It happened quickly.
One minute, Baila was on the ground about to be killed for what she was and the next, her hunter, the old man was on the ground, gurgling and choking on his own blood.
His neck had been ripped out.
Baila's eyes went wide as she touched her necklace. She was still wearing it. She didn't kill him. Sobs of relief wracked her body and she held her hand to her mouth.
She had almost died.
The crowd stood still, silent.
The man who had saved Baila by killing her assailant, turned to face the crowd, a huge piece of flesh in his bloody hand, his mouth was bloody and so was his jaw and neck. There was blood on his fine black tunic as well.
Baila studied him.
He had messy black hair--dark like midnight. His bronze skin was too beuatiful and his eyes were a sharp ruby red colour. When he smiled, he had dimples. The man cocked his head at her, regarding her with a predatory look in his eyes.
Baila's heart fluttered.
