“I know I’m a day late,” came Hunter’s soft voice. “But I hope that’s not cause for murder.”
He was sitting on a rock by the trail, just a few yards away, his face in shadow, his form blending perfectly with the landscape around him. A soft glint of moonlight came from the head of the spear that he held across his lap, and from the brass knob of the pommel of his sword. Otherwise, she might have passed by within arm’s reach without guessing he was there.
“I swear to Quam, if you were watching me…” she started.
Hunter gave a short, quiet chuckle.
“No, ma’am. Just waiting for you. Please, sit down. I’d like to talk.”
Dahlia’s heart beat faster. Ten minutes ago, or less, she had been thinking of his lips. Now the weapons he always kept close belied his soft voice and she felt a fear cree
