A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,41

took a step towards the tent, then another, and another, her spear-point coming down, levelled in front of her.

Drem shifted the grip on his javelin, slow and steady.

Just like hunting. Wait for the moment, then stand and throw. One move.

The half-breed was a dozen paces from their makeshift camp, and by now she must be able to see the shadowed outline of a figure inside the tent, a bulge pressed up against the fabric. Little did she know that it was a branch wrapped in a cloak. Drem remembered the rush of pride he’d felt at Cullen’s praise for this trap. The bait, the lure, the hides, all Drem’s idea, drawn from his hunting skills. It had just been obvious to him, what he thought anyone would have thought of.

Nevertheless, Cullen had been impressed and, as Drem was finding out about the red-haired warrior, he had not been reticent about verbalizing how he felt.

Five paces from the tent, the half-breed started to raise her spear, preparing for a stab at the shape in the fabric.

When she lunges is the moment. A few more paces and she’ll be perfectly placed for both of us. Almost there.

And then with an explosion of undergrowth Cullen burst from his hide and hurled his javelin.

No!

The half-breed leaped, no frozen moment, no fight-or-flight hesitation from her, just instant kinetic motion. Upwards, a short beat of her wings giving her extra height, her head brushing the canopy above her, where she hovered as Cullen’s javelin hissed harmlessly beneath her.

Cullen was already running at her, his sword grating from its scabbard.

The half-breed drew back her spear-arm.

He’s too far away, she’s going to skewer him like a charging boar.

Drem crashed out of his hide, to the half-breed’s left, making far more noise than he ever had before. Intentionally.

Her head turned towards him, a snarl twisting her features as she recognized him. Her wings moved, shifting her in the air, and in a heartbeat her spear was hurtling at him instead of Cullen, the half-breed bursting into flight behind it, straight at him.

Drem dived to his right. The forest litter was thick and spongy with fallen pine needles, the spring in it helping him to roll to his knees as the half-breed’s spear slammed into a tree trunk that had been immediately behind him.

Drem hurled his javelin, the half-breed throwing herself to the side, swerving but not breaking her flying charge at him. Drem’s weapon pierced a leathery wing but passed through it with no apparent effect, other than a small tattered hole in the wing.

Drem grabbed for the hilt of his seax, and then she was slamming into him, her shoulder punching into his belly, lifting him bodily from the ground, both of them flying through the air. Drem crunched into a tree, stars exploding in his vision, air expelled from his lungs, hot lines of pain opening up across his back as the claw wounds from the Feral burst open. The half-breed wrapped a fist around his throat, holding him upright, squeezing.

Drem’s vision swam, his hand fumbling for his seax, finding the bone hilt, drawing and slashing in the same move, cutting across the half-breed’s vest, slicing through leather and the fur lining beneath, through the linen under-tunic, and into flesh.

The half-breed flung herself backwards, a grunt of pain, a long diagonal line welling blood across her chest.

A whistle of air and she was ducking, turning as Cullen’s sword slashed through air, grazing her wing.

She reeled away, backhanded Cullen in the mouth, sending him staggering to one knee, and she stepped forwards, punched him in the temple, knocked him sprawling to the ground.

Drem pushed away from the tree and slashed at her again, drawing red across her back, cut the base where one wing met her back muscle. She cried out, stumbling forwards, regained her balance and ran, wings snapping wide; a beat, and she was lifting from the ground.

Drem chased after her.

The half-breed rose, swaying in the air, lost altitude, her feet grazing the ground, still running, wings trying to lift her again.

I’ve damaged her wing.

Drem increased his speed. He was tall, muscular and strong, but he had long legs and was unusually fast for someone so heavy. He gained on the wounded half-breed. She flew low to the ground, hindered by the low branches of the pine trees. Drem’s legs and arms pumping, drawing closer, thirty paces behind her, twenty, ten. And then she burst out from the trees into open air, the river wide and