Brows bent and full lips parted, Cain Sinclair looked…curious. He exhaled long and lowered his bow. So unconcerned, he even arched his back and stretched his muscled arms overhead, which only made them look larger. A horse’s head was tattooed in curves and spikes of dark pigment on the upper part of one arm, while woven lines encircled both biceps.

She should nock an arrow and fire at that massive chest of his, but instead she balanced on the limb, trying not to disgrace herself with a swoon as her heart pounded. I am going to die.

“Remove your mask,” he said.

She blinked, her lips curling back in a snarl. “No.” She forced herself to breathe evenly to battle against the tingling sensation running along her jaw and lips.

His brows lowered in annoyance. He stripped off his one thick gauntlet and placed his hands on the tree trunk, quickly assessing that the oak was too large and rooted to be shaken. He clicked his tongue, and his horse came closer to stand under the tree. But instead of using the horse to lift himself, Cain bent his knees and jumped, his fingers catching on the first thick branch Ella had grabbed from her horse’s back. Biceps bulging, he lifted the weight of his body up through the air.

Cac. She turned toward the other limbs, but none of them were as thick as the two lower ones. Before she could do anything, Cain Sinclair unfolded his huge body into a solid stance on the limb below her, making the leaves quake, his face rising to the same level as hers. Only the thinner bough that had cracked under her weight separated their bodies.

Breathe. Ella pulled in air, glancing down. It was the only direction that afforded an escape. Sinclair’s horse stood ready, almost directly below her. Foolish man. All she had to do was take a step out along the limb and drop onto the horse’s broad saddle. She’d honed her balance for two decades. Her constant training might save her life this day.

Cain’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, anchoring her as if he could read her thoughts. “Take off your mask,” he repeated. “I would see the face of my enemy.”

How could she break his hold on her? She needed something to shock him into relaxing his grip. Kicking the man in his shin, knee, or if she were lucky, his ballocks, might not be enough to make him release her hand. Ella imagined herself dangling down by her one arm, it being wrenched out of place. “Release my hand, and I will take it off.”