Stolen: Warriors of Hir, Book 3

The ancient hall had something of the look of an adobe house but was made of far more durable material to have stood this long in a forest environment. Rough against her cheek, despite its age and exposure to the elements, the building’s surface offered the barest of purchase for her fingers and caught at the fine fabric of her nightgown, as if the clanhall itself were trying to dissuade her from this insane crossing.

 

Sliding her bare feet along the rough, narrow edge, her body pressed to the building, she inched her way across.

 

The night’s warm breeze rose to ruffle her hair and caress her back and brought her to sudden, shivering awareness that there was nothing behind her now but empty space and a hundred-foot plunge.

 

Halfway across, pressed hard against the building, her feet pointed in opposite directions, her arms splayed wide, Summer was too fucking terrified to move.

 

She felt dizzy but she couldn’t turn her head to see her way back without falling for certain. She couldn’t go back blind and she couldn’t continue.

 

If she cried out Ar’ar would waken instantly. He would be here in a heartbeat and with the strength of one arm could have her right back on the balcony of his quarters.

 

She would be safe.

 

But she would never leave this planet again.

 

You have to get home, goddamn it! Remember why you have to get home!

 

Drawing a shaky breath, Summer forced herself to keep going. Trembling, desperate to be off the ledge, she reached out for the wall—

 

And missed. Unthinking instinct made her lunge and somehow she hooked her arms over the wall’s edge, slamming her chin and chest painfully against it. The ball of her left foot was on the outcropping, her right hanging free over the drop, her upper body and arms clutching the wall. She bit back a whimper as she started to slip.

 

Fingers scrambling along the small lip where the top edge attached, she seized on a handhold and launched herself forward, scraping her big toe painfully in the process.

 

Hanging from the wall at the waist, her legs dangling, she grabbed for a chair—heavily built to support a g’hir’s larger body—that was just close enough. She pulled hard, twisting to bring her legs over, and landed on the balcony in a heap.

 

She huddled there, hugging her legs to her chest, shaking too hard to stand.

 

Eyes stinging just at the simple reassurance of solid wall behind her, she gazed up at the three moons the g’hir called the Sisters.

 

Man, they’re gorgeous. I never even noticed how beautiful the moons are.

 

Summer wiped the perspiration from her upper lip with the back of her shaking hand.

 

Guess that’s what not being dead will do for you.

 

Miraculously, her captor hadn’t been awakened by her little high-wire act, but she wasn’t free yet. Her legs still wobbly, Summer pushed herself upright.

 

The balcony door opened easily at her push and she was careful to close it behind her. It took a moment to get her bearings. She’d never been inside these quarters. Although uninhabited, the rooms were furnished. Near the balcony doors, the Sisters provided plenty of light but as she moved farther into the apartment the moons’ light was scant and she banged her shin on a low table.

 

The heavy table made a scraping sound against the tile and Summer half bent over, her hands clenching, her lips pressed together against a groan, taking quick breaths through her nose against the pain.

 

When the throbbing in her shin let up a little she hobbled forward, feeling her way to the quarters’ large, ornately carved door.

 

Summer pressed her ear to the door seam. She couldn’t hear anyone out there but the door was old, and made of thick, heavy carved wood. There was no guarantee that she’d find the hall empty when she opened it.

 

But standing here sure ain’t getting me home . . .

 

She wet her lips and cracked the door a sliver.

 

Dimmed for the night, the lumas still gave off enough illumination to reveal the deserted hallway. A quick look toward her captor’s quarters showed that door remained closed. No outraged roar rose to rattle its hinges.

 

Still asleep!

 

Even at this time of night she couldn’t risk using the majestic curving staircases at the front of the building. Many of Ar’ar’s clanbrothers—huge, glowing-eyed, fanged warriors like him—resided here in their ancestral hall. Being the only human meant she would be recognized instantly.

 

Clinging to the shadows, she headed for back staircase. It had been built centuries ago for servants’ use, when this clanhall was full to bursting with their kind, before the Scourge had wiped out nearly all the females of their species, before that plague made this world home to a dying race—

 

The echo of approaching footfalls made her duck back into a doorway.

 

The females of this clan—herself included—numbered only nine but there were hundreds of males. G’hir men were huge, the females smaller, far more delicate, and the heavy sound of boots on the ancient floor meant a male was coming this way.

 

A warrior.

 

The footsteps paused. A door down the hall opened, then shut.

 

A quick glance showed the hall empty for the moment. She raced across to the ancient staircase, her trembling fingers skipping along the wall to keep her balance as she descended the steep stairs.

 

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