NocC 021 - Jessa Slade - Dark Hunter's Touch - Harlequin 2012-08 by Nocturne Page B

us, and we have no right to steal it from others.”
    He loosed a rough laugh. “You say the Lord Hunter was right? He
killed my brothers, almost killed me. Wanting you as I did—until you filled all
my senses and every path I took on the hunt brought me back to you—only proves
the Queen was right to outlaw the Undoing.”
    She shook her head with bitter resignation. “So you told the
Queen you would hunt me down, show me the error of my ways.”
    “I told them I could bring you back alive.”
    “I won’t go back. Especially not with you. You are everything I
finally left behind. Cold and unfeeling.”
    His eyes darkened as he stepped into her space. The arc of his
wings made his looming mass even more imposing. “Not cold at least,” he growled.
“Didn’t I prove that last night?”
    Rage at the reminder—and the sudden, fierce longing it roused
in her that made her whole body clench with need—conjured one last burst of
strength in her, and she hurled the necklace at him. The breeze spun up in
answering agitation and flung an arc of sand with the chain. Vaile lifted one
arm to shield his eyes.
    She whirled and ran.
    The hounds howled in delight at the renewal of the chase. Their
claws hissed in the sand behind her.
    With their hot breath on her heels, she took a half-dozen steps
and launched herself out of the Hunter’s mist into the crystalline night
sky.
    A sylfana ’s wings might not be made
for high-speed chases, but desperate fury pumped fresh power past her aches. The
breeze that had shed its sand belled under her wings, urging her upward. She
thrust herself higher with each stroke and swirl.
    The woeful howl of the hounds, deprived of their prey, echoed
in the air, but a darker pressure threatened her from behind.
    Without looking back, she darted sideways. She tucked her
shoulder and angled her wing to catch the wind. The force tumbled her end over
end, and she jolted onto the new trajectory like a butterfly catching erratic
breezes.
    Vaile overshot her like a black rocket—a cursing rocket. The
downdraft from his heavy wing beat almost sucked the air out from under her, but
she caught the rising edge of the vortex in his wake and flitted away, out over
the waves.
    She would not lie to herself. She could tease the Hunter only
so long; his strength and stamina completely eclipsed hers. He could fly circles
around her—literally. Even now, he was looping around in pursuit, and though she
might dodge him with a butterfly’s whimsy, he would double back again and again.
But she would not walk meekly back into her prison. He would have to drag her
back. And he would have to catch her first.
    He dove. She dodged. They had skipped the winged phae ’s aerial foreplay in their first encounter, and
now the dance was a deadly game with only one winner. Another lunge and evasion,
but this time she lost altitude. The spray from the waves tickled her legs and
added damp weight to her wings. Another reckless midair tumble edged her farther
out to sea.
    Too far.
    Her heart crashed in her chest, louder than the waves breaking
on the shore that now seemed frighteningly far away.
    “Imogene, come back. Imogene!”
    When she had thought he was human, she told him that the phae believed names had power, but only now did she
appreciate how that string of syllables that defined her could lift her—as when
he had shouted her name on the verge of his release—or tear her apart as it did
now. How she longed for her phae lies.
    He overflew her, and she darted to evade him, but her wings
were tiring. Her bones burned with exhaustion, and the fitful wind of her knack
whistled a weak apology past her ears. She faltered, and her wingtip grazed the
water.
    She gasped as she cartwheeled through the air. Her fingers
touched the water. She closed her eyes to wait for the chill kiss of the ocean.
This was not such an unexpected way to die—in the embrace of the ocean as cold,
relentless and unchanging as the phaedrealii