She did not want to hope for something so selfish, and so tragic, as his continued imprisonment in his altered form—but it was difficult not to.
Time for research was at a premium with her departure so soon, and she thought seriously about turning back halfway down the path. But the distant roar of the waves lured her on, and she told herself that they would have plenty of research-time when she returned. It is not as if we are pursuing this under some deadline, after all.
Sunlight showing past the trees ahead of her pointed to the clearing at the top of the cliffs, and her turn-around point. I'll just enjoy the sea and the wind for a moment, and get some sun, then I'll walk back at a faster pace—
Her ears warned her a fraction of a second before it happened; there was the crackle of underbrush, and she had just enough time to half turn before something heavy hit her from behind, grappling her around the waist.
But her assailant did not get a firm grip on her, nor did he manage to pin her arms. With a shrill scream startled out of her by sudden fear, she clawed and struggled her way free, leaving her jacket in his hands. As she wrenched herself away, she let her momentum take her and staggered a few paces away in the direction of the cliffs.
That was not where she wanted to go—nor did she want this attacker between herself and the mansion! She staggered about to face him, her hands crooked instinctively into claws to tear at his face and eyes, her hair draggling down into her eyes, and one sleeve of her shirtwaist half torn off.
To her utter shock and horror, when he scrambled to his feet and glared up at her, she recognized the face of Paul du Mond. And to her deeper horror, she recognized by his dilated, glassy eyes, his pale complexion, and his fixed stare that he was not his normal self. She had already marked him with a long scratch down one cheek; he did not seem to notice it, not even to wipe the blood away. Nor did he speak, or alter his predatory stance in any way although he must have recognized her, and knew that she now knew him.
Her stomach knotted and her heart chilled. For some reason, known only to him, he had come to attack her. If he is drugged—he won't feel anything I do. I could claw his face to ribbons and he won't feel it—
He lunged for her again, his lips twisted into a snarl, a thin line of spittle drooling from one corner of his mouth. She tried to evade him, but this time his luck was better, or hers worse; he caught her by the skirt, and wrenched her offbalance long enough to take complete control of the situation.
She had no time to react; his reflexes were inhumanly fast. He seized both her wrists in one hand with an iron grip; she made herself go limp, landing on her derriere with a painful thump, determined to make of herself a dead weight that he could not carry. And once she was down, she began to kick at his knees and legs with the hard heels of her shoes. If she could break a bone, drugged or not, he would not be able to carry her off, as he seemed fixed on doing!
Her focus narrowed to her struggle; although her entire body thrilled with terror, she did not, would not, could not let it overwhelm her. She must fight; Jason was who-knew-where, and his Salamanders were probably with him. Only one person was going to save her: herself.
She didn't scream; she saved her breath for the fight. No one would hear her this far from the house. But inside, she was screaming in terror. Her arms burned with pain as he hauled at them; it felt as if he was tearing them out of her shoulder.
He ignored the vicious kicks at his legs, and began to drag her inch by inch toward the clearing. Twigs tore at her clothing, her face, her arms, marking her skin in fiery paths—she twisted and turned, trying to break that powerful grip in her wrists, until her arms were nearly wrenched out of their sockets. What did he want with her? What could he want with her? And why was he dragging her towards the cliffs?
The struggle went on in grim silence; the roar of the ocean covered the sound of her panting and gasping, and he seemed as impervious to everything as if he were an automaton made of clockwork and steel. She made one attempt to bite him, but gave that up when he used the opportunity to attempt to land a blow to her jaw that would surely have knocked her senseless had she not ducked out of the way. After that, she did her best to keep her head out of his reach.
Kicking and writhing, hooking her legs around trees until he tore her loose, forcing him to fight dearly for every inch, she was dragged inexorably towards the clearing and the cliffs. Her shirtwaist was in rags; her skirt, of sturdier stuff, hampered her attempts to get a purchase enough to throw him off-balance. Was he going to throw her over the cliffs? And why?
Whatever he wanted with her, the fact that he apparently wanted her alive for it made her even more terrified, if that was possible. Panic gave her new strength, and she twisted like a wild thing in his grasp, wrenching her arms back and forth. But some other force had given him incredible strength, and he continued to pull her onwards.
Only two or three yards of cover remained between him and the clearing. Once he got her that far, there would be nothing for her to hold on to, and he could simply drag her across the slippery grass unimpeded. Her heart pounded so wildly she thought it would burst.
Terrified past reason now, she screamed in hopeless terror, and fought with all her strength.
"Firemaster!"
The Salamander popped up under Sunset's nose, startling the stallion into a fit of rearing and bucking. Cameron fought to control the horse with knee and voice; his heart hammered as he even hauled on the reins of the bitless bridle to force the horse's head down into a position where it would be difficult to buck.
"Help! Firemaster!" the Salamander shrilled again. "Rose! Danger! Help, Firemaster!"
What? At that same moment, he fought Sunset to a shivering standstill, and he twisted in his saddle to face the Elemental. "Where? What? How?"
"Du Mond has her!" it screeched. "Follow!"
It shot off like a streak of red lightning in the direction of the path to the cliffs; without a second of hesitation, he wrenched the horse's head around in the right direction. Digging his heels into Sunset's sides, and shouting, he gave the stallion his head. Already excited, Sunset needed no encouragement to break into a gallop. The horse pounded after the blazing Elemental, as Cameron's thoughts churned chaotically.
Du Mond—but why—the Salamanders can't protect her, I sealed him against their direct interference—the cliffs—what can he want—he wants her, he always has, he's been after her all along—
He urged Sunset to his fastest with shouts and slaps of a light twig he carried instead of a riding-crop, but his thoughts went from chaos to incoherence. Red, bloody rage built up in him, as it had once before, at the thought of du Mond putting his filthy hands all over Rose, his Rose—
I'll kill him—kill him—kill—
Bile rose in his throat, and the thick musk of rage in his nostrils. His stomach knotted, and his vision misted.
Sunset thundered down the path to the cliffs, covering in minutes what it would take someone afoot a half hour to cross. His vision was narrowed to the path ahead, and filmed with scarlet. Sunset was tiring, slowing, but it didn't matter, for he saw du Mond ahead of him now, dragging Rose. Her clothing was torn and her face scratched, but she was kicking and fighting and screaming at the top of her lungs.