Bayou Moon

A whine sliced through the air. He heard two solid thuds: bolt heads punching the ground where he had sat a moment ago. Circles of searing white light swam before his eyes. Peva reloaded on feel alone.

His heart fluttered as if a small bird were caught in the cage of ribs and now fought to escape in a frantic frenzy. He caught his breath and forced himself to slow down.

Hugging the ground, Peva reached with one hand toward the area he had guessed the bolts had hit. His hand found a shaft. He pulled it free, letting his fingers explore the length of the bolt. Short shaft. He’d almost been hit with a short bolt.

Cerise couldn’t have him from ten yards with a short bolt. The bitch had help. She must’ve dropped a bowman off on shore, and Peva had given himself away with that shot.

Peva’s fingers touched the bolt head. Smooth, balanced. Professional. Too good for a casual bowman. Peva dropped the bolt before he cut himself on the razor-sharp edges. Feathery ferns brushed his face. He still couldn’t see. To move was to die. To stay was to die, too—eventually the bowman would figure out where he hid. He felt the bolt coming, felt it speeding along that same ancient connection he had savored earlier. Peva dashed to the side, fired two shots at a wide angle, and reloaded again.

The blinding fire in his eyes began to dim. He saw the ferns, dark strokes against the bright haze. A few more breaths and he would have his vision back. He had to buy some time. To the left, a dim outline of a large cypress loomed, its base bloated and thick enough to shelter him.

Peva Sheerile wouldn’t die in the swamp today.

CERISE halted in the sea of rust ferns. Peva died on his knees, hugging the cypress. William had pinned him to the tree with two bolts, one through the neck and one through the chest. Death turned Peva’s face into a bloodless mask. She looked into his eyes, hollow and sad in the moonlight, and felt guilty for no reason.

Cerise looked away. That was the dumbest thing. The man would’ve killed her without a moment’s thought, but she’d known him for so long, it was almost like family dying. What would it be like when one of the family did die?

She swallowed. Now wasn’t the time to lose it.

William walked out of the ferns, sliding bolts into a leather quiver. Cerise tensed. She’d watched the whole thing from the boat, hiding behind the body of the Hand’s spy. She’d guessed that Peva would set up an ambush somewhere along this route. Lagar would give him plenty of people, but Peva, the arrogant snob that he was, would send them off to cover other routes, so he could get the kill all by himself. She and William did the simple math: one man was easier to take down than several. They’d set the corpse up as the rolpie driver, she stayed low, steering, while William had trailed the boat along the shore for the past mile. The moment Peva showed himself, William would take him down. Except it didn’t quite go that way.

“You made him run,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.

William gripped the bolt in Peva’s back. The dark shaft was deep in there. Only the fletch and about an inch stuck out. It would take a lot of strength to pull it out. He strained and the body released the bolt with a wet sucking sound.

“Did you have fun playing with him?”

“I didn’t do it for fun.” William wiped the bolt on Peva’s back and examined the sharp head. “I fired the flare bolt to blind him and then ran him around on an off chance he had some help hiding in the bushes. When he didn’t flush out any friends, I killed him.”

He reached for the second bolt. The shaft had gone clear through Peva’s neck and into the tree, at least three inches. She probably could’ve stood on it and it wouldn’t have budged. Mikita with all of his strength wouldn’t be able to wrench it out.

William’s fingers closed on the bolt. He put his foot against Peva’s back and grunted, his face jerking with strain. The bolt popped out of the cypress. William sniffed it and grimaced. “The head’s bent, but the shaft is still good.”

William wasn’t human. Couldn’t be.

She’d suspected it before, the first time at the Alpha house, because he was dead certain it was empty. The fight with Kent made her wonder, but the battle with the hunter had settled it. The way William had moved sent ice down her spine—too fast, too expert—but the look on his face cinched it. They were facing a human altered beyond what she would have guessed possible, and William had looked ice-cold, as if emotion was beyond him. She would’ve settled for fear or anger, but what she saw was the ruthless calculation of a cunning predator. He surveyed his prey, decided that he would win the fight, and proceeded to do so. And now she had indisputable proof. His strength wasn’t beyond human limits, but it was beyond his lean body.

Cerise took a step back.

William went very still.

She had to settle it now. “You lied to me.”

His eyes were clear and cold. Calculating. “Fine, here is the truth: I did enjoy it. He wanted to kill you and I killed him instead. I didn’t tell you, because I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Your story about the lost ring and searching for it is pure bullshit.”

“Ah. That.”

He jerked the crossbow up. A black bolt stared at her.

Cerise clenched her sword. Magic sparked deep in her, singing through her body, and leaked from her eyes and the fingers of her right hand onto the sword. A brilliant point of white ran along the blade and died.

William’s eyes glowed like two amber coals. She met his gaze and flinched. No emotion reflected in the amber, only intelligence, cruel in a way the eyes of a hunting Mire cat were cruel. She saw no worry, no softness, no thoughts at all, only waiting. He seemed barely human now, not a man but some feral thing, knitted of darkness and biding his time for an opportunity to pounce.

William glanced at her sword. His upper lip rose, showing her his teeth. My, my, Lord Bill, what big fangs you have. That was all right. She wasn’t Red Riding Hood, she wasn’t scared, and her grandmother could curse his ass so hard, he wouldn’t know which way was up for a week.

William nodded at her blade. “That’s what I thought. You cut through bones like butter, because you stretch your flash onto your sword.”

“And it’s such a nice flash, too. All pretty and white.” And it will cut you to pieces.

“Won’t do much against a bolt in your chest.”

“How do you know I can’t shield myself with the flash?”

The thing that was William chuckled low. “You can’t do it. It would be nice if you could, but we both know you can’t.”

Bull’s-eye, William. Blade flashing took years of training and every ounce of her concentration. As long as she flashed, her blade would cut through anything, but she could only do it for a split second at a time. Flash defense was beyond her. He’d just pegged her for a one-trick pony, and he was right.

Still, there was no reason she couldn’t bluff. “So eager to die?”

“If you can stop my bolt, show me.”

Oh, crap. Cerise tensed, ready to dive into the stream behind her the moment he fired. “Any time.”

William just stood there. The amber eyes tracked her every twitch, but he showed no sign of moving.

It dawned on her that if he were going to fire, he would’ve done so already. “You won’t shoot me, will you?”

William growled. “If I do, you’ll be dead.”

And why would her being dead bother him? True, he thought she was pretty, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that would stop him.

Cerise took an experimental step back.

The crossbow shifted a quarter of an inch. He was aiming for her legs. “Don’t move.”