I Married My Mate's Enemy
Another bolt flew from the treeline.
This one was different.
It struck the scout nearest the leader straight through the leg. The man dropped, screaming. The leader spun, eyes narrowing. He hadn’t expected that shot — not on his own man, not in that direction.
The ranger shifted positions.
Fast.
Precise.
Not with us.
Not with them.
Independent.
“Whoever he is,” Mara said, “he’s buying us time.”
“Then we use it,” I replied.
We moved faster still, splashing across the waterbed until the stream turned sharply and the banks rose higher on either side. The rocky walls created a natural funnel — narrow enough to slow pursuit, wide enough to let us move.
Bab Populer