“As I recall,” Rafe said in a dark voice, “I specifically told you not to hurt her.”
Tristan shook his head sharply. “You told me to leave her alone.”
Rafe stood and glared at him, the firelight gleaming on his auburn hair and pale skin. “No. I did not. I reminded you that she’s been badly hurt so you would treat her gently. Not so you would go barging in like an enraged bull and rip apart whatever small amount of remaining pride she had holding her together.”
“And,” Mathos said, rising from the far side of the fire, his face drawn into an unusually severe and disapproving mask, his burgundy and gold scales glinting at his wrists, “we’ve been discussing Val. None of us saw his famous betrayal. Only you. We trusted you in this—you were our captain, and we could see how badly it had hurt you. But now… we’re not so sure.”
His beast growled menacingly, and Tristan could feel his scales rising in a wave up both arms and over his shoulders as he replied, “The king himself said that Alanna was responsible and that Val was working with her. The Lord High Chancellor told me that they were having an affair. That there were witnesses in the Blues. You all saw those arrows. And you know how much Val had changed. You did see all of that. I suggested that we leave, yes, but you could have refused.”
“We trusted you,” Mathos replied.
Fuck that. Trusted. Were. Like it was all past tense. His beast snarled loud enough that they could all hear it. “And I trusted the king, who is my supreme commander, and his Lord Chancellor.”
There was a brief silence, eventually broken by Rafael. “Is this the same king who, when he was prince, newly arrived at court and playing at leader of the Blues, was a vicious and sadistic bastard that we all hated? The same king that not only became king because of this supposed treachery, but also used it as an excuse to break a treaty he’d been against from the very beginning. That king?”
“Gods, man,” Tristan spat, “shut the fuck up! Do you have any idea what would happen if someone heard you?”
“Yes,” Mathos said with vicious irony. “Exactly what happened to Val.”
They all looked at each other, unsettled and slightly shocked.
Until a small whimper broke the heavy silence, and Tristan spun toward the hut. Another whimper echoed in the quiet, followed by an unmistakable gasp of feminine fear.
Family legend said that the Tarasque clans were descended from dragons eons before, and for the first time in his life, Tristan felt the truth of it. His scales flooded every inch of his skin and hardened into rigid green and pewter armor as the deep primitive voice inside him howled for action.
He had felt himself tear apart with every step he took away from her, and now his inner beast would not be denied for one more second. He would get back to his woman and defend her from whatever was hurting her, no matter what or who stood in his way.
But no one did. Every one of them stood back as he strode up and ripped open the hut door.
It was dark and freezing inside. Why the fuck wasn’t she at the fire?
Someone handed him a lantern, and he stepped inside.
Nim was curled into a tight ball up against the far wall. Somehow her cloak had fallen or been kicked away, and she shivered in his spare shirt and socks, thrashing and mumbling in her sleep. Caught in a nightmare.
He couldn’t bear it.
Within seconds he had her wrapped in her cloak and lifted into his arms. She jerked, gasping in fright, but he held her gently and shushed her as she settled back, still dreaming, into deeper sleep.
The men had laid out his bedroll next to the fire and covered it with blankets—a little way from where they had set their own bedrolls—and he lowered her gently into the warm refuge.
He glared at the tight faces watching him. “I’m not discussing Val now. We need the truth, and that is what we are going to Kaerlud to find.”
There was a quiet ripple of agreement. Frankly, he didn’t care, so long as they kept quiet. His priority was Nim.
After a moment’s consideration, he unstrapped his sword and knives and placed them carefully to one side. He stripped off his armor and then, with a final look at his men, almost defying them to stop him, lowered himself to the ground beside her. Close enough to keep her sheltered from the wind. Close enough to protect her. Not close enough for his beast.
It was a long night. Every time she whimpered or lashed out, he soothed her gently, stroking her hair and telling her she was safe until she settled again. The guard changed, and changed again, and the hours passed.
And slowly he realized that he couldn’t walk away again. It had cost him. And he couldn’t bear that it had cost her. Now, he would fight for the chance to be with her.
And, after everything he’d said and done, that fight was likely to start as soon as she opened her eyes.
Eventually, the sun began to rise, and he stretched his legs one at a time, trying to ease the kinks from spending the night awake, lying on the hard ground.
The movement disturbed her, and she rolled toward him, her eyes wide and shocked as she noticed where she was. Such a deep blue, silver flecks glimmering. Like staring into the night sky. He felt as if he could fall into them forever.
But she blinked and, as he watched, he saw her withdraw, closing her thoughts to him as her face set in a cold mask.
