her father’s medallion around her neck, Lizzan should be able to hold fast.
She only needed to defend until they tired themselves out. “Back away,” she told the blacksmith. “Back away now.”
Then her stomach lurched, for always she saw Aerax. And always he saw her, though he was still distant enough that this might not become a slaughter. If she could get away before the blacksmith’s attack came. For if he saw that, no hope would there be for these villagers.
Instantly her plan changed to escape. Pivoting, she sprang toward her gelding, intending to swing into the saddle and set him immediately to a gallop. Instead a furious cry rang out. A hard blow between her shoulders slammed Lizzan forward, sending her sprawling into the stableyard muck.
Stunned, she stared down at her hands, wrist-deep in the mud. The heavy plop of the axe into the nearby muck told her what had happened—the blacksmith had thrown the weapon. And hit her. If not for her father’s medallion, she would have been dead.
Caeb’s deafening roar split her ears. Oh no, no. Temra have mercy on them all. Scrambling to her feet, Lizzan raced toward the blacksmith and flung herself in front of the woman even as the giant cat lunged into the air. She saw how desperately Caeb suddenly twisted, trying to change his direction midleap, sheathing his claws and tucking his head down so his fangs wouldn’t slash her. Still he slammed broadside into her chest, the weight of his massive body knocking her back to the mud.
No breath did she have then to even cry out. Wheezing, she curled up onto her side, her cheek cushioned by mud or horse shit and it didn’t matter, because Aerax had his knives in hand but seemed not to see the villagers as he knelt beside her, hoarsely calling her name, and Caeb was nudging her shoulder, mewling in helpless apology.
But she still had to go. Though the confusion and shock of Caeb’s sudden attack had frozen the blacksmith and her companions into immobility, their anger would thaw them again soon enough. And there were only four villagers now, but soon there would be more.
There were always more. And if they came for her, Aerax would kill them all.
Barely able to draw breath into her aching chest, Lizzan crawled to her feet. Aerax cupped her muddied cheeks, his skin bloodbare as his gaze searched her face. But death sparked deep in his dark eyes as he looked beyond her to the villagers.
“No,” she wheezed, gripping his tunic and bringing his attention back to her face. “They are afraid and grieving. So let them be. This will be over with as soon as I leave.”
His jaw clenched and his lethal gaze shot past her again. “Why must you leave?”
“Because it is easier for me to go than it is to fight.” And she was so, so very tired; so tired that her voice broke at the next. “Even if that makes me a coward.”
Abruptly he looked down at her again. His expression grew tight, his throat working. “Lizzan—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She pushed away from him and turned toward her horse. All of her seemed so heavy, sodden boots trudging through the muck, her red cloak blackened with mud, and her heart mired in the shit her life had become. “None of it matters anymore.”
CHAPTER 20
AERAX
Lizzan’s gelding was tethered on the side of the road. Aerax drew his own mount to a halt, his gaze searching the ground. Even as she’d ridden out of the stableyard, Caeb had followed her. Aerax had, too, as soon as he’d saddled his own horse. Their tracks told him that for much of the way, the cat had remained behind her—but here they were side-by-side, headed into the wooded forest that blanketed this hillside. As if she’d asked Caeb to accompany her.
It would not only be Caeb who did.
Swiftly Aerax followed their trail. The careful placement of their steps, moving while making as little noise as possible, told him their purpose—they were on the hunt. For Lizzan had missed her supper and Caeb had abandoned his.
Because she’d been driven away from a village by the edge of an axe. Over and over again, he saw the weapon flying toward her back. Saw her fall to the ground. All else was lost in a haze of grief and rage. He’d heard some explanation, for Caeb’s roar had drawn everyone from the inn, and the Parsatheans had demanded an answer. He’d heard