Page 13 of Beast of Blood and Ash
Silly me.
"That shouldn't matter. The river belongs to everyone in Scalvaris."
A funny thought from the outsider. "Not to humans." The bitterness in my voice surprised me. "Nothing here does."
Omvar was quiet for a moment, his massive frame somehow less threatening than it had been in the training grounds or the market. He knelt carefully and began gathering my scattered herbs, placing them gently back in the fallen satchel. His huge, clawed hands were capable of crushing stone, yet they handled the brittle leaves gently.
"They're ruined," I said.
"Some, yes." He examined a twisted stem of what I thought was fever-root. "But not all. This one is stronger when bruised."
I stared at him, unable to reconcile this gentleness with everything I knew about Drakarn warriors. About Ignarath champions.
With a final, meticulous sweep of his hand, he collected the last of my herbs and held the satchel out to me. I hesitated, then took it, careful not to let our fingers brush.
"Thank you," I said stiffly.
Omvar merely inclined his head. He made no move to leave, nor to come closer. We stood in awkward silence, the river's current whispering below.
"How did you find me?" I finally asked.
"I didn't." He paused. "I come here sometimes. For the quiet."
We'd both sought solitude in the same hidden corner of this vast city. A strange kinship flickered between us, shocking some of the fear out of me.
"You're shaking," he said.
I was. The adrenaline crash left me chilled and unsteady. I pulled my top tighter around me, bracing for warmth, hating the vulnerability.
"It will pass." Everything does, eventually.
Omvar shifted his weight, wings adjusting behind him. They were beautiful, in their way, the membrane stretched between bone, red as cooling coals. I'd never allowed myself to really look at a Drakarn's wings before. They'd always been symbols of pursuit, of predatory speed.
"May I …" He hesitated, seeming to search for words. "Would it help if I stayed between you and the passageway? Until you're steady?"
The offer was unexpected. A Drakarn, an Ignarath Drakarn, offering to guard me? It should have been laughable. Terrifying.
It wasn’t.
And that was even scarier.
"Why?"
His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in those gold eyes. Pain? Regret? It was gone too quickly to name.
"Because they were wrong to frighten you," he said simply.
Another wave of tremors overtook me, stronger this time. My body betrayed me once more, a sob catching in my throat. I bit it back, refusing to break completely.
"I can't stop shaking," I blurted out. "I can't … damn it, I’m so cold."
Omvar's gaze never left mine, steady and deep. "I am very warm," he said carefully. "If you wished … I could block the cold from the river."
The meaning was clear: he was offering to hold me. To wrap those massive arms and wings around me, enclose me in living heat.
If anyone had suggested such a thing yesterday, I would have laughed in their face, then run. But I stood in the aftermath of terror, hollow and raw, desperate for something solid to clingto. His presence was the only steady thing in a world that kept slipping sideways beneath my feet.
I should refuse. I knew I should.
