of killing humans?
This was insanity! He wasn’t afraid of a bird. And he certainly had nothing to fear from a naked woman with long, black hair, a straight back, and womanly hips.
After mentally shaking his head, he studied the distance between them. They were too far apart for a dart to reach her, but among his arrows were two with tips he’d soaked in paralyzing brine. If she was on land, he’d have no hesitancy about using one, but if he fired it now, he’d have to hurry to make sure she didn’t drown before he reached her.
Of course, he could wait until she was done with whatever task or whim had taken her into the water, but what if others of her kind arrived? He’d be compelled to fight them, which meant she’d escape. Another possibility struck him. Even if no one came upon them, she might spot him. If she was as strong a swimmer as she appeared, what was to stop her from setting off for a distant shoreline?
He was still debating that possibility when she lifted her arms over her head and leaned forward. Her lean form sliced into the water and she disappeared. Cursing, he took off at a hard run, reaching behind him for one of the treated arrows as he did.
After too long a period of time, she appeared again, arms moving smoothly and legs beating against the water’s surface. He nearly made the mistake of firing and probably wasting his weapon when inspiration struck. Still running, he yelled.
As he hoped, she stopped swimming and turned toward him with just her face and arms showing. Pulling back on the bow and sighting down his arrow, he held his breath and fired. At first the arrow sped just above the surface at a slight downward angle. Then, as he’d planned, it struck the water. That caused it to change direction slightly but it would still reach its target.
Not waiting to see her reaction, he dropped his weapons and plunged into the lake. Water closed around his legs, slowing him. From this angle, he could no longer see her arms. However, her head remained above water, letting him know that the poison hadn’t yet entered her system. He didn’t for a moment doubt that his arrow had struck her; he didn’t miss.
As soon as he was deep enough, he started swimming. His powerful arms cut through the water, and his legs propelled him forward. Still, he wondered if he’d reach her in time. And if he didn’t…
Refusing to give freedom to thoughts of having to repeatedly dive in an attempt to retrieve her, he acknowledged how cold the water was. The unexpected chill left no doubt how deep the lake was here or how quickly the bottom dropped away.
Damnation. She might drown.
Strength surged through him. He now likened himself to a fish cutting effortlessly through the water, but he wasn’t one. Instead, he was a man suddenly afraid that a valuable life might be lost. Even as he ordered his body into rhythm, he once more questioned why both his shaman and lord had been so determined to get their hands on a Wilding. Untamed the way she was now, she had almost no value.
Beyond her sleek limbs and glossy hair, he corrected. Beyond her unabashed nudity. Beyond her breasts and hips and that sweet, dark space he knew existed between her legs.
He wasn’t sure he’d reached the exact spot where he’d last seen her, but he had to be close. Stopping, he treaded water as he looked around. It was impossible to determine whether the small waves and bubbles were caused by his movement or whether she was responsible for any of them. What most concerned him was that he saw no dark hair, no thrashing or even floating arms.
Needing to do something, he swam in a circle while reaching out as best he could with both arms and legs. By the time he’d completed the circuit, he was cursing himself for his rash action. Why hadn’t he waited for her to come to shore before immobilizing her? It couldn’t be because he half believed she’d set her sights on the shore far from where she’d gone in. No mortal could swim that far, could they?
Mortal?
He’d just begun another circle, wider this time, when something above him caught his attention. Looking up, he spotted a bird hovering some thirty feet over the lake and slightly to his right. Even as he told himself the small, gray bird’s actions didn’t concern him, he changed course. He stopped when he was directly beneath the bird, then curled his body into as tight a ball as possible and pushed down into darkness. His fingers reached out, fighting the water’s resistance. Before long, the effort used up the air in his lungs. Still, he delayed heading for the surface.
His lungs screamed, and strength seeped from his muscles. Then, just as he acknowledged he’d gone as far as he could, his fingertips brushed something. He closed a thumb and forefinger over whatever it was.
Hair.
Pushing down yet again, he ignored his burning muscles. More strands glided over the backs of his hands, prompting him to grab them. Hair filled the palm of his right hand. Holding on with his dying strength, he executed a far from graceful turn, hauling his burden with him. His left arm clawed at the water that was killing him. Every time he kicked, his feet brushed something warm and soft. Dark pain filled his head, and fear took bites out of what remained of his sanity.
Let her go. Save yourself.
But because his actions had sent her on death’s journey, he couldn’t.
By the time he broke the surface, every inch of his body was on fire. Drinking in all the air his lungs could hold, he treaded water. Only when he trusted his body to obey his commands did he pull the woman’s lean and limp body up next to his, careful to keep her head above water.
Turning her toward him, he shifted his hold so a hand was under her armpit. He brushed her hair out of her face and then placed the back of his hand against her nose.
She wasn’t breathing, wasn’t even trying to.
As a warrior-in-training he’d been taught how to place his mouth against a drowning victim’s and push air into the victim’s lungs, but if he tried that now, they’d both sink beneath the surface.
Time. Time was seeping away from them.
Turning her so her back was against his chest, he looped his arm over her breasts, his fingers gripping her armpit again. As soon as he was certain his hold was secure, he started for shore. She rested against his side, the back of her head on his chest and her face out of the water. Even with the passing seconds striking him like drumbeats, he forced himself to concentrate on making smooth strokes. Speed was vital but so was endurance.
Although the lake was trying to suck the warmth out of him, he felt hot. In contrast, her body was now too cool. But her skin against his was soft and smooth, and he nearly convinced himself he could feel her heart beating and her lungs filling and emptying, but maybe he was only deluding himself.
Again he looked upward. There was no bird.
Whether a bird or his imagination had led him to her became the most important thing he’d ever asked himself. At the same time, he repeatedly told himself it didn’t matter. Only keeping her from dying did.
Despite his protesting muscles, he refused to slow, let alone pause and rest. When, finally, his toes touched the muddy bottom, he nearly called out in relief. Half walking, half swimming, he brought her to shore and dragged her out of the water. Lying her on her back, he sank onto his knees next to her. There was no arrow, only a barely bleeding hole in her side. Obviously she’d pulled it out.
Mud coated her legs, and her hair flowed over her shoulders to cover the top of her breasts. Other than that, he
