A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses #1) by Sarah J. Maas

I wouldn’t go down without a fight, without taking some of them with me. “Go to Hell,” I said, but it came out in a gasp.

They laughed, stepping nearer. I swung the bow at the closest. He dodged it, chuckling. “We’ll have our sport—though you might not find it as amusing.”

I gritted my teeth as I swung again. I would not be hunted down like a deer among wolves. I would find a way out of this; I would—

A black-clawed hand closed around the shaft of my bow, and a resounding snap echoed through the too-silent woods.

The air left my chest in a whoosh, and I only had time to half turn before one of them grabbed me by the throat and hurled me to the ground. He pounded my arm so hard against the earth that my bones groaned and my fingers splayed, dropping the remnants of my bow.

“When we’re done ripping off your skin, you’ll wish you hadn’t crossed into Prythian,” he breathed into my face, the reek of carrion shoving down my throat. I gagged. “We’ll cut you up so fine there won’t be much for the crows to pick at.”

A white-hot flame went through me. Rage or terror or wild instinct, I don’t know. I didn’t think. I grabbed the knife in my boot and slammed it into his leathery neck.

Blood rained down onto my face, into my mouth as I bellowed my fury, my terror.

The naga slumped back. I scrambled up before the remaining two could pin me, but something rock hard hit my face. I tasted blood and soil and grass as I hit the earth. Stars danced in my vision, and I stumbled to my feet again out of instinct, grabbing for Lucien’s hunting knife.

Not like this, not like this, not like this.

One of them lunged for me, and I dodged aside. His talons caught in my cloak and yanked, ripping it into ribbons just as his companion threw me to the ground, my arms tearing beneath those claws.

“You’ll bleed,” one of them panted, laughing under his breath at the knife I lifted. “We’ll bleed you nice and slow.” He wiggled his talons—perfect for deep, brutal cutting. He opened his mouth again, and a bone-shattering roar sounded through the clearing.

Only it hadn’t come from the creature’s throat.

The noise hadn’t finished echoing before the naga went flying off me, crashing into a tree so hard that the wood cracked. I made out the gleaming gold of his mask and hair and the long, deadly claws before Tamlin tore into the creature.

The naga holding me shrieked and released his grip, leaping to his feet as Tamlin’s claws shredded through his companion’s neck. Flesh and blood ripped away.

I kept low to the ground, knife at the ready, waiting.

Tamlin let out another roar that made the marrow of my bones go cold and revealed those lengthened canines.

The remaining creature darted for the woods.

He got only a few steps away before Tamlin tackled him, pinning him to the earth. And disemboweled the naga in one deep, long swipe.

I remained where I lay, my face half buried in leaves and twigs and moss. I didn’t try to raise myself. I was shaking so badly that I thought I would fall apart at the seams. It was all I could do to keep holding the knife.

Tamlin got to his feet, wrenching his claws out of the creature’s abdomen. Blood and gore dripped from them, staining the deep green moss.

High Lord. High Lord. High Lord.

Feral rage still smoldered in his gaze, and I flinched as he knelt beside me. He reached for me again, but I jerked back, away from the bloody claws that were still out. I raised myself into a sitting position before the shaking resumed. I knew I couldn’t get to my feet.

“Feyre,” he said. The wrath faded from his eyes, and the claws slipped back under his skin, but the roar still sounded in my ears. There had been nothing in that sound but primal fury.

“How?” It was all I could manage to say, but he understood me.

“I was tracking a pack of them—these four escaped, and must have followed your scent through the woods. I heard you scream.”

So he didn’t know about the Suriel. And he—he’d come to help me.

He reached a hand toward me, and I shuddered as he ran cool, wet fingers down my stinging, aching cheek. Blood—that was blood on them. And from the stickiness on my face, I knew there was already enough blood splattered on me that it wouldn’t make a difference.

The pain in my face and my arm faded, then vanished. His eyes darkened a bit at the bruise I knew was already blossoming on my cheekbone, but the throbbing quickly lessened. The metallic scent of magic wrapped around me, then floated away on a light breeze.

“I found one dead half a mile away,” he went on, his hands leaving my face as he unbuckled his baldric, then shucked off his tunic and handed it to me. The front of my own had been ripped and torn by the talons of the naga. “I saw one of my arrows in his throat, so I followed their tracks here.”

I pulled on Tamlin’s tunic over my own, ignoring how easily I could see the cut of his muscles beneath his white shirt, the way the blood soaking it made them stand out even more. A purebred predator, honed to kill without a second thought, without remorse. I shivered again and savored the warmth that leaked from the cloth. High Lord. I should have known, should have guessed. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to—maybe I’d been afraid.

“Here,” he said, rising to his feet and offering me a bloodstained hand. I didn’t dare look at the slaughtered naga as I gripped his extended hand and he pulled me to my feet. My knees buckled, but I stayed upright.