I hadn’t thought my plan through. Not all the way. Not to this part.

I need to move. Now. Before this burning want drowns out everything else.

I close my fist. Raindrops merge into a sloshing ball. It floats over to where Zev has risen again, submerging his head. With my other hand, I guide thick streams of water over his legs, then freeze them up to his hips. Another wave. Another layer of ice, frozen solid.

Bubbles escape from his mouth, rising to the surface of the watery orb.

I’d expected him to claw at his face, to try to escape. But even through the fog of the water, his gaze is fixed on me.

But his eyes aren’t blazing with hatred.

His fingers slow. He doesn’t move.

A shrill ringing blares in my ears.

Tides, why do his eyes look so damned soft? He looks resigned. Almost … peaceful.

Bile rises in my throat.

Something sharp clamps my heart in a vise.

His eyes begin to bulge.

By the Tides, he’s not even trying to fight for his life.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The water drops with a splash.

Zev sputters, coughing violently, water spilling from his lips as he sucks in deep lungfuls of air.

I should kill him. End this.

But I can’t.

My hands fall uselessly to my sides.

I just stand there, staring at him, each shallow breath punishing my lungs.

He blinks in confusion, as if he can’t believe the water is gone. And then his steel-gray eyes finally blaze with the cold, unyielding fury I’d been waiting for.

“Run, Mayah,” he snarls, voice ragged. “Run.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

BRANCHES CUT INTO THE soft flesh of my arms as I bolt through the forest, the ground slick and slippery beneath my feet. My heart beats in my ears. I chance a look backwards, certain I’ll find Zev thundering behind me, face contorted with wrath.

I should have killed him.

Now he’s going to kill me. He’s going to—

Focus. Focus, Mayah. I only have limited time before the aphrodisiac takes effect. Before I turn and run toward Zev, instead of away from him. I need to put as much distance between us as possible, then figure out some way to restrain myself before he catches—

Thunder rumbles so violently, the ground quakes beneath my boots. The air prickles, heavy with his storm.

Shit.

My husband is free. And he’s coming after me.

I force my feet to move faster, darting through the trees. Rain drizzles steadily, icy droplets chilling my skin where my tunic is torn in half. A sharp ache splinters my lungs, a searing pain in one calf. I veer right, breath stuttering as lightning rips through the sky.

Desire lights a fire in my core.

Shit, shit, shit. My blood thrums in my veins. Desperate. Eager.

I need to run faster.

In the silence between rumbling thunderclaps, angry footsteps slam behind me, growing louder with each second.

He’s going to catch me.

My footsteps slow, just by a fraction. The warmth in my chest simmers in a low, burning heat. My body wants to stop, wants to turn back, but my mind screams at me to keep going.

The footsteps pound louder, in time with the beat of my frantic heart. I crane my neck again, expecting to see Zev bearing down on me, a mask of fury etched on his face.

He’s not there.

But he’s close.

I turn back and—

—promptly collide with an armored chest. Large hands grip my upper arms, bracing me from the impact. I recoil, head spinning, heat curling through my veins. My thoughts fray at the edges, pulled tight by panic and heat.

I crane my head, staring into a worried, deep blue gaze.

My heart stops.

I know those eyes.

“Daak?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

“PRINCESS?” THE URGENT VOICE is low, familiar.

Wrong.

My vision blurs even as unwanted desire coils inside me. I grip his shoulders tighter.

“Where’s Daak?” the voice asks.

His words snap me out of my haze, and I focus on the man before me with the intimately familiar blue eyes.

Sorka.

Daak’s father.

My heart splinters.

I clutch his shoulders, slumping into him. He looks me over, not as a general assessing his soldier, but with the tenderness of a concerned father. His eyes widen as he notes my flushed cheeks. My torn tunic.

“Princess.” His voice is grave. “What happened to you?”

“The Dark Commander is chasing me,” I pant, clutching the shredded fabric of my tunic together. “Do you have more men?”

Sorka straightens, face drawn. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he eyes my ripped tunic again. “Yes. Our camp is nearby. Come, quickly.”

I follow him through the woods, struggling to ignore the heat in my belly or the way my eyes linger on the contracting muscles in Sorka’s back, the curl of gray-streaked hair against the nape of his neck.

“How many men does he have?” Sorka asks, slicing through wayward branches with his longsword.

“None.”

“None?”

“He, uh, killed them.”

The general shoots me a confused look over his shoulder. My eyes trace his full, parted lips and the white stubble covering his strong jaw.

Tides, I need to get a hold of myself.

This is Daak’s father. And I haven’t even told him Daak is dead.

A broken, hysterical laugh bubbles from my lips.

Sorka’s strong brows knit with concern. “You’re safe, Princess,” he soothes. “He can’t harm you now.”

We dart through the trees for another few minutes when Sorka stops. He raises a hand in the air and snaps his fingers.

A dozen warriors emerge from the underbrush.

They’re clad in the dark browns and greens of the forest, but their eyes are unmistakably Tundrayani—icy, clear, shimmering, deep, blue.

Unbidden, my heated gaze drinks them in.

Braided hair, sharp jawlines, scarred brows.

Shifting muscle, corded veins, curious eyes.

I avert my gaze with a startled gasp. Tides ravage me.

“Stoat maneuver,” Daak’s father calls. “Quickly.”

The men disappear into the underbrush like wraiths.

Sorka turns to me. “He’s after you?” I nod stiffly. “Stand in the middle here. Do not be afraid, Princess. We won’t let him touch you.”

But can they keep me from touching him?

I hope so.

Sorka vanishes into the forest, too. I swallow hard, facing the dark woods. My heart hammers frantically in my chest, my skin burning up. Ghosts of rough, calloused hands glide over me. How would their long braids feel dragged against my skin?

My skin prickles, every nerve alert.

Minutes later, and there—he strides through the trees.

Every thought evaporates from my mind. My body thrums with need, all interest in the Tundrayni warriors swept away by the violent tide that is my husband.

He sees me. His fingers flex, as if resisting the urge to reach for me.

His full lips curve into a sensuous smirk. My heart stutters.

Why was I running from him again?

His stride slows as he nears, molten steel eyes fixed on my face.

I take a step toward him.

Then, another.

And another.

Before I know it, I’m bolting through the trees in a desperate bid to reach him.

I need to reach him.

But I never do.

A low clinking rattle is the only warning before an iron chain whips through the air, slinging around Zev’s neck. His hand flies up, two fingers wedging beneath the chain just before it tightens into a noose. Six men leap out from behind trees. Two grab Zev’s arms while the other four anchor his legs.