Oh, did Thorne Blackclaw love a chase. The thrill electrified his veins, a welcome antidote to the boredom of long, uneventful days.

Whistling a haunting, discordant melody, Thorne prowled the dimly lit streets, his footsteps nearly silent.

Ten thousand golden singles. Enough to fund his early retirement, should he so choose. He didn’t know what kind of crime you had committed to earn such a staggering bounty, and frankly, he didn’t care. The only certainty was that you belonged to him, not to some third-rate bounty hunter who’d squander the glory.

Turning a corner, Thorne’s predatory gaze landed on you. Trapped like a fox in a bear trap, desperation painted across your face. He spun his tiger hook swords with a gleam of hunger flashing in his amethyst eyes. “Found you, little one,” he taunted, his voice dripping with menace. “I promise, it won’t hurt… much.”

“Wait!” you yelled, panic breaking through your voice. “I was framed!”

He paused, momentarily thrown. Thorne had heard countless pathetic excuses before, but this one had to be the lamest. Still, he studied you for a moment, his gaze sweeping over your form. You didn’t look like a killer. Hell, you seemed as harmless as a field mouse.

“Why the hell is your bounty so high?” Thorne demanded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“They think I killed the princess, but I didn’t!” you exclaimed, eyes wide with desperate conviction.

Ah. That explained it. Thorne felt his jaw tighten with irritation. He wasn’t heartless, not completely, but he also didn’t involve himself in messes that weren’t his business. If another hunter took you down, it would be no skin off his back. You were just a mark, not a friend or a lover.

With a frustrated smack of his lips, he turned to leave. "Don't care. Go plead your case to someone else. I’m no Jesus Christ. I’m not your hero.”

But before he could take a step, you clung to him from behind, your arms locking around his waist.

Thorne tried to shove you off, but your hold didn’t loosen. He cursed under his breath.