Page 58 of Captive

I shiver and bring my cloak closer. Suddenly, the night is cooler than I remember. Or maybe it’s my imagination.

Mildred shifts enough to meet Hector’s eyes. “Hector. It’s your turn.”

He moves closer to the brazier and extends his hands. As he inhales, his fingers brush against the smoke, and the smell of the resin intensifies. It’s as if the smoke has infused him with a new strength, and his eyes glint with a renewed sense of purpose.

The Bloodstone warriors and Everly chant, their voices low and rhythmic as they repeat the words Mildred spoke.

Hector’s eyes lock with mine like I’m the only one he sees in the clearing. My heartbeat quickens. My breathing turns jagged.

He speaks no words, but my heart screams as if he spoke a thousand. Everything unspoken hangs between us. Everything he knows about me because of our binding tattoos. Everything I know about him. All those fractures. The pain. The vengeance burning a living flame inside him.

It once burned inside me. I know how it consumes.

My legs tremble, and my stomach cramps. I look away, not able to take the intensity anymore. It’s too much. This burden.

His.

Mine.

“Bless us, Olah,” Mildred cries out. “Bless us.”

I look around the clearing at the Bloodstone warriors. At Everly standing next to the wet nurse, who’s holding Edvard. Then, up at the darkening sky.

Does Olah bless any of us? If he did, he would have stopped the Malachites from attacking Tarra. He would have stopped Praxis from losing Briley.

I shake my head and try to pay heed to Mildred’s words, to the Bloodstone’s traditions. After all, Hector accused me of hating most of his people’s traditions. That truth hurt him, wounded the part of him that desperately wants me to understand him.

But it’s hard to understand a people whose traditions are soaked in blood and death, in sacrifice and pain. Even this ceremony, meant to bless and protect, is a reminder of the violence that permeates their lives.

As the chanting reaches a crescendo, Mildred takes the brazier and swings it in a wide arc around the circle of warriors. The smoke trails behind her, thick and heavy. It stings my eyes and catches in my throat, making me cough. But still, I watch as the smoke envelops the warriors, clinging to their skin and hair like a shroud.

Then, finally, Mildred reaches Hector. She holds the brazier up to him, and he leans forward, letting the smoke wash over his face. His eyes close, and the tension leaves his shoulders.

I take him in, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his muscles relaxing with every breath. He’s the epitome of strength and power, yet in this moment, he looks vulnerable. It’s a strange juxtaposition, one that makes my heart ache with a longing I can’t explain.

As Mildred moves to the next warrior, Hector’s eyes flicker open and find mine. A slow smile spreads across his face as he catches me staring. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look away. But I still feel his gaze on me like a gentle caress. A caress beckoning me to look back at him.

I’m unable to resist the pull.

Slowly, I trail my attention back to him, meeting those silver-blue eyes and drawing another smile to those beautiful lips of his.

Hector mouths my name, and every nerve ending in my body alights with a fierce, yet tender heat. My body aches with the need to cross to him and kiss him, but I can’t.

Not here, not now.

Not when we’re surrounded by his people.

The ceremony continues, but my attention is solely on Hector. He looks regal, almost divine, like a god among men.

Inwardly, I shake my head at the thought. It must be the smoke. Maybe Mildred placed more than frankincense resin in the brazier. She probably did.

Regardless, I stare at him until the ceremony ends, and I return to my tent. Unfortunately, Hector doesn’t join me. Mildred mumbled something about him needing to spend time in a sweat lodge.

I lie awake thinking about everything. Mostly, I think about the way Hector kissed me.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Snowflakes fall, painting my cloak a wintry white. They flick off Hale’s soft black fur and curl into tiny balls on the uneven path leading us to the gates of Karra.

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