The mountain was waiting.
CHAPTER 8
Astorm was coming. Tarek could feel it in his bones—the shift in pressure, the electric crackle that made his skin prickle and his beast pace restlessly beneath his skin. He stood at the mouth of his den, watching dark clouds mass over the peaks, their bellies heavy with rain. The wind had picked up in the last hour, carrying the scent of rain and the echo of distant thunder.
He should be securing his territory. He should be reinforcing the shelter where he stored his herbs, checking his shutters, and making sure the entrance to his den was protected from flooding. A storm like this could last days, and there was much to be done.
Instead, he found himself pacing.
Six steps to the back wall. Turn. Six steps to the entrance. Turn again. His claws scraped against the stone floor with each pass, leaving faint marks that would join the hundreds of others accumulated over five years of restless nights.
Five years since his exile. Five years of solitude. And now, after all that time, he couldn’t stop thinking about a human female.
Foolishness,he told himself for the hundredth time.Dangerous foolishness.
But the words rang hollow, drowned out by the memory of hazel eyes looking up at him without fear and soft warmth pressed against his chest in the early morning light. He could still feel that quick kiss brushed against his cheek, a fleeting touch that burned like a brand against his skin.
He growled and resumed his pacing.
He’d watched her village again today. He’d sworn he wouldn’t. He’d promised himself that once she was safely returned, he would forget about her. He would go back to his herbs and his hunting and his careful, controlled existence. But his feet had carried him down the mountain before dawn, and he’d found himself crouched in the same shadowed thicket, watching the same cottage.
She’d been inside that morning, working at something he couldn’t see. He’d caught glimpses of her through the window, bending over what he assumed was her loom. The sight of her, safe and whole and focused on her craft, had settled something anxious in his chest.
But then the older male had arrived, the one who’d lectured her when she’d returned from the mountain. From the way she’d described her family situation, he assumed he was her uncle. This time, he’d brought another male with him. A stranger with the sharp eyes of a merchant or trader.
He had watched them enter her cottage, noticing the way her spine stiffened and her shoulders drew in on themselves. He’dnoted, with growing unease, the contrast between her closed, careful expression and the satisfied smugness on both males’ faces when they emerged.
Something was wrong. He could feel it with the same certainty with which he felt the coming storm—a pressure building, a disaster waiting to strike.
It’s not my concern,he reminded himself.She’s human. This is human business. I owe her nothing.
But that wasn’t quite true, was it? She’d given him something during their time together. Not just the kiss—though that alone had been enough to haunt his dreams—but something more. She’d looked at him and seen… him. She’d seen a person rather than a monster or an exile.
And she still owed him a debt. A debt he’d never named, because naming it would have meant admitting that he wanted something from her. That he wanted her in his life, even peripherally, even for a moment longer.
The debt, he thought firmly.I should check on her because of the debt. Make sure she hasn’t forgotten it. Make sure she’s prepared to honor our bargain.
It was a flimsy excuse, and he knew it. But it was enough to quiet the voice in his head that warned him to stay away from humans, away from any attachments that might end the way his previous connections had ended—in the cold certainty that caring for others only brought them harm.
He was still arguing with himself when the first drops of rain began to fall.
They came slowly at first, fat droplets that splattered against the stone outside his den, releasing the earthy scent of wet rock. Then faster, harder, driven by the winds that howled through the peaks like mourning spirits. Within minutes, the rain had become a deluge, and the world beyond his shelter dissolved into grey sheets of water.
Good,he thought, pulling on his heaviest cloak.The rain will provide cover. No human will be out in this weather. I can slip into the village unseen, speak to her, and be gone before anyone knows I was there.
Although the weather diminished the risk, the plan was still dangerous. If he were discovered, if any of the villagers spotted a Vultor lurking near their homes, there would be consequences. Not only for him, but possibly for Jessa. A woman who consorted with a Vultor would find no welcome amongst her own kind.
But the memory of her stiff shoulders and careful expression wouldn’t leave him. Nor would the growing conviction that whatever deal had been struck in that cottage, she hadn’t been a willing participant.
He told himself one more time that it was about the debt and stepped out into the storm.
The rain hit him like a wall of cold needles, immediately soaking through his cloak and plastering his hair to his skull. He barely noticed. His body ran hotter than a human’s—hot enough to steam in the cold rain, if he let his beast closer to the surface—and discomfort from the elements had long since ceased to register.
What he did notice was the scent.
Even through the rain, even through the overwhelming smell of wet earth, he caught something familiar. Something that made his beast go still and alert, his head lifting like a predator who’d spotted prey.
Sweet. Warm. Enticing.
