back to show uneven, razor-sharp fangs. Long arms dangled at his sides, fingers tipped with curled claws. Shaggy locks of matted, dirty-blond hair hung in clumps between scaly patches and leathery skin that covered the vicious angles of his face. Beneath a jutted forehead, a broad nose flared and black eyes glowed hot in the darkness.
Black? Not bright green?
A terrifying creature for anything or anyone to fight.
But Tristan hadn’t let the jaguars rip her to pieces.
Could that mean he would give her a chance to talk before he killed her himself?
She had little time and a tiny hope that she could convince him to listen to her. “Hi, Tristan. I know we parted under less than ideal circumstances.”
He pulled his lips back in what she thought might be his version of a smile or a grin. Maybe he was glad to have company. She would be.
For lack of a better response, Evalle smiled, too. “Speaking of that—”
He lifted his head and released a more terrifying roar than the last one.
The entire jungle fell silent as a tomb.
Bad analogy.
When Tristan looked at her this time his eyes bulged with the need for retribution. He growled and his fangs dripped saliva.
Her empathic senses picked up energy coming from him that dispelled her previous ideas. She’d completely misread his expression. He had been smiling all right, but not because of the chance to entertain unexpected company.
He wanted blood. Hers.
She spun around and took off the way she’d come, running in one direction, then another.
Pounding stomped the ground behind her with amazing speed.
He could use his power within this cage, which meant he could kill her with a strike. Why hadn’t he?
Because a quick kill clearly wouldn’t appease his need for revenge.
Evalle had covered a mile of running and fighting her way through areas strangled with dense growth when she caught the toe of her boot and fell to her knees. Mud splashed her face and arms. The palms of her hands burned raw from scrapes.
The steady pounding of footsteps gained on her.
She shoved up and shot forward again, breathing hard without the benefit of her Belador endurance.
But she was far from beaten.
She battled her way through the undergrowth. Thejungle’s teeth scratched her arms and dragged at her clothes. After stumbling into another clearing wider than the last one, she bent over to catch her breath. Human weakness sucked.
The thud of footsteps slowed, then stopped.
She heard him breathing close by, waiting for some reason.
He wanted something . . .
Lust washed over her skin.
There was one thing worse than death, and she would risk supernatural power backlashing in this domain before she’d submit to that.
She turned to face him and leaned to pull the dagger from her boot. If using the power ricocheted back at her, she’d just have to end up cut. She would not give up without drawing blood, too.
Tristan pushed his monster-shaped hands together in front of him then opened his arms, parting the overgrown jungle to accommodate his girth as he stepped into the clearing with a thump, thump, thump.
“I may not be able stop you from killing me to get your pound of flesh, Tristan, but touch me—” She let her gaze drop to the bulge in his pants and spun the dagger in her hands. “And I’ll get my own pound of flesh with one swipe.”
The only part of him that retained any human quality was his black eyes as they studied her quietly.
His eyes were . . . sad.
Had she misread his lust?
She wished she had a better grasp on her empathic abilities, but they were constanly developing.
Besides, how could anyone tell what an Alterant was thinking or feeling in beast state when no one had observed them in a natural setting?
Wait a minute. She was standing here talking to a shifted Alterant.
She tried again. “I want to help you, Tristan—”
Her dagger flew up out of her hands and landed halfway between them, stuck in the ground.
He crossed beefy arms and angled his
Black? Not bright green?
A terrifying creature for anything or anyone to fight.
But Tristan hadn’t let the jaguars rip her to pieces.
Could that mean he would give her a chance to talk before he killed her himself?
She had little time and a tiny hope that she could convince him to listen to her. “Hi, Tristan. I know we parted under less than ideal circumstances.”
He pulled his lips back in what she thought might be his version of a smile or a grin. Maybe he was glad to have company. She would be.
For lack of a better response, Evalle smiled, too. “Speaking of that—”
He lifted his head and released a more terrifying roar than the last one.
The entire jungle fell silent as a tomb.
Bad analogy.
When Tristan looked at her this time his eyes bulged with the need for retribution. He growled and his fangs dripped saliva.
Her empathic senses picked up energy coming from him that dispelled her previous ideas. She’d completely misread his expression. He had been smiling all right, but not because of the chance to entertain unexpected company.
He wanted blood. Hers.
She spun around and took off the way she’d come, running in one direction, then another.
Pounding stomped the ground behind her with amazing speed.
He could use his power within this cage, which meant he could kill her with a strike. Why hadn’t he?
Because a quick kill clearly wouldn’t appease his need for revenge.
Evalle had covered a mile of running and fighting her way through areas strangled with dense growth when she caught the toe of her boot and fell to her knees. Mud splashed her face and arms. The palms of her hands burned raw from scrapes.
The steady pounding of footsteps gained on her.
She shoved up and shot forward again, breathing hard without the benefit of her Belador endurance.
But she was far from beaten.
She battled her way through the undergrowth. Thejungle’s teeth scratched her arms and dragged at her clothes. After stumbling into another clearing wider than the last one, she bent over to catch her breath. Human weakness sucked.
The thud of footsteps slowed, then stopped.
She heard him breathing close by, waiting for some reason.
He wanted something . . .
Lust washed over her skin.
There was one thing worse than death, and she would risk supernatural power backlashing in this domain before she’d submit to that.
She turned to face him and leaned to pull the dagger from her boot. If using the power ricocheted back at her, she’d just have to end up cut. She would not give up without drawing blood, too.
Tristan pushed his monster-shaped hands together in front of him then opened his arms, parting the overgrown jungle to accommodate his girth as he stepped into the clearing with a thump, thump, thump.
“I may not be able stop you from killing me to get your pound of flesh, Tristan, but touch me—” She let her gaze drop to the bulge in his pants and spun the dagger in her hands. “And I’ll get my own pound of flesh with one swipe.”
The only part of him that retained any human quality was his black eyes as they studied her quietly.
His eyes were . . . sad.
Had she misread his lust?
She wished she had a better grasp on her empathic abilities, but they were constanly developing.
Besides, how could anyone tell what an Alterant was thinking or feeling in beast state when no one had observed them in a natural setting?
Wait a minute. She was standing here talking to a shifted Alterant.
She tried again. “I want to help you, Tristan—”
Her dagger flew up out of her hands and landed halfway between them, stuck in the ground.
He crossed beefy arms and angled his
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