Page 35 of Henrikk’s Secret

“No, just us,” Henrikk said, and Asher’s heart plummeted. “But I have a hut of sorts and supplies that will make our stay more comfortable—”

“How long have you been planning this?” Asher demanded.

“I…wasn’t planning this.”

“How long?” he repeated.

“I never thought it would come to this. A part of me thought, maybe one day, I would bring you here, but not like this.”

He couldn’t breathe. There was sand in his shoes and between his toes, sand on his hands and in his hair, and it had even nestled behind his ears. His clothes dragged and chafed, the sun grew unbearably hot, and he was losing his mind on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere—literally nowhere, in a world where he’d never been before.

“Take me back,” Asher gasped, a final attempt at a plea. “Take me back, Henrikk, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’m sorry,” Henrikk said, and he truly looked it.

But they were a long way past apologies.

Asher jabbed a finger in his chest. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

And without a clue as to where he was going, he stormed up the sandy bank and into the welcoming shade of the trees, leaving Henrikk sitting in the wet sand, staring after him in dismay.

Chapter 7

SAND AND SEA

Henrikk

Two weeks later…

Sand.

So much fucking sand.

There was a lot of it, and not much of anything else.

Henrikk had never minded it before. The island had been a welcome escape from the stiffness of court life. He could swim naked as the day he was born, breathe deep lungfuls of salty air, and revel in a sense of adventure as he explored the jungle.

The dragon’s bargains had its perks, even if the terrible life it had led Henrikk to create was the reason he craved an escape. Ironic, then, that he should return here and call it Paradise.

Well, he stood corrected, and he did not think of it as such any longer.

Because Asher hated it.

Loathed it.

And seeing the vampire, who had a high tolerance for everything, loathing it made it all the more jarring. Asher, who’d never complained when they’d trekked through wet fields that were more mud than grass. Asher, who’d once assisted in cleaning a soldier’s infected wound, not once wrinkle his nose at the smell of oozing pus. Asher, who had quietly dug graves when required, bolstered morale in difficult times, and celebrated triumphs heartily. He was popular with everyone, respected by all, and had made the perfect right-hand man, though Henrikk had stopped short of ever calling him that. Throughout all the turmoil of Henrikk’s conquests that had followed later, Asher had maintained a steady presence.

That’s what he was: reliable, dependable.

Slow to anger. Quick to forgive.

He had endless patience for Henrikk, who could always count on him.

I took him for granted.

Now, the island had become a new battlefield. One that would probably drag on for a long time.

Henrikk wanted to have long discussions. To provide further explanations.