“I only meant to punch him,” she whispered.
“Debt’s paid.” Race swiped at his bleeding mouth, stalked past her, and sat on a boulder by the firepit, his expression like granite. He picked up his fallen dagger and the wood.
Ash followed, slumping onto her stone seat near him, rubbing the back of her neck.
A rough sigh echoed, and she looked up.
“That’s tonight’s blood quota sorted,” Attor muttered, crouching across from them. He jabbed a branch into the flames, and sparks spiraled upward. “Now maybe we can talk before anyone else leaks. Eracier, all we ask is a few minutes of your time.”
Race’s knife whispered against the wood, each precise slice louder than words. He didn’t so much as glance up.
Ash wasn’t prone to silence when questions clawed at her. She shot back to her feet. “Who is Malcarion?” she demanded, glaring across at Skaldr. “I heard you and your friend whispering about him in that high cave. And your little she-dragon problem?” She scowled. “You never warned me how lethal they are!”
He shrugged and leaned against the wall. “She-dragons are vipers. Malcarion is the usurper king.” Then he dipped his head, his amber eyes steady despite his battered appearance. “My apologies for leaving you alone.”
Ash exhaled wearily and settled on her rock again, leaning her forearms on her thighs. “So, you lot are rebels, then?”
Skaldr shifted and grimaced. He peeled off what was left of his shirt and pressed it to his bloodied abs. “We are the Resistance. We intend to restore the crown to its rightful line, to stop innocents dying by the day.” His jaw set, his eyes flared like banked coals. “Butsomeprefer to play the martyr, it seems.”
Ash frowned at the dig. Under all that muscle and edge, a dark bitterness simmered.
Race ignored him and kept shaving thin curls off the stick, each flick of his blade deliberate. The other two remained silent, watchful.
And the quiet stretched, grew heavier.
Oh, boy.It was going to be a ratherlooongnight?—
“Damn, so much noise, can’t think clearly,” the blond murmured dryly, catching her eye, a grin forming.
Ash huffed, fidgeting with the torn neckline of her tunic. Of the three, he seemed more affable.
“By the way, I’m Koal,” he told her, brushing back loose strands of his tied-back mane.
“Ash.”
His copper eyes widened. “In this place, surrounded by ash? You’re far too lovely for that.”
She laughed at his flirting. “It’s short for Ashaya.”
“Beautiful—”
“Get out, all of you!” Race snarled, violence darkening his eyes further. “She needs rest, and I need quiet.”
“Glad your manners survived exile,” Attor drawled and stalked out.
Skaldr followed, and Koal gave Ash a wry little bow before disappearing as well.
Whatever gnawed at Race wound him tighter with every passing second. However, she had another problem demanding her attention. “I need to go outside for a bit.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Nature calls. Unless you’d like to do that for me?”
Expression still grim, he strode for the cave mouth.
Dammit. Ash glanced around for her coat, which the Rust dragon had torn off her and flung aside. She found it near the wall. She pulled it on and rushed after Race, slipping outside into the darkness, shivering as the cold air pierced her clothes.
Night had fallen, and the three shifters were nowhere in sight.
