I study him as he studies me, his gaze chiseling against my walled—up exterior. Releasing my breath, I look at the horse again.
“Dahla.” My cheek leans against the snout of my longtime companion, her dusty scent filling my nostrils. The momentfeels calming, the reassurance that she’ll live on a salve to my nerves. I take another stolen breath and brace myself for what happens next.
“Saltare.” The mare springs to life and rises onto her back legs, rearing her muscular body to the sky. She shakes her brute head, causing The Devourer to lose the reins. His strong thighs grip the saddle and he points his toes forward in the stirrups, leveling them with the ground.
His hands grab the horse’s withers, lacing his fingers in her long mane.
The cart makes a sudden jerk as the horse bolts, spooked by Dahla’s sudden movement. Rune flips into the back of the cart, landing on me, his heel knocking me on the head. He struggles to get upright as his limbs tangle and curses are mumbled under his breath.
My already throbbing head pounds more incessantly and spots form in my vision. An audible holler echoes in the surrounding chaos. I’m able to look up in time to see Rune grabbing the lost reins, the unexpected disruption urging his brows together until they form angry slashes.
He quickly stops the grey horse from its gallop. Turning back to me, he sends me a glare that would slice anyone else in two. I merely turn my lip up and scoff before looking back at Dahla and her hopefully unseated rider.
My amusement is cut short.Of course he’s still upright.Annoyance nags at me.
If I didn’t loathe the man who stole my damn horse and was leading me to my demise, he would actually be magnificent. His dark tresses, unkempt and untied from Dahla’s rearing, fall gracefully over his forehead, kissing his jaw in a way that can only be explained as godly. The mischief in his eyes tells me all I need to know. He’s definitely an experienced rider.Very experienced.Somehow I’d assumed that he probably sat aroundoften, a life of leisure for the reward of being merciless. The Devourer is more complex than I care to admit, my assumptions clearly wrong again.
“Ahh, little warrior. I should have guessed you would have more tricks in that cunning brain.”
His hand loosens from Dahla’s withers and he stretches his fingers. My eyes catch on the veins that twitch and flex down his forearm. I follow the muscular arms to where his shirt collar is laying open, the buttons now undone on his collar, and notice an ebony, gleaming band inked into his skin.
His chagrin smile fades as he follows my line of sight. Fingers quickly grasp the opened collar and he works the buttons back in place.
I can’t help but stare at the man. For as much as his actions are both evil and wrong, his physique is that of a warrior. If only he had chosen the side of humanity rather than turn his back to it.
Green eyes sparkling, they meet mine and hold. Enchanting me. He grabs the fallen rein and then looks down at the leather straps. Snatching one up, he grips it between his teeth and leans forward to grab something from his waistband.
I see the gleam of the blade and I watch as he cuts the strap shorter. He knots them together in one fell swoop and rests them in his lap. Once the dagger is sheathed again, he slides the loose leather piece between his fingers.
Looking again at me, he bites the leather and lets go while sliding his hands into his hair. He smooths the disheveled locks over his head, combing them back with his deft fingers. Eyes still on me, a sultry wickedness transforms in his brilliant gaze. He takes the strap and knots his hair back.
His appearance looks respectable again, not like the carefree version I caught a brief glimpse of. I watch as the mask ofcomposure slides back over his face, though the phantom of seductiveness peeks through.
My face heats and I can’t tell if it’s from confusion or embarrassment. Somehow the encounter felt forbidden.
He’s about to bring you to your death. To kill you. Get it together.Perhaps the heel to the head knocked the sense out of me.
My thoughts turn over the possibilities of the inked skin as The Devourer rides past the cart and moves to the front.
A jostle of the cart signals we’re moving again. I sit alone, quietly, lost in thoughts of Leeson, our friendship and the solace she’s provided me. More bittersweet are the memories of my family. I imagine Hanin back at our home weaving little flower crowns from white bells, those memories call to me like a siren’s song of old. Time slips and I’m unaware of how long we’ve gone on for. Closing my eyes to the now bright sunlight, exhaustion takes hold and I drop to my side and let the warm sun wash over me.
The lull of travel has me quickly dozing off, my mind rioting against the prospect, but my body wins out, and I finally fall into a light sleep. I barely hear the velvety voice, the words seemingly far away but close at the same time.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” The words are followed by a gravely bark of laughter.
“Piss off.” The murmur slips from my lips as exhaustion overtakes me, and I’m lost to the choking dreams of flower crowns and flames.
Chapter 10
Alora
I’m home, or at least it feels like home. I’m staring at the familiar door, bleached from the sun and salt of the sea, with little etched flowers along the border. Along the threshold are the tiny, white bell flowers that momma helped me and Hanin plant. I take a stride closer and kneel, the light scent urging me onwards. The briny air wraps me in its salty embrace, healing wounds I didn’t know festered beneath the surface.
My finger grazes the little dainty white caps of the floral sentinels. I snip one off with my forefinger and thumb and bring it closer to my face. Inhaling deeply as it is brought to my nose, I quickly drop the bloom. It smells wrong somehow. Mygaze sharpens on it and it appears as if the petals are scorched. But they weren’t just a moment ago? I grasp the flower again and watch it turn to ash as I roll it between my fingers.
A shiver skitters along my spine. The overwhelming urge to run fills my chest and my body tenses. I’m not alone here. The hairs on my arms prickle in awareness—someone watches, but from where?
“Alora.”
