She tried to speak, but managed only a croak.
"Conscious again." He didn't sound particularly interested. "That's three times now. You've been out about four hours. I cauterized your leg, you screamed, then went quiet. The silence was better."
The pain in her leg had changed from sharp agony to a deep, throbbing burn. She could feel bandages wrapped around it.
"Where did you—"
"The dead one had silk undergarments. Good quality." He stepped over something without breaking stride. "Shame to waste them."
"Why?" Her voice came out rough, throat raw. "Why are you helping me?"
A pause. When he spoke, his tone was matter-of-fact.
"You gave me the means to free myself. Now you're mine until the debt's paid." His grip adjusted slightly on her legs. "You belong to me now. I keep what's mine alive. Usually."
"I don't—"
"Your opinion on it doesn't matter." He sounded like he was explaining something obvious. "The debt exists. You're mine until I decide otherwise. It's simple."
She tried to process that logic and failed. "That makes no sense."
"It doesn't need to." He tilted his head slightly, listening. "The hunters are about two miles back. Moving poorly. Should I kill them all or just the loud one? He's irritating me."
"Don't kill anyone," she repeated, though her voice came out weaker than intended.
"Fine. Maiming only." He sounded mildly disappointed. "Though that really does complicate things. Dead bodies don't follow. Injured ones make noise, attract others. Very inefficient."
The forest around them had gone dark, true dark, the kind that existed only in places far from human lights. The moon filtered through branches in broken patterns, catching on his scales where they pushed through tears in his shirt, dark fabric that she suspected had been stolen from one of the dead hunters. The air tasted of pine sap and old earth, and underneath it, the metallic tang of blood. Hers, mostly, though he still carried the scent of charred flesh from Sarelle.
"Who are you?" she managed, her throat raw from screaming she didn't remember.
"You don't know? I told you. I'm a Drak."
"No, I mean... your name."
His footsteps barely disturbed the forest floor, each placement deliberate despite his casual gait. "Karse." He shifted her weight, and she felt the unnatural heat radiating from his skin, warmer than any human should be.
"I'm Briar."
"I know. You were screaming it earlier. 'Please, Briar needs to rest.' 'Briar is dying.' Very dramatic. Also you were talking in third person, which was odd."
Heat crept up her neck despite the cold night air. The movement made her aware of how she must look: dress destroyed, hair matted with blood and dirt, the carefully crafted court beauty dissolved into something feral and broken. "I was delirious."
"Obviously." Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, normal forest sounds that seemed wrong after a day of hunting horns. "You also kept reaching for something. Your chest, mostly. You kept saying something was gone. Is something missing?"
The warmth. The connection that had lived beneath her ribs for months, that golden thread that had bound her to Eliam even when she'd hated him for it. Now just hollow space, cold as winter earth. "It's... complicated."
"Most things are when fae are involved." His tone suggested complete disinterest, but she could feel his attention on her, sharp as the scales that caught moonlight along his neck. "You should sleep more. Talking is tedious and you need to heal."
"I'm not tired—"
"Yes you are. Close your eyes."
The trees around them had grown older, trunks thick enough that three people couldn't wrap their arms around them. Moss hung from branches like curtains, and the air felt heavier here, pregnant with magic that made her skin prickle. "You can't just tell me to—"
"Sleep," he said, and there was something in his voice, not quite command but absolute certainty. "I'm tired of conversation."
Against her will, her eyes grew heavy, the rhythm of his walking and the warmth at her back pulling her under...
