Ash set the clothes on the counter.
The woman cashed up. “Four silvers.”
Ash paid with the exact amount, packed everything in the backpack, dipped her chin in thanks, and left with measured steps.
The street teemed with bodies and stalls, but the usual sounds of a marketplace—haggling voices, laughter, and the clatter of wares—seemed muted. Children lingered on the periphery of it all, barefoot and hollow-eyed, then scattered like birds at the metallic scrape of armored boots. Conversations stopped mid-word, leaving only the guards’ echoing footsteps as they passed.
The low conversation resumed, and vendors quietly hawked their wares. Ash moved between them, her backpack hooked over one shoulder, her head down.
The aroma of spiced meat cooking over coal fires drifted from the nearby stalls, and her stomach pinched with hunger. Goodness, she could eat a cow, horns and all, right now.
She slowed her steps, her gaze darting over the food stalls—the thick loaves of ash bread, skewers of grilled meat, root vegetables with blackened skins, and spiky, almost colorless fruit that looked like it grew in the shade—everything made her mouth water.
“I’ll have a dozen of those skewers and two loaves of bread,” she told the vendor.
The stocky merchant gave her a quick once-over. “Two silvers.”
Ash paid, then took the wrapped food and carefully tucked it into her backpack. She turned and knocked into a hard body.
A growl erupted, low and displeased, raising the hairs on her arms.
“Careful,” the tall woman snapped, brushing past, but then she halted. Slowly, she turned.
Built like a huntress—at least how Ash imagined one was—her waist-length honey curls framed a sharp, angular face. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed. Gold-streaked green eyes fixed on Ash with a feral interest that made her spine lock up.
Of course. The first person she bumped into reeked of trouble.
“I’m sorry,” Ash said quickly and sidestepped, but the woman mirrored her, moving with liquid grace, each step a deliberate glide, her nose twitching as if tasting the air.
“You smell…perfect,” she crooned, her voice low and husky.
Wonderful. A stranger with personal space issues and an olfactory obsession. Just what she needed.
Then the eerie hush in the marketplace cracked through her irritation. Most of the vendors and shoppers had melted away from their vicinity. The remaining onlookers pressed against walls and stalls, leaving a wide circle of space around them.
The quiet hiss of sputtering coal fires broke the deadly silence as the woman stepped closer.
“What?” Ash bit out.
“You carry the smell of someone…powerful. I don’t see him…” Her gaze whipped around, then flicked to Ash’s throat. “He’s yours?”
A she-dragon.
Of course, she was. Arrogance marked every inch of her, and now Ash understood why everyone had fled.
It wasn’t just posturing. It was a challenge. For a male.
This horny cow bumps into me and decides Race is up for grabs? Ugh.
“You’re in my way,” Ash snapped.
The woman moved fast—too bloody fast—yanking Ash’s hood back and revealing her throat.
Her smile widened. “As I thought. No mark. Not paired.” Fangs glinted as she bared her teeth. “I claim him as mine.”
“Good Lord.” Ash gaped, stunned for half a heartbeat. “You don’t even know who he is.”
“Doesn’t matter. He smells powerful. I’ll fight him, pin him down. Can you do the same?” Her gaze slid over Ash’s smaller, slender frame with smug contempt.
