I closed my eyes, the air I’d held trapped in my lungs burning like acid.
With a slow, controlled technique I’d learned in yoga class, I released a small trickle of air before filling my lungs in the same manner.
I counted to a hundred. Two hundred. Three. When I opened my eyes he was still there.
I wanted to scream at him to move on, to get the hell out of here.
The other two returned to join him, their calls increasing in volume as they came nearer.
“Gunnar? What are you doing? We have to keep moving.” The blond one spoke.
Gunnar. So, my tattooed hunter had a name.
Gunnar shook his head slowly and raised his hand to silence his companions. “She’s here. I can feel it.”
The man with long brown hair slung his gun across his back on a long strap and frowned. “Not this again.”
The blond laughed. “Shut up, Erik. We’ve already established that Gunnar’s instincts are solid. Saved your ass more than once.”
Erik shook his head, clearly impatient. “Come on, Gunnar. If she were here, she would have come out by now.”
No.
“No.” Gunnar said the word as I thought it. “She will be frightened and confused. You saw the dead man.”
“Fuck. You really think she killed him?” Erik asked.
Gunnar didn’t respond, his gaze wandering the woods. The trees. Getting too damn close. The guy was fucking intense, and scary as hell. And so gorgeous he should come with a warning label. The intense attraction I felt for him made me burn with rage. Was this how the Vikens played? Send an assassin to seduce you with intense good looks before he ripped your throat out?
I rolled my eyes at my own theatrics. But, seriously, these guys could give the Corellis a run for their money.
And really, who had lackeys this damn gorgeous? All three of them were walking, talking sex gods, their tight uniforms stretched over thick, muscled chests. How was I supposed to fight them once they found me? How was I going to survive? I didn’t know anyone on this planet. I had no food, no money, no weapons, no cell phone, and no one to call if I did.
And these men were huge, toting guns, and determined to find me. I was so screwed.
A great big case of feel-sorry-for-myself rolled through me and tears gathered in my eyes. I tilted my head to make sure they simply ran down my cheeks, rather than fall on one of the hunters’ heads. If I wanted to deal with this kind of stress, I could have stayed on Earth and tried to feel pretty in the bright orange prison jumpsuit.
But at least I’d be alive. I could sit in a cozy jail cell, read about a thousand books, and try not to get my ass kicked a couple times a week. For twenty-five years.
How sad that jail now seemed like it may have been the wiser choice. Because, as of right now, the odds of survival weren’t looking like they were in my favor.
Gunnar tilted his head to the side, as if he could hear me thinking. The man was freaking me out.
Erik looked at the blond. “Well, Rolf? What now? You know he’s not going to fucking move.”
Rolf studied both men in silence before offering his opinion. “If Gunnar’s right, then she’s hiding from us.”
Gunnar snorted. “Got a gift for deductive reasoning, there, genius?”
Rolf slung his own weapon across his back. And for some reason, the fact that only one man was still ready to shoot me on sight, instead of three, made my shoulders sag in relief. Gunnar was scary, but I’d met more than a few men like him. Cold. Hard. Ruthless. He wouldn’t be trigger happy, and he wouldn’t lose his cool. The other two seemed more like loose cannons.
Rolf shrugged. “All right. Gunnar’s never wrong.”
“Fuck. I know that. But what do we do about it?” Erik of the long brown hair asked.
Gunnar walked to the base of the tree where I hid and settled his back against it. “We get the Queen out here. Sophia’s not going to believe anything we say. Maybe she’ll listen to one of her own.”
***
Rolf
Gunnar was too calm. I’d rarely seen him this relaxed, and never when we were on so important a mission. In the transporter room, when it was discovered Sophia had been transported intentionally to the wilds, I saw a tick in his jaw, his fists clench. He didn’t lose control. Ever. But the intensity he wore like a second skin had faded, confusing me. Why was he so fucking calm?
True, Gunnar wasn’t keen on a mate, but he’d accepted the arrangement. I expected neither he nor Erik would ever fall over themselves for our matched bride—like Lev had been when he’d gotten his mate and daughter in his hands after the mistaken transport—but love her or not, they were possessive fucks. If Sophia was ours, both would see her safe, see her cared for. Protected. Cherished even. But love? Not happening.