My heart ceases to pump, and I know, somehow, I have miscalculated.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
20
In the Ashes
Hard hands find me.
They reach through the fog and clamp down on my arms, long fingers and broad palms singeing me, their warmth and breadth penetrating through the fabric of my sleeves.
My body shudders at the contact, at the human touch, at the beat of a heart, fast and hard and sure, reaching me through those wide palms.
I was a mere girl the last time someone touched me.
Now I am not.
The relief is palpable. My legs weaken, threatening to give out under me.
“No one else has to die. It won’t come to that.” The rasping words sink into me, deep knells that reverberate long and strong through my body, reassuring...lulling me with a sense of security that isn’t real. Not here. Not amid so much pain and death.
I squint, narrowing my gaze on the person before me—the man holding me close, touching me. The first touch I’ve felt in so long. It’s difficultnotto close my eyes and lean into him, not to revel and absorb this thing I’ve missed so much. Contact.Connection with another.
Trembling, I look up to find dark eyes glowing at me through the fog.
I jolt. Gasp.
I know those eyes.
They are dragon eyes.
No.It’s impossible.
I fling myself away, trying to wrench free of the hands that now feel like manacles.
I tense warily and blink several times, not trusting him...not trustingme.
How can eyes that belong to a dragon peer at me from the husk of a man? It is not possible. A coincidence. My mind playing tricks. The tragedy of the day addling my head.
He’s a man. Not a monster. A man.
Yes, yes. I’m clearly overwhelmed in my grief and fear and anger. I give my head a hard shake as though trying to clear it.
The vapor swims around us, undulating, needling my flesh.
I squint at the man in front of me, attempting to discern him. The fog rolls away, opening enough to fully reveal his face: all hard lines and angles, carved from stone. Just like the rest of him. His hair, prismatic black like his eyes, hangs to his jawline. My gaze sweeps down, taking in the rest of him, and I feel my eyes widen. He’s young, virile, andnaked.
His body, bigger than mine, bigger than most men, is a revelation. As honed as any weapon. Not an ounce of softness anywhere. Lean and muscled, andstill...naked.
I struggle to keep my gaze from straying too far south. I quickly assess him, and it’s enough to acknowledge that he is big everywhere. This man is a warrior.
I moisten my lips nervously. I do not know him. I would have remembered him.
For the last ten years I saw everything and everyone in my village.Heis someone I’ve never seen, andseeingis my specialty. The thing I do best, almost exclusively. The thing that could not be doneto me.
Until now.
He stares back at me, and I’ve never felt so measured, so...devouredin a look. Not even when I was visible. He has a way of staring at me that feels decidedly bold and sensual, almost feral—one degree from the beasts that surround us. Most definitely something fourteen-year-old me was never subjected to before.
