Page 57 of Avalon Tower
He pulls his hand away like he’s been burned. “I’m helping you,” he says, looking up at me in surprise.
“It’s fine now, thank you,” I say crisply, smoothing my dress to disguise my filthy thoughts.
He stands, and I breathe in his earthy, masculine scent. “Glad it’s fine now,” he says quietly. “You’re rather tightly wound, you know that?”
Because I’ve been played by you before. “Well, we are on a dangerous mission.”
His gaze moves past my shoulder, and I turn to see Freya galloping toward us, with Arzel close behind.
When Freya reaches us, she’s still catching her breath. “Nothing in the stable…” She draws out the last word.
“But?” Raphael says.
“I mean absolutely nothing. No other horses. Doesn’t that seem odd?”
“Something seems off,” Arzel says quietly. “I peered in the tavern windows, and no one looked relaxed. It’s the middle of the night, and they should be drunk off their arses on mead. Instead, they look stiff and tense. It looks like a funeral, not a party. And there are no musicians. Whenever I came here before, there was always music.”
Raphael stares at me for several beats. “Okay. We’re not going in. It’s a trap. Everyone on your horses. Nia, you’re riding with me.”
The hem of my dress hikes up to my hips as I climb into the saddle. I shift forward, gripping the horse’s pommel, the cool night air sweeping over my bare thighs.
Raphael mounts behind me, pressing close against me, his body warm and firm. He reaches around me for the reins. I lean back against his chest. Heat radiates from his body, warming mine.
“Let’s go,” he says. “Back the way we came.”
He whispers to the horse in Fey, and she takes off at a trot.
But we’ve hardly started when we hear the sound of pounding hooves behind us. Three riders are racing toward us.
“They’ve found us,” I breathe.
Raphael swears under his breath. “Let’s go!” He pulls the reins, and we take off at a gallop. “Hold on tightly.”
I cling to the saddle’s pommel, and he spurs the horse onto a dirt road carved between two fields. The horse pounds over the soil, its hooves splattering earth in all directions.
The twang of a bowstring rings out, and an arrow zooms by. I glance back. Freya and Arzel are keeping pace with us, but the three bowmen are closing in.
Our attackers loose another arrow, and Raphael hugs me closer, leaning to the left slightly just as the arrow zips past. Up ahead, something catches my eye—the glint of steel in the moonlight. A drumbeat of dread thumps in my chest. I can just about make out a group of Fey soldiers racing through the darkened fields, ready to block our path.
“Do you see them?” I shout into the wind.
“Yes.” But Raphael isn’t slowing.
In front of us, the Fey soldiers rush into the road, wielding spears and swords.
Raphael releases the reins with one hand and draws his sword. I want to pull out my knife, but it’s taking all my strength to stay on the horse. A Fey soldier swings for us, and a spear hurtles through the air. I clamp my eyes shut, the sound of metal scraping against metal setting my teeth on edge.
When I open my eyes again, we’re past the soldiers. A sharp throb on my arm alerts me that I’ve been cut, and blood drenches my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Raphael shouts, his voice sharp.
“I’m fine.”
“Raphael, company!” Freya shouts.
Glancing behind, I see more riders in uniform racing after us. The one in front has long white hair, and his teeth are bared in a bloodthirsty snarl.
Our horses are tired from a day of traveling, and Raphael’s mount is carrying two riders. We can’t outrun them.