Page 1 of Their Fierce Little Monster

Prologue

DAWN

“You’re going to lose a finger doing it that way.” His deep, husky voice comes from behind me, teasing me, and I’d recognize that lazy drawl anywhere.

How long had Kazak been searching the woods to find me? Any chance he gets, he tracks me down, and it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies in my stomach when he’s near me.

I grin at the thought, keeping my attention on the wire in my hands, refusing to let him see me struggling.

“Spying on me again?” I tease.

“I’m observing,” he answers in his brooding voice, but I hear the mirth in his tone, followed by a faint rustle of fabric as he shifts his weight. “There’s a difference.”

“If you say so.” I thread the wire through the notch on the snare arm, moving slowly. This trap is old and rusty, fighting me. I’m close to tossing it into the river.

Old Pell, my adoptive father, taught me the basic skills to make traps. But in truth, it was Kazak who showed me how to do them properly. And I’ve set up this exact kind of snare dozens of times, except today the stupid thing has decided to be stubborn.

“Go on,” I say with a long exhale because he’s so predictable. “You know you want to tell me the difference between watching and spying.”

He chuckles. “Well, a spy might have waited until you bled before they spoke up.”

I glance over my shoulder to where he leans against a tree with one shoulder, his arms folded across his chest as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. A piece of dark hair falls over an eye, and I stare for too long, willing myself not to fawn over him.

A heavy air hangs between us, as it has done for the past few months. I don’t know what changed, as we’ve been friends for years, but more recently, he spends any chance he gets with me. And we talk for hours about nothing and everything. It’s incredible.

Now, when he stares at me, there’s heat behind his gaze. Yet I quickly look away, fire warming up my cheeks.

Moonstone Village, however, doesn’t let its best hunter stay idle for long, so he’s constantly sent out on missions in the woods. Especially not when hunting teams need training, big game to track, and the village meat lockers to be filled.

“How noble of you,” I say sarcastically. “Waiting until I almost bleed out. The village is blessed to have such a compassionate hunter.”

He laughs again, throwing his head back.

Gods, the man is too handsome for his own good, and I doubt he even realizes what that sharp jawline, or the shadow of growth along it, does to a woman. He’s got a slight bend in his nose, eyes crowned by thick, dark brows. He makes me pause every single time, speeding up my breaths, though I pretend not to notice him.

Today, he wears his hunting pants, boots, and his forest-green jacket. It’s open at his throat and pulled tight across his broad chest, the fabric taut with strain across those biceps. There’s a streak of dirt smudged across his jaw because he needs it to look even more dangerous.

He’s too attractive to be unaware that half the women in the village swoon the moment he strolls through the square.

My own heart gives a ridiculous kick against my ribs at the sight of him.

“Are you finished inspecting me? Am I to your approval?” he states.

Heat spreads across my cheeks, and I quickly return my attention to the snare. “Just checking to see if you brought anything useful with you.” I’m such a horrible liar, except my burning face betrays me.

“I’m the reason you still have ten fingers when setting up your traps.”

“Oh, so nothing useful, then.” I focus on my trap, having spent too long on this one when there are more to set up.

“Your hand’s too close,” he instructs, his voice breaking my concentration.

“Don’t worry. I got this.” I’m going to make this work.

“Your confidence is one of the village’s persistent threats, you know that?”

I snort a laugh. “Wow, that almost sounds like a compliment. Who are you, and what have you done with Kazak?”

“Stop rushing it,” he continues.