A lifetime came and went since I stood in the ruins of a smoldering Isstad—an overwhelming blur of blood and pounding wings and flashing dragon eyes and sweat and drudgery and mist and cold, insentient rock. Time doesn’t feel real here. It does not exist. In this cave, I’m an insect trapped in a jar.
Tage lowers me down onto a pallet of furs, and I try not to think how it will be just the two of us again. A relief...and atorment.
He avoids meeting my eyes as he settles me in like a child put to bed. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”
I clench my teeth in an attempt to stop them from clacking. The shivering has nothing to do with the cold. My heart knocks against my sore rib cage like a wild bird seeking escape. I stare at his big hands, stained purple with blood and think about how moments ago they had been weapons of mayhem and murder.
He nods to a stand with a pitcher and a basin. “You can freshen yourself up. I’ll bring more water for you and food. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“A little, yes.”
He gives a nod, the dark silk of his hair sliding to obscure his face. I can’t see his expression, but I can feel the tension radiating off him, like a spring unsprung.
From the aftermath of his combat with Cyphus? Because the other dragon dared to challenge him? Because he had to kill him?
I know I should be repelled. The gory scene will forever be a scar that runs through my memory. But I can only feel gratitude that it is Tage standing before me and not Cyphus.
I reach out, placing a hand on the tense, bunched muscles of his arm. “Tage?”
He stares down at my hand, his face curtained by his hair. It’s a moment before he looks up at me expectantly, waiting for whatever it is I’m going to say.
My chest tightens at the brutal beauty of his face...looking at me, seeing me. It will nevernotfeel strange...not an extraordinary thing.
The skin beneath my fingers warms and sparks, and I snatch my hand away with a sucked-in breath, reminding myself that it’s not likethatbetween us. It can’t be. I’m no more than a sick puppy to him. A bird with a broken wing. A turtle with a cracked shell. Something to be mended and (hopefully) eventually freed.
“I...thank you.” It feels like the thing to say. Banishing Cyphus...fighting him. Risking himself...bleeding...killing.
He did it because of me.Forme.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” he says, his voice a deep vibration. “This is my home, my pride. You should have been safe here. That is the very least I could have promised you.”
I open my mouth to tell him it isn’t his fault...but fall silent at his resigned expression. He doesn’t want to hear that. Nor should I say it. I should not feel obligated to reassure him.
When everything is said and done, he is still my captor.Heabductedme. That can’t be forgotten.
His big chest lifts on a sigh. “I will be back with a fresh pitcher of water and some food. Then we will get your wounds cleaned up.”
“And you need to take care of yourself, too,” I say, eyeing the blood on him. I’m not certain what belongs to him or Cyphus, but certainly he’s not completely unscathed. He must also be hungry. I doubt he received a steady stream of sustenance while out there in the Crags. My gaze flickers down, away from his distracting body. “And...perhaps put on some clothes?”
One corner of his lips twitch. “Does my lack of clothing still disturb you, Arden?”
And there he goes again with my name in that voice of his that feels like he’s tasting it in his mouth. I gulp, fighting to swallow against the sudden lump in my throat.
“No,” I quickly say. It doesn’t disturb me. Unsettle? Fluster? Fill my belly with butterflies? “You must be cold.”
“I’m a dragon of the Crags. I don’t feel the cold.”
“How nice for you.” I clear my throat. “I always thought I tolerated the cold well enough, but up here, in these mountains?” I pause to shiver beneath the fur. “It’s a different kind of cold.”
He lifts open a trunk. I sit a little higher, glimpsing the clothing inside. I watch with a mixture of relief and disappointment as he slides on a pair of trousers and pulls a dark tunic over his head.
He faces me. “Better?”
I offer a wan smile.
“Bundle under the fur,” he directs. “I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone, the flap falling back in place with a swish.
I expel a breath, the sound harsh, chasing me through the silence.
