We need to keep moving.”

“Wait,” she said. “Hold the baby.”

He took his son and watched her as she pulled her bow off her back and grabbed an arrow.

“Piper, I don’t think that will work,” he said.

“Neither will running,” she said in a grim voice, her eyes on the plain.

The men and the hound were close enough she could see their faces now. One of the men wore an eyepatch. The other was dressed in dungarees with a suit jacket.

Both were red-faced and panting, wearing furious expressions.

But their anger paled next to the fury of the hellhound.

The beast showed no sign of tiring. Its muscular body seemed built for covering long distances quickly. Sleek fur and muscles stretched and contracted in continuous motion, carrying it closer and closer with each long stride.

Its ears were flat against the broad head that narrowed to a long snout that seemed almost too delicate to house the rows of razor-sharp teeth visible in its horrible smile.

One shot, Piper, she told herself. Make it count.

She drew the bow and focused her breathing, slowing her heartbeat before releasing the bolt.

She’d done well with the boar. She could do it again.

She loosed the shot and the arrow sailed out, whistling through the air, deadly in its accuracy. She could tell from the moment it left the bow that it was a perfect shot.

The hound barreled forward as if anxious to meet its death.

Beside her, Killian sucked in a breath, like he knew exactly where the shot was headed as well.

The bolt hit the hound in the center of its chest, the perfect placement to skewer its raging heart.

And it bounced off, careening away harmlessly, like the beast was made of diamond, instead of flesh and blood.

The ghoulish creature shook itself as if it had just taken a pleasant swim, and continued hurtling itself forward at a frantic pace.

“Holy hell,” Piper murmured.

“Come on,” Killian