Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

jeans. She averted her eyes.
    He was smart enough to keep out of her line of fire, although . . . She wiggled, pushing with her feet until she had enough room to lie prone. She went to her belly inch by slow inch, using her cat’s freeze-frame ability so as not to alert him to a change of position.

    The thick, twisted, finlike root coiled as it rose up to join the tangle of roots supporting the tree and forming her cage. She slowly slid her crossbow to the very edge, under the root. There were only a couple of inches of clearance, but enough for an arrow to shoot through. It was a tricky angle, and she couldn’t use one of the special vampire arrows, but the smaller, more traditional one would do.

    “Of course I know, Brodrick. You did that and you did it with deliberate malice. You knew exactly what you were doing so spare me the ‘you need to save our species’ speech. Who is your friend? The one sneaking around louder than the cicadas? You’d think if he was supposed to be your guard, he’d learn how to be silent.” Sarcasm dripped.

    She adjusted her angle slightly as he faded back into the shadows. He would move. A foot. A hand. It didn’t matter what part of his anatomy he exposed; she would have him.

    Brodrick sighed overly loud. “Reggie, you may as well come away from there.”

    Annoyance edged his voice. Fingers of alarm tracked down her spine. She shivered, frowning. He was up to something. Her one advantage was that they wanted her alive. Brodrick would never kill her and certainly neither would his companion. She was far too valuable alive. She was a full shifter with royal blood. Brodrick wanted an heir. As disgusting and despicable as that sounded, she knew his intent. She tasted bile in her mouth, but her gaze never left the shadowy figure moving back and forth behind the veil of dense brush.

    Brodrick moved again and she fired from where she lay on the ground, the arrow rocketing through the brush. He screamed. Cursed. She heard the heavy fall of his body as he went down, crashing into brush.
    She sent up a silent prayer there were nettles growing there.

    “I’m fucking going to make your life hell, you little bitch,” he raged, his snarls reverberating through the forest. “Every day you live will be nothing but pain. I know more ways to cause pain to a bitch in heat than you ever imagined.”

    In the small confines of the root cage, Solange found it difficult to fit another arrow into the crossbow. She wiggled around, trying to stay quiet. Her leg brushed against the thick wood on her right side as she tried to get her arm in position. Something grabbed her ankle, pinning her hard to the ground. She felt the jab, a sharp sting, even as she abandoned the crossbow, pulled the knife on her thigh from its sheath and in one motion rolled and stabbed, driving the blade deep in the side of the man holding her down.

    Come now! She sent the frantic call to Dominic. They got me with a needle.

    She’d known Brodrick was up to something. They’d misled her by snapping twigs, making her think Reggie was to her left. Stupid, stupid mistake. She tried to stay calm, breathing evenly, not wanting whatever they injected into her to move too fast through her system. They thought they had time. She’d go to sleep and they’d drag her out and have her at their mercy. They were unaware of Dominic.

    Reggie spat curses as he staggered back away from the roots. He made it about seven feet, staggered and went down to his hands and knees. “Brodrick. Get over here and help me.”

    He was out in the open where she could shoot him at will with an arrow. Using slow, careful movements, Solange fit another arrow into her bow and waited, this time as far back in the cage as she could get. They wouldn’t be able to fit through the tangle of roots easily with their stocky bodies, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

    Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her vision blurred. Around her, the twisted roots moved slightly, as if they might be coming alive.

    “Brodrick,” Reggie wailed. He had his hands clamped tight against his side. Blood dripped steadily through his fingers.

    “Stop whining,” Brodrick snapped. “You let the little bitch stick you. I told you she was lethal. You underestimated her.”

    “Why is it,” Solange asked, her voice sounding tinny and far away, “that the man who attacks the woman always gets upset when she fights back? I’ve never understood that.”

    “I