It wasn’t Anapa. It was her.
Tahl’s jaw dropped inelegantly, his eyes widening in apparent horror – all told, it was almost exactly the same expression he’d worn when she fell into his lap, in that hot spring once upon a time. But in this iteration, he was spared the embarrassment of standing there in mute astonishment by the force of a dog knocking him off his feet. The bow fell from his hand, the rabbits crunched beneath his pack as it bunched awkwardly around his shoulders. Tahl was vaguely pissed that another abnormal hound had tackled him in his own woods, beneath the more pressing awareness of hot breath on his face, of the ropes of saliva dangling from sharp, snarling teeth.
His arm rose up to shield his face, instinctively. Turned black.
“Shit,” he grunted, but it was too late – the skin of his arm dissolved into darkness, flames that seemed to devour the light (and, sadly, his sleeve). The hound leapt off him with a startled yelp, its whiskers singed, the scent of burning fur masking that of pine needles and loam. Freed but still prone, Tahl shook his arm as if to extinguish it, and the arcane fire receded, leaving his skin pink with heat. He rubbed his wrist, not daring to look at her. Not wanting to see the inevitable questions in her eyes.
She was dangerous, he reminded himself. He was sure she was dangerous, and not just because he couldn’t control himself around her, evidently in more ways than he’d realized.
“What are you doing here, Elina,” he finally replied, stealing a glance at her as he rolled onto his knees and busied himself with checking his pack and its contents for damage. His prey was a mess – he tossed it into the bushes with a snort of disgust. “Besides raiding my traps, I mean.” Climbing to his feet, he brushed the dirt off himself with broad hands, callouses rasping over twill, and deigned to look at her. His face fell. She looked smaller than he remembered – more earthly, more real. A capable huntress, with her dagger and her autumn hair glinting in the filtered light. This version of her was even more attractive than the one he’d worried was a goddess, or a dream.
What was he going to do? Her demand for a good time tugged at him. He swallowed dryly.
“You shouldn’t be here, it’s…” his eyes trailed over her sword belt, her exquisite bow, her growling dog, the word “dangerous” floating away from him on a sigh of resignation. He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest. Looked somewhere over her shoulder. “What do you want?”
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