Fire Hawk by Justine Dare Justine Davis Page A

simply to see him move in that powerful, gliding way, she knew she did not have it in her. She never had.
    Perhaps, Jenna thought as she clambered as quickly as she could up the particularly steep trail he’d sent her on today, he’d realized that she’d spoken the truth, and that was why he had not claimed her although they were fully a week into their agreement.
    She came to an abrupt halt in a small clearing as she came out of the trees to face a steep wall of rock, smooth in some spots, seamed with cracks in others. Still puffing a bit from the uphill run, she looked around curiously, but the trail seemed to end here. She waited, knowing Kane was close by; he always was. That he duplicated what she was doing with such ease was yet another goad that prodded her to keep going when she felt only like dropping to her knees and pleading for mercy.
    “Well?”
    His voice came out of the trees to her left.
    “What now?” she asked. “The trail ends.”
    “Does it?”
    He stepped out of the trees, as usual showing no sign of effort, not even quickened breathing. She wanted to take one of the stones from the detested pack and throw it at him. Except that he would probably just catch it and toss it back at her without a word, giving her only that annoyingly amused look that was still another goad that kept her going when she wanted to collapse.
    He stood beside her, looking up at the stone face of the cliff. Well, maybe not a cliff, it wasn’t quite that straight up and down, Jenna thought, but it was near enough.
    She risked a glance at him, wondering just what it would take to get this man to show the slightest sign of exertion. She wouldn’t ask for much, just a couple of deep breaths, a tiny drop of sweat, something. Anything. Anything that would move him from this seemingly impervious calm.
    Even passion?
    The thought hit her unexpectedly, and she nearly gasped. How could she so dread the call she feared would come every day, the call to join him in his bed, and yet spend so much time simply looking at him? And taking pleasure in it?
    Perhaps it was just that he was quite the most impressive man she’d ever seen. If ever one deserved to become a legend, it was this one. But the tales had omitted the beauty of him, of his stance, his way of moving, his eyes. . . .
    Her gaze flicked up to his face, unerringly drawn to the scar that marked his face, the thin, oddly neat white line that ran from his temple to his jaw. Knife? Sword?
    He turned then, catching her staring at him. At the scar. His eyes turned frosty, although he said nothing. Jenna started to utter a stumbling apology, then decided it would only make things worse.
    “If the trail continues,” she said instead, “I cannot see where.”
    “Can you not?” he said, his voice deadly quiet.
    “No, I—” She broke off suddenly, remembering how he had been staring up at the rock face. “Surely you don’t mean”—she gestured a little wildly at the crag—“ that ?”
    “It appears the only way.”
    “But that is impossible! I am no bird, to fly up such a cliff.”
    “ ’Tis hardly a cliff,” he said mildly. “And you may take off your pack.”
    “Thank you,” she said, her voice laden with mockery. “I suppose you have climbed it countless times, carrying your blessed sword?”
    “Countless,” he agreed, his tone unchanged.
    “Kane, I cannot.”
    It was the first time she’d ever refused anything he’d asked of her, but this, this was too much.
    He studied her a moment. “Have you a fear of heights?”
    “From a distance, no.”
    She thought she saw his mouth quirk. “It is not so hard. There are hand and toeholds aplenty. I will help you from here. And you will find the fear of falling a great motivator for improved balance.”
    “My balance is good enough.”
    “Good enough to fire a crossbow while running along a narrow stone wall? Good enough to shoot an arrow while leaping away from one shot at you? Good enough to move