She tried to bolt again, only to be pushed back down. Hatred and fear mingling, she watched Shadow slip off his bow and quiver and kneel before her. A wide stripe of ocher masked his eyes. Two more slashed each of his biceps, and his chest, having not a single hair on it, was painted with the symbol of a wolf.
Had Chance appointed Shadow to kill her, or had Shadow volunteered?
“Hello, white trespasser.”
\ “Is he still here?” She was sickened by his lilting tone. “Is he going to watch?”
Shadow leaned back. “Is who going to watch what?”
Jessie glared at the painted demon, hating his arrogance. He was enjoying her helplessness. It gave him a feeling of control, of power. Exactly in what Chance reveled.
“Chance,” she spat. “Lieutenant Chance Stoker.”
Shadow leaned forward, so close that she could smell the masculine ruggedness of him. “The One-Eyed Redcoat?”
Frustration and degradation welled inside her. Chance had brought her here. Six years of torment was not enough? Some higher force must have been blocking her attempt at happiness. Chance was evil, but he was God’s own. She had tried killing him twice, and now God was punishing her for it.
“When are you going to kill me?” She looked the Indian in the eye. She would not beg to be spared. She would not give him the satisfaction.
He looked at her as if she were insane. “Why would I kill you after all Willow has done to heal you?” He motioned to the old woman who gave her the medicine.
It was Jessie’s turn to be confused.
“Willow found you in the woods,” he explained. “Someone s hot you.”
“Then how do you know Chance has only one eye?” she flared. What kind of fool did he take her for? Chance had brought her here. How else would Shadow know about a one-eyed redcoat?
Shadow shrugged. “You are the one who talks in your sleep.”