“At least try to keep up!” she calls, poppies crowding her legs with each step. “I think you’re out of shape, Azer!” “Is that so?” I laugh, gaining on her. She realizes too late what is happening. A squeal slips from her lips when I cut in front of her, bending to catch her legs and throw the rest of her body over my uninjured shoulder. I bite my tongue at the sting that still shoots down my body, but the sound of her laugh is healing, capable of making a man forget his own name, let alone his pain.
