Making camp here, I guess.
I’m not unhappy about that.
Even with that protective oil moisturising my skin, the warmth of the hot springs is soft on my cheeks, a caress of comfort.
I look at the cold warrior, just a reach away from the cart—but he makes no move to get me out of my little prison.
Still, he stands with the frosty-haired female, talking in a barbed murmur.
Another fae has joined them, the one whose lazy grin is made up of slightly yellow, sharp teeth.
My gaze lingers over his shark-like bite.
I have seen him before in the unit, but I didn’t notice that. Every single tooth in his grin is sharp, pointed—and he’s the only fae I’ve seen with that kind of bite. Most of them have sharp teeth from the canines back.
Not this one.
He could bite of a chunk out of my thigh like it’s nothing more than a block of butter.
I’m immediately cringed against the thought.
My hands find the meat of my thighs—and hold.
Just hold.
Like it’ll protect me from him, or at least stamp out the ugly thoughts from my mind.
It’s my own imagination, my own paranoia that I let get the better of me sometimes.
So I force my attention to the clanging and clattering and creaking noise that starts down the springs.
Two captives have climbed a cart, and they begin unloading massive pots and saucepans.
The bone of my chin digs into my knees, and I just stay here, watching the camp expand.
Fae move like a swarm over rocks. The warriors head out in order, in groups, finding their spots between the hot springs or along the riverbank, some closer to the carts up on the trail, others disappearing into the treeline.
The captives splinter off for their chores.
I notice they don’t go for the first carts, where the throne-like chair is strapped to the edges, and rows of canvas bags are tied down, which I suspect are the packed tents.
Maybe there isn’t enough room here for that major setup, or we’re not stopping long enough for the full camp to be made.
Whatever the reason, it doesn’t affect the lull that has rippled over the fae, satchels and backpacks tossed to the rocks, boots kicked off, bums dropping to the ground, and some—
My eyes widen.
Some are starting to strip off their leathers.
Like…allof their leathers… to the bare skin.
Not interested in seeing the naked body of a monster, thanks.
I hug my knees tighter and look down at the ankle of my boots. The new socks are exposed and still padded firm over the elastic hems of my sweatpants, not a thread out of place.
I consider the seams with too much concentration before a pale hand reaches over the side of the cart for the metal hook.
My gaze cuts to the side.
