The blond puts his head down as a blush creeps up his cheeks. “This way.”
We’re led onto an arched bridge that stretches over a canal. Slade reaches down and clasps my hand, giving it a squeeze. “He’s right. What you did was amazing. You should be fucking proud.”
I’m not used to overt compliments like this. I don’t quite know what to do with it, so I just nod.
“And this,” Slade says quietly, as his hand drifts up to the back of my neck. I feel him rub against the skin there. “I haven’t told you yet how much I fucking love this.”
My brow furrows and I lift my hand. My fingers brush up against something smooth, something that feels different. “What is that?”
He blinks, and then his lips curve. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head, still trying to feel around it.
“You turned my scales golden,” he says, hand moving to tap his own cheek. “And you grew one of your own.”
My eyes widen. “This…is a scale?”
“Yep,” he says, pride practically flooding through the word.
The spot is directly centered at the back of my neck, a curved diamond shape that feels smoother and a bit harder than the rest of my skin.
“First my gold sprouted roots of rot, and now I have a scale,” I say, my hand dropping. “You’ve staked quite the claim on me, Ravinger.”
His grin is sinful and makes my inner beast purr while my pulse heats. Then he leans in and talks close to my ear, his words fanning me with his hot breath. “And I can’t even begin to tell you howabsolutely feralit makes me to see it.”
My stomach jumps.
Then we reach the end of the bridge, and I have to clear my throat and look away, or else I might be in danger of trying to drag him right back to our underground safe house.
He chuckles and grips my hand again. Wicked male.
I’ve cooled by the time we round a corner and make it onto the connecting street. This one, unlike the other, actually has people on it. Some are in groups, talking to each other in hurried whispers. There are several children playing, one of them blowing light into the air while the others try to chase the colors.
When everyone notices us though, the street goes still and quiet. I feel their eyes on us, and my tension sparks.
Then, the people suddenly start to cheer. Hands clapping, faces breaking out into smiles. I take in a surprised breath.
“Lyäri! It’s the Lyäri!”
Their voices catch down the street too, coming from more and more throats, and the crowd comes over, walkingwith us like it’s a celebration. They reach out to touch me, grinning, calling my name, and I smile at them with friendly acknowledgement, not knowing quite what to say. I’m glad for the steadiness of Slade’s hand holding mine.
Finally, the Vulmin lead us to a building. It has pillars at its front and a dome over its doorway, but the roof stands out the most. Among the other gray stone rooftops, this one is the familiar bright blue in the exact shade as Saira Turley’s field of flowers.
Just before we reach the front door, it swings open and Wick stands there, his brown eyes guarded. The rest of the Vulmin still call after me, but I walk up the stoop’s steps with Slade. I turn and wave at them before entering the building, and once we’re inside, Wick closes the door.
There are sacks full of flour and sugar stacked against the walls, and different powders in glass canisters along the shelves. The whole place smells like wheat and cinnamon and something else I can’t quite place.
Wick looks over at the two males who brought us. “Thank you for escorting them.”
With quick nods to him and us, they take their leave, walking back outside and shutting the door behind them. Then it’s just the three of us.
Wick turns and motions us deeper into the building. “We’ll go upstairs so we can talk.”
Slade doesn’t move. “Before we go anywhere with you, explain why I can scent blood.”
That’sthe hint of what I was smelling. I look from him to Wick, waiting for his answer.
“There are a few prisoners in the cellar below,” Wick replies.
