Page 95 of Starside

As quietly as I can, I sneak through the woods, careful not to step on anything that will give me away, using skills learned through years of thieving just to get by. I duck low under branches and walk only on roots covered in spongy moss. The sounds of his sword get closer, and I slow. I curve around a tree dripping wisteria.

There he is.

Raker’s armor is off. He’s just in a shirt that he must wear underneath, thin fabric that molds to his form. His hood is still up.

It’s the first time I’ve seen his body without his armor, and—

Fuck. He’s not as repulsive as his personality.

I curse every single muscle—muscles so defined they are visible even through the fabric, ones I didn’t even know existed, ones that do not have any right looking so good on someone so horrible—then drag my attention back to his blade.

He isn’t hunting. He’s training.

It makes sense. Of course, someone that skilled has only gotten those abilities from ceaseless practice.

I should be practicing. I’ve been too focused on keeping pace, and surviving, but I should be learning how to handle this massive sword.

Raker wields his like it’s weightless. He growls as he turns. His blade flashes silver—before slicing through a tree. An entire fucking tree. It topples over, making the ground tremble.

Gods. The strength that would take … the sharpness of the metal …

Raker snarls again. He takes down another tree. Then another. His body is wound tight, muscles flexing.

It seems like he’s getting aggression out. Good, I think. Good that he’s using the trees as targets, and not my neck.

An innocent creature isn’t at risk of becoming his dinner. I should leave. I should find more berries. I should erase the image of Raker’s perfect body from my memory. Instead, I take a step closer, watching through the cover of branches and leaves, transfixed.

I can see now why he has so many names. Why his reputation is enough to leave grown men shaking and pissing themselves.

He is unparalleled.

Raker’s movements are pure strength, matched with perfect precision. He turns to a tree, and cuts along its side in wild slashes, etching notch after notch up its bark, each line so close it’s almost touching, with control I didn’t think was possible.

His wide shoulders are tight. The frustrated growl that leaves his mouth makes me think there was a mistake—or maybe he’s really that upset.

Definitely upset, I think, when he turns—and launches his sword directly into a tree. The trunk trembles with the force, before the blade flies back into his palm, just like it did during the Culling.

Leaves fall from the shaken tree in a flurry.

Then time slows to a crawl as he moves with a smoothness completely at odds with his towering form, with a speed that shouldn’t be possible—

And slices every single falling leaf in half.

I don’t breathe. I don’t blink as I watch him lurch to a stop. The leaves are at his feet, in perfectly symmetrical pieces. He doesn’t even look winded.

Fear inches through my blood as I realize I should be absolutely terrified of Harlan Raker. Immortals should be afraid of him. He is known as the best warrior who has ever lived, on Stormside. And I see every bit of that training, every bit of that mastery now.

I finally take a breath, watching him in knee-trembling awe.

Then that breath shoots out of my nostrils as I’m sent back against a tree, my spine hitting the bark. I gasp for air, unable to find it. My mind spins.

Raker’s sword has skewered me here, through the fabric of my shirt. Slowly, I glance down, seeing the shining metal blade not even an inch from my waist. One hair in the wrong direction, and my guts would be all over this forest floor.

When I look up, he’s right there, staring down at me. Glaring, if I had to guess.

I was quiet. I was far away. The fact that he could even have sensed me …

His voice is punishing. “You might think you are quiet, and clever, but you are loud, and clumsy, and a fool to think you could sneak up on me.”