“Rule four,” Sarak murmurs against my ear, breath hot. “In a storm, you do not leave this cave. Not for scouting, not for fresh air, not for anything. Say it.”
I squirm. “Sarak?—”
“Say it, Gamble.”
The steel in his voice makes my stomach flip. “I don’t leave the cave.”
“Good boy.” He nips my earlobe in reward. “Now warm up before you turn into an icicle.”
I try. I really do. But the cave is small, the storm is loud, and the fire stone is quiet… too quiet. That silence itches under my skin like a warning. After an hour of pretending to doze, I’m crawling out of my skin with restless energy.
“Sarak,” I whisper.
He’s half-asleep, chin on my shoulder. “Mmm?”
“I’m going to go mad if I sit here much longer. Just to the entrance. Five minutes. I’ll stay in sight.”
His arms tighten like iron bands. “No.”
“It’s just scouting?—”
“I said no.” His voice drops to that Daddy register that makes my knees weak and my spine straighten at the same time. “You’re safe here. That’s final.”
The wordfinalrankles. I’m an elf. We don’t do final. We do loopholes and caveats and straight up mischief.
I wait until his breathing evens out, until the fire settles into low coals. Then I slip free, quiet as a thief, and pad barefoot to the cave mouth. Snow still falls in sheets, but the wind has eased.
I lean out, tasting the air. Nothing but cold and pine and?—
A sigil flares crimson beneath my foot.
Revaster’s trap rune.
The world tilts. Crimson chains erupt from the stone, snapping around my wrists and ankles faster than thought. They yank me off my feet and slam me against the cave wall, spread-eagled, suspended a foot above the ground. Pain lances through my limbs as the curse drinks deep, siphoning life in greedy pulses. My vision tunnels and I’m totally not in control—far from it, in fact.
Behind me, Sarak roars awake.
“Gamble!”
He’s there in two strides, eyes blazing gold, scales rippling across his skin. The chains hiss and tighten when he reaches for them.
“Dragon-forged,” I gasp. “Only dragon blood breaks them?—”
Sarak doesn’t hesitate. Claws slash his own forearm and ruby blood wells. He smears it across the chains. They shriek,corrode, and snap. I drop like a stone. Sarak catches me before I hit the floor, cradling me against his chest.
For a moment he just holds me, shaking with rage and terror. Then his grip shifts and suddenly I’m over his knee, trousers yanked down, bare bottom in the air.
“Sarak—”
“You disobeyed me.” His voice is quiet. Terrifying. “In a war zone. With Revaster’s magic everywhere.”
The first swat lands like thunder. I yelp, arching. The second follows immediately, and the third, until I lose count somewhere around fifteen and dissolve into a mess of tears and apologies and broken promises to be good. My bottom is molten, every nerve ending singsa song of regret and shame at disobeying my protector.
When Sarak stops, I’m sobbing into the crook of my arm. He doesn’t soothe yet. Instead, golden chains—this time his own, conjured from his power—slither around my wrists, tethering them to an iron ring set high in the cave wall. My toes barely touch the ground. I’m stretched taut, helpless, completely at his mercy.
“Sarak—” It comes out a whimper.
“Shh.” He circles me slowly, predator and protector in one. “You need to feel this, little elf. You need to remember.”
