Then came a female voice, urgent and firm. My brows drew together just as the demon king said, “Cease. You are reopening the wounds.”
Not caring about the burning sensation from my back, I craned my head so I could look behind me. A female was there, kneeling next to my hips. In her hand was a needle and thread. Another male—the one that had first spoken to me in my village—stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. Other than that, no one else was there. No trace of the horde warriors that had flooded into my village.
“What...what are you doing to me?” I rasped, my throat and mouth dry. The female glanced at me. A Dakkari female. I’d never seen one before.
But she didn’t reply. Her gaze dismissed me when she bent her head and lowered her needle to my back.
“She is suturing your wounds closed,kalles,” the demon king said, his voice rough and dark. I hated his voice. It made fear saturate my belly and rise up in my chest.
“Why?” I asked, hissing when I felt the coolness of her needle pierce my hot flesh.
He didn’t answer. I saw his jaw set, I felt his hold tighten.
Then I closed my eyes. It was easier.
I drifted back into sleep again.
* * *
Later,it was quiet, except for the crackling of a fire.
My eyelids felt heavy and my back felt numb. When the fire popped, my breath hitched, my gaze tracking over to it. The fire was encased in a raised metal disc and I watched sparks fling out from its center.
It was warm and it was so quiet. My skin felt damp, but my mind floated in a painless haze.
A dream?
My cheek was pressed into soft, tickling furs and I worried about Blue’s feathers because I no longer wore my tunic.
A hissing sound met my ears and I looked up slightly, across what looked like the inside of a domed tent. It was richly and warmly furnished. Piles of clean and plush furs, thick red rugs with golden swirling accents, heavy chests lining one area of the tent, a low table with cushions on the opposite side. A yellow glow of oil lamps and candles made the inside gleam, yet cast other places in deep shadows.
It was in one of those shadows that I saw him.
He was sitting with his back to the wall of the tent, his golden sword in his lap. I watched as he ran what looked like a black stone across the blade, creating that sharp hissing sound, before flipping the sword to run it across the other side.
As if he sensed me awakening, his gaze darted to mine. The hissing sound stopped.
His grey eyes looked frightening in the shadows, like a creature of nightmares. He was bare-chested and the markings across his chest and shoulders seemed to glow bright yellow in the darkness.
I swallowed. But just like with the men in my village, I did not want to show him my fear.
“Where am I?” I whispered, because I didn’t trust my voice not to shake.
“In my horde,” was what he replied.
He wasn’t that far from me. In fact, I could see that he’d recently bathed, his blond hair damp, his skin scrubbed clean.
Frowning, my eyes flitted, looking for a bathing tub, and I saw one near the entrance of the tent, tendrils of steam still curling from the surface.
I didn’t remember the last time I’d bathed.
My gaze flickered back to him when I sensed him set his sword aside.
“What did you do to me?” I asked, feeling something wrapped tightly around my back. Reaching around, I felt the soft cloth of bandages, wet with something sticky and thick.
“The healer cleaned and dressed your wounds.”
“Why?”
