The Tiger Prince Read Free Page A

with Barak, but he was beginning to get impatient and would soon go on the offensive. He would have to do something—
    Barak had drawn blood.
    Ruel had been a tenth of a second too slow, and Barak’s machete had grazed his rib cage.
    “Excellent.” Incredibly, Ruel nodded with approval. “You should always take advantage of an opponent’s overconfidence. Perhaps your wits aren’t as thick as I thought.”
    “You lied to me. You do
nothing.
” The woman beside Ian released her death grip on his arm. “Don’t you understand? He
helped
me. He made them—and you will let him die while you stand there and watch Barak—” She darted across the room toward the two men circling each other.
    “No!” Ian moved forward, grabbing a whiskey bottle from the table beside him. He heard a shout of protest from one of the miners at the table and murmured, “I do beg your pardon, but I may need this.”
    Ruel was laughing again, but Ian could detect the slightest hardening in his expression. He was not foolish enough to ignore the warning of Barak’s pinprick and would move to finish it now.
    “Barak!” Mila jumped on the giant’s back, her wiry arms encircling his thick neck.
    Ruel stopped, disconcerted, and then started laughing again. “Get off him, Mila. He’s having enough problems.”
    Barak shook himself like a sodden bear and broke Mila’s hold. She fell to her knees on the floor.
    Barak whirled toward her, the machete raised.
    “No!” The laughter vanished from Ruel’s expression. “Me. Not her, you bastard. You want
me.”
He lunged forward and the tip of his dagger drew a thin red line on the back of Barak’s neck. “Do I have your attention, you stupid ox?”
    Barak cursed, whirled back to face Ruel, and took a step forward.
    Ruel balanced on the balls of his feet, his blue eyesglittering wildly, his nostrils flaring.
“Now
, you thieving son of—”
    Ian stepped forward and said quietly, “No, Ruel.”
    Ruel froze. “Ian?” His gaze flew from Barak to Ian, his eyes widened in shock. “What the hell are—”
    Barak sprang forward, and the machete sliced into Ruel’s shoulder. The blade had been aimed at his heart. If Ruel hadn’t spun away at the last moment, it would have cleaved his chest as it had his shoulder.
    Ian heard the scream of the woman kneeling on the floor, saw Ruel’s face contort with pain, and acted without thinking.
    He took a step forward, lifted the whiskey bottle, and brought it down with all his strength on Barak’s head.
    Glass shattered; liquor sprayed.
    The giant grunted, tottered, and fell to the floor.
    Ruel swayed, his knees began to buckle.
    Ian stepped forward and caught him before he could follow Barak to the floor.
    “Why—” Ruel stopped, flinching as pain washed over him. “Dammit, Ian, why the hell are—”
    “Hush.” Ian shifted his hold and picked Ruel up in his arms as easily as if he weighed no more than a child. “I’ve come to take you home, lad.”
    As soon as Ruel opened his eyes he realized he was back in his own shack. He had lain looking at the stars through those cracks in the ceiling too many nights not to recognize his surroundings even through this haze of feverish pain.
    “Awake?”
    Ruel’s gaze shifted from the cracks to the man sitting by his cot.
    A long, aquiline nose, wide mouth, bright hazel eyes set deep in a face saved from homeliness only by humor and intelligence. Ian’s face.
    “You’re going to be fine. You’ve had the fever, but you’re mending nicely.”
    Ian’s brogue fell pleasantly on Ruel’s ears, and for aninstant he felt a sharp pang. He rejected the thought that it might be homesickness. Christ, it must be the fever. He had gotten over any maudlin yearnings for Glen-claren the first six weeks after he had left. He whispered, “What are you doing here?”
    “I told you.” Ian dipped a cloth in a bowl of water by the bed. “I’ve come to take you home.”
    “You almost took me home in a coffin.