Free The Prophecy by Nina Croft Page B

jungle cat. She could see clearly the swell of muscle beneath the black T-shirt he wore over faded jeans. There was a gun holstered at his shoulder and a knife in a sheath at his thigh. She dragged her gaze upwards. His face held a savage, masculine beauty: broad, flat cheekbones, a sharp blade of a nose and slanted, catlike eyes, the color of the summer sky she remembered but would never see again. His hair reached his shoulders, blond, a hundred shades of sunlight.
    He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; it was like staring into the sun and Raven realised, with a sense of awe, that she knew him. Had seen him in her waking visions. Had long ago believed that this man would one day come to her and set her free. For a brief moment her pain faded and was replaced by a sense of wonder.
    He was staring back at her. Their gazes locked and an unexpected expression softened those startling blue eyes. It took her only seconds to identify—pity. He pitied her and she felt a fierce flare of anger; how dare he pity her?
    She searched his face and suddenly she knew that The Council had caught up with her at last. At the realization, her anger flared brighter. The Council had ordered her death when she was a baby. They would have killed her to prevent the prophecy if her father hadn’t escaped with her before the order could be carried out. Because of The Council, she had spent the first fourteen years of her life on the run. Because of them, her father had been killed, and she had been captured by the fire-demons.
    Did The Council know of her capture? If so, they must have been hunting desperately for her as her twenty-first birthday approached, knowing that then she would be sacrificed, and the fire-demons would gain the great victory promised by the prophecy.
    Now it looked as though The Council had finally found her and sent someone to carry out the sentence of death they had passed so long ago. Regret flooded her mind. She was only twenty, it seemed unfair that she should die before she had even had a chance to live. She shook her head in disgust; only children believed that life was fair and she was no child.
    At least this way she would get her greatest wish; Sorien would never fulfill the prophecy, would never win that final victory. With that knowledge, a warm wave of relief flooded her. A feeling of peace and acceptance suffused her mind. He had come to set her free after all, in the only way still possible. He had come to kill her.
    She relaxed then, closed her eyes.
     
    Nothing happened.
    Why didn’t he do what he had come to do? Raven wondered. It was one thing to accept your death. It was quite another to wait agonizing seconds for the blow to fall. She heard a noise, not one that she expected, and opened her eyes.
    He was still watching her but had taken a satellite phone from his back pocket. He punched in a number.
    “I’ve found her.”
    He listened for a moment. “She’s alive, that’s all that matters. Don’t worry, I’ll do what’s needed.”
    He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Raven wanted to ask who he had spoken to, what was ‘needed,’ but when she opened her mouth her lower lip split and she winced at the sting of torn flesh. She licked her lip, tasting her own blood. His eyes watched the movement then wandered down over her naked body. She held her head up and stared him in the face. It obviously amused him and his lips twitched slightly. She scowled.
    “You’re a mess,” he said.
    The words took Raven by surprise and she felt a flare of anger. She’d like to see anyone look better after being beaten up by an angry fire-demon.
    She swallowed, forcing herself to speak. “Would you pass me the water?” she asked.
    He frowned but picked up the bucket, putting it down in front of her. She lowered her head and drank deeply. She looked up to find him watching her and was swamped by shame. That anyone would see her like this, drinking like an animal. But wasn’t that exactly what