Page 26 of Deadly Maiden

What have I done?

Does Thander have the faintest idea about fae sexuality?

I, a twenty-year-old female, have agreed to go into the wilderness with an immortal dragonshifter male. And every time I see him, I remember him naked and want to slap myself.

If he has any inappropriate thoughts about me, they can get in line, behind mine.

Then the food arrives—roast meats, bread, fruit, and cheese—and I’m shown to another room. I chew and swallow what is before me. Who knows when I will eat well again?

Eating in peace, with nothing violent threatening my safety, might become a rare thing.

Whenever I sit still with nothing else to think about, my future wanders in and cloaks everything with gray. I swallow another lump of tasteless cheese.

Then I stuff the leftover apples and some wrapped, hard cheese into one of my rucksacks

Chapter 6

Wyntre

I have barely set aside my plate when I’m bustled to the armory. After that we slip outside to the stores in another building. I choose supplies with Rorsyd observing, his massive shoulder to the doorframe while he lazily eyes me and everything I pick up. Since I’m to be smuggled out in a bookseller’s cart, I can only carry a few items such as weapons—sword and knife—and things like a toothbrush and a spare set of clothes. The rest I have to trust him to bring.

And if he doesn’t meet me at the end of this people-smuggling route? I am half hoping he will do that, half that he will not. There is comfort in having a companion.

After living in this bustling golem town, I don’t want to be alone. I have none of the precious objects from our house, and none of the memories embedded in them—the sketches I did of the places we passed through, of friends, of Father. My somewhat grimy, stuffed bunny still sat on my bed the night I fled. All those are gone.

When I imagine myself exploring paths and towns by myself dread is there, too, on the edges, crunching through the spindly black trees and shadows.

Fear nudges me, to hint that Rorsydmightdo something to me when no one else is around.

The sight of the toothbrush I hold too-tightly breaks me a little. Even this is not mine, and I cannot say goodbye to my friends. I blink away unshed tears.

I suck in a breath, look to the door and frown. Rorsyd has wandered away, is talking to someone.

Fear is the unknown, and there will be many unknowns.

Butfear is not Rorsyd, I decide, firming my jaw.

I sling the rucksack over my shoulder to hang at my back—it’s not full, but I might need more space in the days to come. I pick up the box Landos left. It’s quite heavy and is plain timber, apart from fancy brass hinges and handle, and the crow sculpture on the latch.

The male out there is a dragonshifter, and he’s the first of those I’ve met. I did not understand how alluring one might be. I should not fear him. He’s had twenty years to do nefarious things to me if he wished to, as Thander said. Twenty.

And…just thinking of him doing nefarious things stirs excitement in me, a low-down, dirty excitement. I’m probably going to be condemned for loose morals. I smile at this. I need to find the humor, the pluses in this new life that’s arrived. I refuse to be cowed.

This is when it strikes me, stupidly delayed though this realization is, that my parents were killed by a dragon’s breath. Killed twenty years ago, the same time he began watching me. That’s a chilling thought.

What if it was him?

If I ask him, what will happen?

The odd thing is, I’m not sure how I will react even if he did kill them.

I never knew them. They’re dead, no matter what I do. I do wish I had met them. I doubt that ache, that regret for the loss of them, will ever leave me. I massage the middle of my chest where my heart lies. It hurts there, but would I hate the person who took them from me?

Probably. Any normal person would. I’m adrift. This is a stupid time to be thinking this.

I will ask him, once the moment is right. Such as in the middle of a busy tavern with a friend who can drag me to safety? Again, I have no friends. I frown at my stupid self because leaving doesn’t clear the slate. I do have friends. They simply cannot follow me. And if they did, if I asked them to, and they did, that might get them killed.

I drop the rucksack, put the box on the table, pull over a sheet of paper and one of those new plunger pens with the tank of ink that the storeman left. I eye the weird pen, figure out how it works, then I start to write.

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