“You saved us.” Zane attempted to smooth the waters roiling between me and his hostile friend. “We are grateful.”
“We never saw a nian till she arrived. No one has ever seen this many together.” Remy’s gaze took in the still-smoking bodies. “Coincidence? I think not.”
“Are you saying I brought them with me? I’d never heard of a nian until an hour ago.”
“If the shoe fits?—”
“That’s ridiculous,” I insisted. Was it? Wolven and wraiths. A fucking wyvern. Nightmares made real, and they all seemed to find me. I shifted my gaze from Remy and stared into the forest as a shudder tightened my spine. “Are there any other monsters in these woods?”
“None we can’t handle,” Zane replied.
Remy snorted. The sound was not comforting.
Chapter
Forty-Seven
REMY
The snow creaking beneath the horses’ hooves and the occasional caw from a raven were the only sounds that broke the silence.
I glared holes through Haven’s back. Was I masking my own turmoil with resentment? Yes. Did I care? No.
Why she annoyed me, I couldn’t say, but she did. The woman rode like a sack of potatoes. I focused on that obvious flaw, tightening my hold on my horse’s reins when Haven flinched at a sound in the forest. “Afraid?” I let my scorn seep into my voice.
She turned her gaze on me, and her eyes widened slightly. What did she see? “After what we just survived, I’d be a fool not to be.”
The dead nians were behind us, and I doubted others would dare attack. Not when Haven had the power to reduce them to ash in seconds. “You handled them.” She couldn’t have it both ways. Hero or coward—pick one.
She frowned. “Nothing scares you?”
“Nothing,” I lied. She scared the hell out of me.
Not because of her power—though watching her incinerate twenty nians had been terrifying. No, she scared me because of the way she looked at me. Like she could see past my defenses.
Her pink lips curled into a small, knowing smile, as if she saw clear through me.
I ground my molars and narrowed my eyes. “Focus on your riding. It’s awful.”
Zane shook his head, passing silent judgment on my behavior. He’d told me who she was. What she meant—to him, to us. But fate could keep its fucking meddling fingers out of my life. I wanted no part of its plans.
“Wait.” She urged her mare forward and rested her hand on my arm.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Healing you,” she snapped.
I opened my mouth to tell her not to touch me, but it was too late. The pain in my arm disappeared, and the bleeding stopped.
I suppressed the urge to thank her. Instead, I urged Shamba ahead.
The absence of pain was … jarring. She’d healed me without hesitation, despite my hostility—even though I’d been nothing but rude to her since we met. Why? What did she want from me?
Most people had an agenda. What was hers? What had Zane told her? Did she know fate had plans for us?
Or had Haven simply noticed I was hurt? No questions. No conditions. Just a gentle, healing touch.
That made my behavior inexcusable. And that only deepened my anger.
