Page 19 of Stolen Hours

Ian reared back and emptied his lungs in a long falcon’s screech, acknowledging that he’d heard. It might be a primitive type of communication, but it was effective.

Soon, we’ll be carrying mobile phones, like all thon tightarse Yanks who can’t step away from their desks, or those London city men attached to their copies of theFinancial Timesand their bloody beepers like a baby at the teat.

Babies. Again? How come mates and children never seemed far from his mind these days?

Maybe his father was right. He was a traditional Orc, meant to wed early and pour himself into his family—his mate and their bairns.

Twenty-two would have been considered high time to wed a few decades ago.

Now? Orcs could wait a bit. They had careers that required more study.

And what have you got to study, Ian Fenclan?

That clearing up ahead. Make your kill, fool, or there’s no point in thinking of anything else. Got to eat. Clan counts on the hunt more than the village shops. Can’t let them down because your head is full of—

“Women.”

The word ripped out of his throat, but it was a whisper.

Ian flattened his back to the wide tree just to his left, one hand tight on his bow, and the other pressing to his pounding heart.

There was a human woman standing in the stream.

A beautiful human woman, with pale, golden-wheat hair that hung in a long, single braid to her waist.

Ian reached silently around his waist and felt the tip of his own plait. One long braid.Just like mine.

But there were seldom any humans in this remote part of the islands!

I’m having a...What was he having? He felt fine, just... lonely. Worried about changing things and finding someone who could love him for what he was. An Orc that wasn’t dead keen on moving with the times.

You’re taken with a heart-fever. Seeing what you long for.

Ian peeked his head around the tree and whipped back around, heart hammering again.

She was there, and she was staring in his direction!

Did she see him?

No. She wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. Most humans didn’t see a thing until it bit them in the arse. Even then, they were eager to make up a “logical”excuse.

She’ll have seen a flash of green and brown. That’s all. Green and brown. A fallen branch, yes. That’s what she’ll tell herself.

“Crimson cross and the rowan tree, protect this soul and heart in me.”

Ian almost dropped his bow as he heard a sweet, low voice amidst the sounds of the water and the stream.

Rowan and red thread—the crimson cross! How does she know to call about the ancient protections?

She’s got to be fae.

No, a witch.

No, just some human playing with magical spells. Probably found the words in an old book.

One more look just to make sure she hasn’t seen me, and then I’ll head to a different part of the forest. Maybe catch a guga instead of a deer...

Ian gave one more glance around the tree—and this time he stood transfixed.