The deep pitch of his voice rustles the hair at my ear. “What’s that?”
“That you would not hurt me.” I smile in the near dark as I nestle deeper against him, reveling in his arms around me, vowing to enjoy this time with him for as long as it lasts.
He doesn’t respond and his breathing evens. I begin to suspect he’s fallen asleep. And then he says, “Let us hope so.”
Part III
The Witch
33
The Offer
Iwake alone, not shackled to a boulder, though, sothat’s an improvement.
My body aches, but not because of sleeping on the hard, cold ground and not because of Cyphus’s abuses. No, I’m sore for different reasons.
A smile curves my lips and warmth suffuses me as I stretch and remember every one of those reasons.
None of which I regret.
I rinse off with water from the basin. Tage might have gone, but he thoughtfully switched out the water in the basin and left a change of clothes for me. My smile only deepens at the courtesy. His smell is all over me, and as much as I don’t hate it, I wash myself, relishing stepping into fresh clothes: a tunic, trousers, thick wool socks. I deliberately push aside the disconcerting thought that these are Danhy’s garments.
Exiting the den, I move with a light step that I perhaps should not feel. I’m still forced to be here. I cannot leave of my own will, and even though the dragon who most wanted me dead isdead...the others don’t approve of my presence among them either. All that holds true even if last night I felt as though I was something else, a creature of passion and pleasure, something free and wild.
I still don’t belong here.
I scan the cave’s central space, far less warm than Tage’s private quarters. There is no sign of last night’s carnage. Thin light tricklesdown from the vents between the stalactites, and I know it’s well past dawn. I slept late.
Tage and Danhy are nowhere to be seen.
Viggo and the new pride member, Merik, work through some maneuvers in the training area. I study them with interest, tempted to join. The time I spent working with the guard back home was the highlight of my days. I would enjoy working with others who could actually see me for a change and offer instruction based on my performance.
I stifle the impulse, though. Merik shoots me a wary, distrustful glance. Viggo seems to pointedly avoid looking at me. They would not want me among them, an outsider, a human, the enemy.
It’s an uncomfortable reminder of my status. In the light of day, I face that glaring reality.
Last night changed nothing for them.
It changed nothing for me.
I might have shared the alpha’s den, his furs, but none of them would consider me anything other than an interloper, at best. An enemy, at worst.
Tage cannot protect me forever. Not if they really want me gone. He would try...but what happens when the others have enough of me here? When Arvos wakes? He wants me around about as much as Cyphus did. I swallow thickly. He offered to kill me himself back in Isstad. How many profas must Tage fight because of me? What happens if he loses...whenhe loses?
The lightness I felt upon waking ebbs, vanishing into the mist that flows at my ankles.
I turn, facing the tunnel that leads out of the cave and wonder what would happen if I walked right out into the Crags. Would anyone stop me? Tage isn’t anywhere to be seen. Would Viggo and Merik even care if I tried to leave, or just think,Good riddance?
I contemplate that for a moment before moving in the direction of the laundry area, deciding to make myself useful. Any escape I make will require careful deliberation. Nothing hasty or impetuous. Indeed not. After my last attempt, it will only be harder tobreak away. Especially if I’m spending my nights in Tage’s den. My pulse flutters at my throat, and I struggle to ignore the sensation, to not let it influence me.
Someone else is stirring about the kitchen. I hear the clang of pottery and my belly flutters at the possibility that maybe it is Tage. Only it’s not Tage.
I freeze at the sight of Danhy.
She stands before the basin, where water runs down a wall in channels into a small pool that empties out through several too-small-to-be-seen drains, creating the perfect system for washing crockery and clothing.
She freezes, too, elbows deep in the washbowl. Her tawny eyes narrow on me with familiar dislike. “She wakes.”
