“Fok,” he yelled, slamming forward against the limb. It let out a sharp crack with his weight as he looked over it. Ella Sutherland crouched on the back of Seraph, her arms out to keep her balance. With a broad smile, she dropped down into the saddle, the largeness of it making her look small.

“Siuthad,” she yelled for the horse to go. Her knees clutched around Seraph’s girth as she dug her heels into the horse’s side, clicking her tongue. But the mighty horse didn’t move, wouldn’t move.

Cain wiped the dampness of her kiss from his mouth with the back of his arm. She’d tricked him into letting go of her. He’d purposely given her a false means of escape in case he had not been able to grab her arm before she jumped, but the kiss had robbed him of his senses, something that had never happened to him before.

“Siuthad!” she repeated, not knowing what Cain knew.

“In his battle armor, my horse will not move for anyone but me,” he said, his words grinding out with suppressed fury over his foolish reaction. He’d bloody hell let a lass trick him, a virgin lass, her inexperienced kiss racing like wildfire to burn his renowned discipline to ash.

Staring down at her, his gaze locked with Ella’s for half a moment before the earlier look of hatred tightened her face. The kiss had been a complete farce, tearing through him while she remained unmoved. You stupid arse. One kiss and he was ready to forget she was the enemy.

“Ye cannot escape me.” His words ground out with wrath, propelling her from Seraph’s back.

She swooped down for her bow and quiver, which she must have dropped while she kissed him. Obviously, her mind had been clear and unaffected while muddling his. Curse the siren.

Without a backward glance, she ran. Cain jumped down, his boots thudding against the earth, and took off after her. She sprinted ahead, leaping over branches, ducking and weaving around thin pines and white birches. Without his heavy armor to weigh him down, Cain gained on her easily.

Bloody, fiery hell. She’d tricked him, with a blasted kiss. He’d been kissed by dozens of lasses, and none of them had prompted him to abandon a lifetime of training and instincts. Ella Sutherland was the enemy and—she is mine.

The muscles in his thighs stretched as his legs pumped, propelling him through the forest, his stare intent on the swinging dark braid. He was closing in on his prey, his strong heart pounding as the air fed his perfectly conditioned lungs. He could sprint like this for hours without tiring, yet he wouldn’t need but one more minute to catch her.