I haven’t begun to imagine what will happen once The Devourer is held by the council. I find myself not wanting him tobe trapped in a dungeon to rot until the king decides to burn the world down to find him.
As far as any of us are concerned, he appears to be like a brother to King Euron. They’re constantly together and one doesn’t get their position that close to the king by luck or fate. No, longtime friendships form those bonds.
“So, Devourer, how did you befriend the king? Or were you born into your position?” The question is asked before I can shut my mouth.
A long silence ensues, only the snapping of twigs under Dahla’s hooves to be heard.
“You could say that I was born into what I am. However damned, as the fates decided me to be.”
The words have my eyes narrowing, he can’t see my face, but I’m sure he feels my back stiffen.
“Damned?” I draw the word out, letting the question stew in the air.
I duck beneath a heavy branch that is coated in snow, apparently too quickly because it smacks him in the upper body and I feel his hands jerk, gripping my hips to keep him in the saddle.
A laugh bubbles up, and I try to compose my face.
He lets out an unamused growl. “You did that on purpose.”
Any resolve I had left is stripped away and I let out an unladylike cackle.
Caym also starts chuckling from behind us.
“I was waiting for him to be knocked on his ass, I admit.”
Caym’s rough voice saws through any lingering embarrassment. He quickens the horse’s pace to take the lead, leaving us to follow after him and Leeson.
Lees and Caym’s forms grow smaller as the distance lengthens between us. We’re just out of earshot from our companions as an inhuman cry pierces the air, just to our rightof the trail and stops us in our tracks. Dahla’s form tenses, and my familiarity with her warns me she’s about to bolt.
“She senses the spirits perhaps better than even we do.” A smokey voice breaks the silence that felt too loud after the phantom scream.
I lean forward and pat Dahla, in an attempt to calm her, feeling her tight muscles loosen with the touch.
“Yeah, she definitely does. She’s been through these woods enough to know we can’t remain in them any longer. This damn snow has made it slower than I’d hoped to cross them.” The tension stirs in my chest, not from The Devourer, but knowing whatcouldhappen if we strayed from the path or got too far away from Lees and Caym.
The saddle shifts slightly as my captive settles himself back into the seat. He scoots forward slightly, his thighs pressing against my bottom. Heat flares again in my core and I am once more imagining obscene images of his body and mine pressed together.
“Why do you say ‘damned by the fates?’” The whirlwind of energy bouncing around inside of me causes me to forget that I’d already asked him that.
The air continues to feel too heavy, as if the wood spirits are daring us to make a misstep.
“We shouldn’t be talking about this in these woods,” The Devourer whispers almost directly into my ear, the soft tickle of his breath causing a shiver to run down my spine.
“The fates and Goddess are not ones to tempt. Though the Goddess might be more prone to let us through without any tricks. It’s the fates I worry about. They enjoy their games and tricks. They also enjoy the punishments they dole out and witnessing me suffer needlessly.” The admission from him stirs my curiosity and I have to physically stop myself from turning around.
Slowly, I say, “You said damned before.” I turn my cheek, unable to resist the secrets he seems to carry. His lips brush my jawline, the warm flesh marking my chilled skin. I close my eyes and savor the warmth before pulling away.
I continue, as if my body isn’t reacting to his mouth, “If you won’t speak about the fates, at least tell me about that mark on your neck. The one you tuck away.”
His face leaves mine and he shifts again in the saddle, though from discomfort or unease, I’m unsure.
“My tattoo?” The flatness of his words only add to my interest in the man.
“Yes. I haven’t seen anything like it before. The way it seems to move like shadows trapped beneath your skin.”
He continues to pause and if only I couldwillthe words from his lips. He’s woven his secrets like a hidden tapestry I yearn to unravel.
The ground begins to turn soggy as the air warms. The trail feels similar to how the streets of Astoria felt when they were laden with rain, suffocating. As if the road to our destination wanted to consume us, to keep us.
