She crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders, just trying to pull the day back together.
The last few days.
All of it.
It all was turning into this chaos that felt more terrifying than anything she’d seen the Rhysgarrds do. It wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest at this point, if she started smelling that signature scent they always had on them.
Or on their crime scenes.
She’d learned to loathe the smell of vetiver and ash. That earthy, smokey smell always felt so out of place on Kerde, where plants and campfires were almost non-existent.
Here, though, where nature was everywhere, she found herself thinking she smelled it all the time, and it was just the damn ambience.
“Here,” Stron said, handing her a glass filled with dark amber, almost black liquid. It did not smell like vetiver and ash, though it tinkled from the–was that a stone?--in the glass.
She could smell it before she tasted it. It smelled fiery and strong. Exactly what she needed. Cleansed her palate perfectly. “What is this?”
“It’s called Depth. A miner’s spirit.” He raised his own glass. “Try it.”
She watched him for a moment before she brought her glass to her lips. “Well, if you were going to drug me, this would be the time.”
“You drink that, and I won’t have to.”
A dare she couldn’t refuse.
She held his gaze, and tipped the glass, taking a mouth full of the liquid.
It went down hard, the fiery smell turned into a blazing heat, hitting her first, but after a second, it turned to a warm, sweet finish on the backside.
Surprisingly good.
She exhaled a breath, and glanced in the cup at the ice that wasn’t ice at all. “Is this served over a rock?”
She glanced back at Stron, who was staring at her.
“What?”
He blinked twice, smiled slightly, before replying. “Yes, it’s served over a chilled stone, rather than actual ice. Better taste on the minerals in the spirit.”
She nodded and took another sip. The second one didn’t feel as strong.
Maybe she just knew what to expect.
“You don’t mind that?” Stron asked, watching her.
“No. Should I?” She tipped her head to the side, watching him. “Did you think I’d spit it out or something? Think it was swill or some such? Because I’ve tasted garbage spirits, and this isn’t it. Not even close.”
“Drank a lot of bad drinks?” He asked, moving a little closer to her.
“My fair share,” she said. Adryel took a few steps away from him, because he was warm, and she didn’t need that heat near her right now.
The drink was keeping her warm enough as it was.
Already her cheeks felt hot, and she hoped she wasn’t turning into a red fruit from the alcohol in it.
But she’d be damned if she was going to show any weakness to Stron. She’d done enough of that for one night.
Hanging onto him because of an animal?
