The last hits like a hammer to my ribs, crushing them.
Too good to be true.
Was it all a dream? Was it just my imagination playing tricks on me?
Panic flays me down the middle as I scramble through my muddy mind, struggling to pull air into my lungs. Reaching for the back of my arm, I’m about to pinch when I finally draw a whittled breath through my nose—him.
So much him.
I sit up, the double bed I’m lying on tucked in the corner of what appears to be a small wooden cabin, Rhordyn’s sword leaning against the wall by the only exit. A barrel nests beside the bed, boasting a bowl of plump red berries, a glass of water, and a propped-up fold of parchment.
A note bearing two beautifully scrawled words that loosen the rope bound around my throat:
I grab it, tuck it close to my chest, look at his sword,breathe—in through my nose, out through my mouth …
Breathe …
He’s here.
It wasn’t a dream.
Nursing the note like a bandage pressed upon my heart, I continue steadying my breaths with large doses ofhim,gaze skimming my cramped confines.
The large window overlooks the jungle beyond, the trees far enough away that I think this must have been built in a clearing. There’s a workbench that runs along that entire wall, a sink in the middle—just beneath the window—the rest of the space cluttered with tools and weapons and crockery, along with chunks of glass, cracked lanterns, and jars of fruit and preserves.
The back wall has a small dining table pushed against it, as well as a freestanding stove with a chimney punched through the roof and a soft seater that’s seen better days—the brown fabric patched in places. Strings of drying herbs crisscross the ceiling, spicing the air with botanical smells that remind me of Stony Stem.
My heart pangs at the thought.
Even though the place is packed full of somebody’s life, there’s an emptiness about it. A hollow aura that makes me think it hasn’t been inhabited for a long while.
Rhordyn must have brought me here after I passed out from—
Avoid.
I’m okay.
I’m fine.
Clearing my throat, I tilt the glass to my lips and drink, the crisp, nectarous water slipping down my throat like a gift straight from the Gods.
I swear, Rhordyn’s got a magic pouring touch.
A brutal heartbeat of sharp splitting sounds comes to me just as I pick up on the hint of smoke staining the air. Frowning, I set my empty glass down, as well as the note, and ease off the bed. The wooden floorboards are a strange mix of rough and smooth beneath my feet—like they were harshly milled but have seen the wear of so many steps their sharp bits have been buffered down.
Cradling the bowl of berries close to my chest, I place one in my mouth, moaning at the sweetest, most sensual burst of deliciousness that has ever graced my taste buds as I move through the room. I still before the window, looking past powdery rays of the setting sun and into the clearing beyond, softened by tall tufts of wildgrass and little white flowers that look like sprinkled stars.
There’s a small campfire raging within a ring of charred stones, a few stumps of wood scattered about like rustic seats. A metal brace saddles the fire, supporting a black stockpot, whatever’s inside spilling a waft of steam.
Two skinned rabbits are laid out on a chopping board, their pelts lumped to the side. Behind it, Rhordyn …
Shirtless.
Sun-kissed.
Slicked in sweat and soot.
A tower of dark muscle savagely maiming me with each sacrificial sweep of my eyes. I consume him like I did that water, gulping greedily.
