"What did you mean?"
"Your story about the lost ring and searching for it is pure bullshit."
"Ah. That."
He jerked the crossbow up. A black bolt stared at her.
Cerise clenched her sword. Magic sparked deep in her, singing through her body, and leaked from her eyes and the fingers of her right hand onto the sword. A brilliant point of white ran along the blade and died.
William's eyes glowed like two amber coals. She met his gaze and flinched. No emotion reflected in the amber, only intelligence, cruel in a way the eyes of a hunting Mire cat were cruel. She saw no worry, no softness, no thoughts at all, only waiting. He seemed barely human now, not a man but some feral thing, knitted of darkness and biding his time for an opportunity to pounce.
William glanced at her sword. His upper lip rose, showing her his teeth. My, my, Lord Bill, what big fangs you have. That was all right. She wasn't Red Riding Hood, she wasn't scared, and her grandmother could curse his ass so hard, he wouldn't know which way was up for a week.
William nodded at her blade. "That's what I thought. You cut through bones like butter, because you stretch your flash onto your sword."
"And it's such a nice flash, too. All pretty and white." And it will cut you to pieces.
"Won't do much against a bolt in your chest."
"How do you know I can't shield myself with the flash?"
The thing that was William chuckled low. "You can't do it. It would be nice if you could, but we both know you can't."
Bull's-eye, William. Blade flashing took years of training and every ounce of her concentration. As long as she flashed, her blade would cut through anything, but she could only do it for a split second at a time. Flash defense was beyond her. He'd just pegged her for a one-trick pony, and he was right.
Still, there was no reason she couldn't bluff. "So eager to die?"
"If you can stop my bolt, show me."
Oh, crap. Cerise tensed, ready to dive into the stream behind her the moment he fired. "Any time."
William just stood there. The amber eyes tracked her every twitch, but he showed no sign of moving.
It dawned on her that if he were going to fire, he would've done so already. "You won't shoot me, will you?"
William growled. "If I do, you'll be dead."
And why would her being dead bother him? True, he thought she was pretty, but she wasn't naive enough to think that would stop him.
Cerise took an experimental step back.
The crossbow shifted a quarter of an inch. He was aiming for her legs. "Don't move."
"Let's part our ways here, William. You go one way and I go the other."
"No."
"Why not?"
He said nothing.
"What if I run?"
He leaned forward. "That would be a mistake, because I would chase you."
Oh, dear Gods.
His voice was wistful and tinted with an odd longing, as if he were already running through the dark woods in his mind. The tiny hairs on the back of Cerise's neck rose. Whatever she did, she couldn't run, because he would love to chase her and she wasn't quite sure what would happen at the end of that chase. By the way he looked, he wasn't quite sure either, but he was pretty sure he would enjoy it.
A small part of her wanted to find out what it would be like to be chased by William through the Mire woods. What it would be like to be caught. Because he wasn't looking at her as if he wanted to kill her. He was looking at her as if he had something completely different in mind. All she had to do was dash into the woods. The thought of it sent tiny shivers down her spine and she wasn't sure if it was alarm or excitement.
She was in over her head. Just a smidgeon.
Cerise raised her eyebrows. "I've lived my whole life in this swamp. What makes you think you could catch me?"
William grinned, baring white teeth, and chuckled in his wolfish way. The quiet raspy sound made her shiver. In that moment Cerise knew with absolute certainty that he would stalk her, chase her, and catch her. She wouldn't get away. Not without a fight neither of them wanted.
Cerise glared back at him, right into those fiery eyes. He leaned forward a little, the hungry thing inside him focused on her completely.
He wanted her. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he held himself, loose and ready. It would take the slightest trigger, a smile, a wink, a hint, and he would close the distance between them and kiss her.
Warmth washed through her, followed by the prickly needles of adrenaline. One step forward. That was all she had to do. A month ago she would've taken that step without a moment's pause.
A month ago she wasn't responsible for her family. Now was no time to be selfish.
If either of them forced a fight, she would kill him, and she would regret not knowing why. Dealing with William was like playing with fire: no right way to do it.
"What would happen if you caught me?" Besides her slicing him to ribbons. Or losing all her sense.
"Run and you'll find out."
William took a small step forward.
Cerise jerked back. If he touched her, she would have to make a decision: to cut or to seduce, and she didn't know which way she would go.
The fire in his eyes sparked and died a little. "Nothing . . . untoward."
Cerise swallowed. She was wound so tight, the muscles in her legs hurt. Untoward? What the hell did that mean, untoward? "Can you just answer the damn question straight?" Her voice vibrated a note too high. Damn it.
William sighed. The feral edge slipped away. His shoulders dropped slightly. He put the crossbow down. "I won't hurt you. Don't be afraid. If you have to go, go. I'll be good and won't chase you down. Straight enough for you?"
He meant it, Cerise could see it in his face. He thought she was scared of him and he backed down.
Tension leaked out of her. Suddenly she was tired. "And what will you do here, alone in the swamp?"
He shrugged. "Find a way out."
Yeah, right. He would wander for days in the Mire. She had no doubt he would survive, but he wouldn't make it out anytime soon.
"Here is what I know: you're fast, you know about the Hand, and you're trained to kill with your bare hands. You look like you've been doing it for a while and it doesn't bother you. I think you like it. And your eyes, they ..." She raised her hand to her face.
"What?"
"They glow."
He blinked. "I'm wearing lenses to keep that from happening."
"Well, they aren't working."
"No?"
She shook her head. "You got screwed."
"No point in keeping them in, then." He sat on a log, pulled his lower eyelid down, fished a lens out, and tossed it into the mud. The second followed. He raised his head with obvious relief, like a kid who was told he could get out of his church clothes. His eyes were actually light hazel, and when he blinked, the amber glow rolled over his irises like fire.