Page 31 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
Someone crushed my face into the dirt, and red hair streaked with off-white fell around me like a curtain. The prince.
“Naughty little pet, trying to escape your master.”
The pressure on my head disappeared, but that thing between my shoulder blades stayed there, weighted. Through my light gown, I felt the prick of claws. He had me pinned with just one hand.
But… not entirely helpless. I lashed out with my feet, connected with something hard. There was a sound from him, but I didn’t stop to check. I kicked again, and the pressure on my back eased enough for me to drag myself out.
On hands and knees, I scrambled away.
Fuck him. I wasn’t dying here.
I wasn’t dying without taking him with me.
A few feet ahead sat a thick branch. Not iron. Not aconite. But I had nothing else.
I staggered to my feet, reaching out. My fingertips brushed coarse bark.
A grip closed around my legs. He yanked, and the ground flew from under me. Face-first into the dirt. Pine needles prickled my skin. Breaths panted above.
I wriggled, but his grip only tightened as he dragged me closer. Gods forbid the prince would deign to come to me.
Teeth gritted, I managed to twist onto my back before he used his massive body to pin me.
That grin again. It stayed in place as I clawed at him. My fingers snagged on something—his necklace—and it snapped, tinkling to the ground. An instant later, he caught my hands.
“So much fight for such a little creature.” I hesitated to call the soft sound he made a chuckle—it was too low, too dark a sound. But that was the closest word I knew for his humourless laugh. “And here I was starting to worry you’d never fight back.”
“If you want a fight, give me back my dagger.”
Another low chuckle. “I want to toy with death, butyours, not mine.” He released my wrists.
At once, I groped for the branch, but he’d dragged me out of reach.
Amusement glinted in his eyes, and I realised. He’d released me deliberately. He wanted me to keep fighting back.
I wasn’t going to give him any more amusement by trying to hit him. No.
Instead, I smiled and closed my hands into pathetic little fists.
His eyes lit up, the slitted pupils going wide and round.
But my fists weren’t empty.
I turned away and threw two handfuls of pine needles and dirt.
With a grunt, his perfect, princely face screwed up, and he shielded his eyes.
Too late.
It was enough for me, though. His flinch opened up space for me to escape. Two steps, and I had the branch.
He was still rubbing his eyes and staggering to his feet when I smacked it around his head. The contact jolted up my arms, sharp and vital, beautiful and brutal.
I cranked my arms for another swing, breaths fast and full, veins alight.
I swung.
He caught.
