Seventeen
Cinder-Kiln Tavern,in the middle of the town square, blazed with light, raucous voices spilling out whenever its door swung open. The contrast between the energy in there and the hushed streets made Ash’s skin crawl.
Race pulled his hood lower—keeping his telltale hair hidden—and shoved the wooden door open. The common room hit them with a wall of heat and noise. Smoke from the massive stone fireplace hung thick near the ceiling beams, and the smell of spiced ale drenched the air.
Armored soldiers sprawled at tables overflowing with beakers, their helmets hooked over chair backs. The few non-shifters inside hugged the shadowy edges of the room, nursing their drinks.
Race ushered her to a table set against the far end. A shiver rushed through her as predatory eyes tracked their every step. Ash hastily dropped into a chair at the table scarred with claw gouges and scorch marks. Race took the one beside her, his back to the wall.
Attor and Koal arrived moments later. There was no sign of Skaldr as the men claimed their seats.
Attor lifted his hand, and a dark-haired serving girl rushed over, her fingers twisting in her faded, stained apron.
“Five ales.”
The girl bobbed her head and hurried away.
Ash tried to ignore the stares fixed on them—on her. She’d dealt with sly glances when she was with her ex, but those had been dismissive. These were open, voracious, and she was prey.
The prickles in her palms grew stronger, and she clenched her fingers.
A light-haired shifter lounged two tables over, one finger tracing the lip of his mug, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Her stomach churned.
The soldiers’ conversation hadn’t stopped, but the atmosphere shifted, taking on a different edge.
Race leaned back, all lazy menace and dark glares. “Ignore them.”
“Can they smell me as…human?” she whispered, rubbing her palms on her coat.
“You smell of me, which is better.”
Her face heated, and she smoothed her coat again, the prickles sharper now. Race’s hand found hers under the table, his calloused grip warm, anchoring her. “Besides, I marked you. They would sense that first. It’s all about claiming with these dicks.”
If anything, the buzz in the place grew louder. Ash swallowed hard. She’d genuinely never felt like prey before, and these were shifters who didn’t bother hiding their savagery.
Koal moved his chair and sat back, his broad shoulders blocking her from the worst of the gawkers. She gave him a grateful smile.
“Good, Skaldr’s here,” he murmured, not even looking back. “Maybe he has something.”
Ash glanced over her shoulder. Skaldr had stopped at the front, speaking with a grizzled shifter, coins changing hands in the shadow of tankards.
The serving girl returned with their ales. She handed out the mugs, and as she reached across the table to set the last one down, her sleeve rode up, revealing rope burns circling her wrist. Ash’s breath caught. The girl’s glassy gaze rushed to hers, then dropped as she hurried away.
“She’s property,” Attor said, his voice flat. “All the non-shifters are now.”
Ash’s stomach twisted, and in her distress, her nails dug into Race’s hand. His thumb stroked her skin, anchoring her. Around them, laughter rang off the soot-blackened beams, but every sound echoed like a death knell.
Voices bled together—rough Draconian, scraps of English—and somewhere in the jumble, one word cut through.Portal.
Her gaze flicked to Race. He still lounged as if bored, but his grip on her hand tightened fractionally—his warning clear.Don’t react.
Skaldr returned, straddling a chair between Koal and Attor, his grudge with Race apparently packed away for now. Race’s thumb continued to trace slow, steady circles against her skin.
“We should keep the talks for the house,” Skaldr said. “Too many of these bastard snakes around.”
The soldiers?
The serving girl brought food to the table in the middle and pivoted before a drunken man could catch her. She collided with the light-haired shifter who’d been watching them. He grabbed her wrist and hauled her onto his lap.
