The pounding of Elaria's heartbeat was overpowered by the murmur of blades being unsheathed.
Her breath froze in her throat as she knelt beside the cave's spring's edge, holding the knife tightly. Beyond the stone door, the shadows circled closer, ghost-like figures flitting in the firelight.
They would be stuck if they made a single mistake.
A deep growl rumbled in Draven's throat as he stirred next to her. As soon as his golden eyes locked with hers, his eyelids opened and he became conscious.
Alert.
And ready to kill.
“They followed us,” Elaria whispered. “I count five… no, more. At least eight.”
Draven grew to his full height, his entire body changing into a deadly shape. Dried blood was plastered across his naked chest, yet the gash at his side was already starting to heal.
