Relief overwhelms me. Somehow, he has come to represent safety. Unwise, I know. He’s still a killer even if he’s decided not to kill me. Even if I pulled a sword on him twice, even if I slapped him. Even if he kissed me...even if I rocked against his body in the hot spring like a touch-starved wanton.
He’s alive.
He returned.
He survived whatever he faced outside this cave.
He’s here.
I hold back from flinging myself against him. Not that I can move anyway. I’m well and firmly shackled to the boulder that sits like a hill beside me. His gaze doesn’t miss this, sweeping over thepile of stone, then over me, trailing up the leather cords keeping me in place.
The broad line of his shoulders tenses, and even in the shadows, I detect a darkening in his expression.
Inhaling, I grab for my composure as the loamy scent of the outdoors—wind and snow and vapor—hits me.
“You’re back,” I breathe, detecting another scent clinging to his naked body...smoke and something else. I work my mouth, tasting metal. I train my attention on his face, to his shoulders and chest—not anywhere else. Not anywherelower. Not on that part of him I felt in the hot spring, imposing and daunting between his steel thighs. “I was worried something happened to you.”
“What happened toyou?” he counters.
I glance down at my bound hands, believing the sight served as explanation enough.
“Did Cyphus do this?” he growls, his gaze snapping back to my face. “And this?” His hand cups my cheek, angling my chin and forcing my face higher for a more thorough inspection. His thumb brushes the long, jagged tear gently. I know it will likely leave a scar, but in this world where I’m only visible to dragons it hardly signifies.
“It doesn’t matter.” Not anymore. Not now that Cyphus can’t hurt me anymore.
“It matters,” Tage snarls, shaking his head in disgust. He squats before me, ripping free my leather bonds with vicious movements like they’re no more substantial than lace ribbons. I wince at the tug on my abused wrists.
Once free, he lifts my hands to examine the damage closer. The fresh air on the exposed flesh has me sucking in a breath. His glittering gaze flies to my eyes.
“It’s not that bad.” I attempt to pull away from him. I don’t know why. It’s not as though I’m trying to protect Cyphus and hide the evidence of what he did to me. Maybe it’s just my unwillingness to look weaker, to appearmorefrail than I obviously am compared to them.
His voice lashes out. “Not bad? Your wrists look like raw meat, Arden.”
I flinch while simultaneously softening at the sound of my name. It still wakes something inside me to hear it being used after all this time. It rivals being seen.
“Tage, you’re back.” I recoil in familiar self-preservation as Cyphus hastens toward us. “What happened out there?” He never once glances to me, and I realize it doesn’t occur to him that he has anything to hide from Tage. As far as he’s concerned, he did nothing wrong.
He did nothing because, to him, I amnothing.
Tage ignores him, focusing on me. His hands slide down my arms, grasping my elbows, lifting me gently to my feet. After three days without standing, I haven’t my legs yet. My knees wobble and give out. He catches me, sweeping me up into his arms. I whimper in pain at the movement of my ribs, and I feel him stiffen against me.
“What is it?” he demands.
“Just...my side.”
One of his hands goes there, and I can’t even absorb how it is he can hold me with just one arm, too distracted at the sensation of his fingers gently prodding and walking along my ribs.
I draw in a hissed breath.
“Broken?” he asks in a lethally soft voice.
I shake my head. “I think...just bruised.”
“Tage? Won’t you answer me?” Cyphus presses.
Tage looks at him then, spitting out, “You did this to her.” Not a question. A hard fact. An accusation with fangs that sinks deep and sharp, drawing blood.
Cyphus hesitates, finally scenting that something is off, that his world just turned precarious.
