Free Hunted Warrior by Lindsey Piper

creep over his face, Helios making his arc across the sky.
    The old myths were called myths for a reason. Dragon damn, Mal had to believe in coincidences. Otherwise the last twenty-four hours would mean something greater than merely finding Avyi, finding those arrows, and finding his shoulder nearly hacked off.
    They could’ve journeyed beyond the rock outcrop shielded by scrubby juniper bushes, but it had seemed like a welcoming inn. Avyi hadn’t consulted him; she had simply made a pronouncement. He couldn’t remember a time when decisions weren’t made without contentious arguments where he eventually put his foot down, like a parent settling a score between squabbling children.
    Avyi was definitely no child. She had such a strong mind of her own that he could barely reconcile her with the subservient Pet of the Asters’ infamy. He’d only seen her once before the liberation that had freed his cousin and other Aster warriors from the Cages—and patients from the labs. The Pet had been dressed in skintight black latex, collared with leather and spikes, and led around by Aster by the will of his voice alone. Sometimes she’d squatted by the man’s feet, holding his thigh, looking out from behind well-tailored slacks with those unreadable eyes, as if hiding . . . as if waiting . . .
    Avyi, by contrast, was so changed as to be an entirely different woman.
    Now, his body was tense. His mouth was parched. He tried to shift without waking her. A lance of fire shot from his shoulder to his forearm and back up again. But the effect was not so crippling as it had been. The Dragon’s brilliant gift of quick physical recovery from injury was much appreciated. He could feel his left extremities, the subtle warmth of the sunrise, and how the rocks jabbed into his back in several places. He hadn’t cared the night before, when the pain had burned to a crescendo.
    As he sat up, dizziness smoked the vision at the corners of his eyes, replacing bright sun and bleached plains with a cloying gray mist.
    After he took a deep drink of the water from Avyi’s hidden supplies, he stilled and looked at the sun. He was unwilling but unable to deny that he was wavering. In no way did he believe her predictions, but there was a certain logic to being unpredictable. For the moment, at least, he had no doubt that she would stay with him willingly. If going to Florence turned out to be a wild-goose chase, he could always take her back to the Tigony stronghold.
    And then there was his intention to pick up where their kiss left off. She excited him as few women ever had, which meant desire propelled his decision as strongly as any twist of logic. It wasn’t responsible, and it wasn’t something he needed to do, but he was actively pursuing a woman for the sole purpose of seeking pleasure.
    He itched where she had used her belt to secure the makeshift bandages. The blood had dried. He was in desperate need of a bath—and a shirt. The sunshine on his chest and stomach made him potently aware of his bare vulnerability . . . and his awareness of Avyi lying so close. What would she do if he touched her? Jump out of her skin?
    He wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t flinch from touches she didn’t initiate. Maybe she was too damaged for that to ever come to pass.
    He reached up to peel back the maddening bandages but found his hands stilled in mid-motion.
    â€œNo.”
    She had turned and sat up without his notice. Was she made of smoke? Of liquid? No sound and no form. Except he’d felt her slight weight across his stomach when she’d straddled him. Her fingers had guided his into place. Her forehead had pressed against his, grounding him when pain and, yes, panic had threatened to warp his mastery over his gift. She’d helped him maintain control when that was something he took pride in keeping very much within his own grasp. He