hand
against his back was less that effective in making him let go. The Outcast
looked a moment from self-combusting. The evil little gits eyes were like
black holes in his face and he shook off with a hard shove any man that sought
to get his attention away from the two Southern Warriors and the girl he
thirsted so unnaturally for. Unfortunately he did not, as Khalon hoped, rush
across the space separating them and attack Khalon. Shame that. He really
wanted to pop the man’s staring eyes out. Perhaps he might still get the
chance.
"He will try to take
you," Khalon said almost happily, ignoring her gasp and attempt to
retrieve her fingers.
"If he did not have
intentions to before," she snapped grimly. "He certainly will
now."
Katrine wanted to smack
the prince right upside the head. After that little show of claiming and challenge,
Renault would be frothing at the mouth to kill Khalon, and claim her. Rather
than look concerned Khalon smiled at the promise of retribution in the other man’s
eyes. If Renault had any sense, which he did not, that predatory, baring of
teeth would have convinced him to stay far away. She would have thought twice
had he looked at her that way. It was equal parts blood lust and
determination. In his mind, Renault was already torn apart and buried. The
man just didn't know it yet.
Without another word, he
turned and adjusting his grip so that Katrine walked before him instead of
behind, his big body pushed her forward, and out of the Outcast's sights.
Though it was not her they were looking at now, she saw when she peeked around
the two big men to see. Even Renault had his cold dead eyes on Khalon's back
rather than hers. Katrine stumbled a bit against the big warrior before she
could steady her usually steady legs.
Was the enemy prince
protecting her, making himself a bigger target so that the other man would be
determined to go through him before coming for Katrine? Why would he do that
for a Danu witch? Katrine spared Khalon one more searching look before they
entered the warm darkness of the Inn.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was no more chance
to worry about Renault or The Prince’s intentions because before the men had
even started on their salty pork meal there was another commotion outside.
This one had most of the travelers scurrying to make themselves scarce, as no
one wanted to stick around when a battalion of Southern Warriors led by a
Prince of the Realm showed up. When Katrine first heard the whispers, she
assumed that someone had recognized Khalon. She looked at him over her own
meal of greens and berries. The pained look on his face told her there was
more going on here than she thought.
Ragnar was cursing again
even as the double doors that led to the outside were pushed open and three
powerful Southern Warriors walked through. One of them was roughly the size of
Ragnar, and Katrine wondered if they were all giants in the south. Then she
saw the unmistakable resemblance to Khalon around the eyes and knew she was
meeting another warrior prince.
Unlike Khalon, he wore
the dark purple cape of royal office over his warrior leathers. He scowled
from a face that was beautiful and frightening enough to own his title. A
sickle shaped scar sat on his right cheek, that and the frost in his ice blue
eyes told Katrine his identity. The two blade sharp warriors flanking him
looked like they dealt death for a living but next to this man they were
insignificant. Prince Ansgar Morten, Holder of Horth, War General of the
Southern Isles, crowned prince and heir to the throne. He was also know far
and wide as Ansgar the Bloody.
Those frosty eyes scanned
the room, landed on their table and, without seeing anyone else, he came at
them. Everyone who had not already scurried away did so quickly enough now.
When his eyes landed on Katrine and narrowed unpleasantly, she wanted nothing
else but to scurry with them. He came to a
against his back was less that effective in making him let go. The Outcast
looked a moment from self-combusting. The evil little gits eyes were like
black holes in his face and he shook off with a hard shove any man that sought
to get his attention away from the two Southern Warriors and the girl he
thirsted so unnaturally for. Unfortunately he did not, as Khalon hoped, rush
across the space separating them and attack Khalon. Shame that. He really
wanted to pop the man’s staring eyes out. Perhaps he might still get the
chance.
"He will try to take
you," Khalon said almost happily, ignoring her gasp and attempt to
retrieve her fingers.
"If he did not have
intentions to before," she snapped grimly. "He certainly will
now."
Katrine wanted to smack
the prince right upside the head. After that little show of claiming and challenge,
Renault would be frothing at the mouth to kill Khalon, and claim her. Rather
than look concerned Khalon smiled at the promise of retribution in the other man’s
eyes. If Renault had any sense, which he did not, that predatory, baring of
teeth would have convinced him to stay far away. She would have thought twice
had he looked at her that way. It was equal parts blood lust and
determination. In his mind, Renault was already torn apart and buried. The
man just didn't know it yet.
Without another word, he
turned and adjusting his grip so that Katrine walked before him instead of
behind, his big body pushed her forward, and out of the Outcast's sights.
Though it was not her they were looking at now, she saw when she peeked around
the two big men to see. Even Renault had his cold dead eyes on Khalon's back
rather than hers. Katrine stumbled a bit against the big warrior before she
could steady her usually steady legs.
Was the enemy prince
protecting her, making himself a bigger target so that the other man would be
determined to go through him before coming for Katrine? Why would he do that
for a Danu witch? Katrine spared Khalon one more searching look before they
entered the warm darkness of the Inn.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was no more chance
to worry about Renault or The Prince’s intentions because before the men had
even started on their salty pork meal there was another commotion outside.
This one had most of the travelers scurrying to make themselves scarce, as no
one wanted to stick around when a battalion of Southern Warriors led by a
Prince of the Realm showed up. When Katrine first heard the whispers, she
assumed that someone had recognized Khalon. She looked at him over her own
meal of greens and berries. The pained look on his face told her there was
more going on here than she thought.
Ragnar was cursing again
even as the double doors that led to the outside were pushed open and three
powerful Southern Warriors walked through. One of them was roughly the size of
Ragnar, and Katrine wondered if they were all giants in the south. Then she
saw the unmistakable resemblance to Khalon around the eyes and knew she was
meeting another warrior prince.
Unlike Khalon, he wore
the dark purple cape of royal office over his warrior leathers. He scowled
from a face that was beautiful and frightening enough to own his title. A
sickle shaped scar sat on his right cheek, that and the frost in his ice blue
eyes told Katrine his identity. The two blade sharp warriors flanking him
looked like they dealt death for a living but next to this man they were
insignificant. Prince Ansgar Morten, Holder of Horth, War General of the
Southern Isles, crowned prince and heir to the throne. He was also know far
and wide as Ansgar the Bloody.
Those frosty eyes scanned
the room, landed on their table and, without seeing anyone else, he came at
them. Everyone who had not already scurried away did so quickly enough now.
When his eyes landed on Katrine and narrowed unpleasantly, she wanted nothing
else but to scurry with them. He came to a
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