Page 27 of Beast of Blood and Ash
It was only exhaustion that finally dragged me under. I let go of the world, inch by inch, and sleep took me like a thief.
Night sliced me open.
I dreamed, but the dream was a knife. The world fractured into jagged scenes. Ignarath, all screaming, the red glare of light slashing across the sand. Chains snapping against bone while voices echoed down endless corridors. I couldn’t tell whose screams filled the dark, mine or someone else’s.
I was running, always running, the heat of fire at my back and sharp stones cutting into my soles.
Then, in the nightmare’s ugliness, he appeared.
Sometimes a shape hulking in the shadows, monstrous and nameless, hunger and agony written across a face rimmed with gold. Sometimes he was the only one not baying for my blood, his eyes fixed on mine, his hand outstretched. His claws gleamed, both a warning and a promise.
Omvar was captor and savior. The boundary blurred until it was gone. Was he the one who chased me, or the one who carved a path through the mob to reach me?
Chains and claws, comfort and cage.
Do you trust me?His voice cut through the screaming, fierce and oddly tender, a desperate drum against my bones.
But I couldn’t reach him. No matter how hard I ran, the gap never closed. My throat was raw, words splintering before they could leave my mouth. Darkness closed in, suffocating.
I jerked awake with a scream caught in my throat.
My whole body was shaking, a cold sweat burning my skin while my heart rattled against my ribs like a drum demanding blood. For a long, blind moment, I had no idea where I was. The air was thick, humid, the stench of stone and blood heavy. Honey ghosted the back of my tongue. My chest heaved as I gulped the heavy air, my lungs refusing to calm.
I floundered, legs tangled in the blanket. Panic crashed over me in waves. Not a cage. Not Ignarath. Not …
I blinked, dragging myself back to the room. The dim light flickered against black, sweating walls. A shadow shifted.
Omvar was beside me, not touching, but close. His massive shape was crouched low, as if he was afraid that getting any nearer would shatter me. In the dark, his features were all sharp angles and deep shadows, his gold eyes wide and wild, but so careful as they watched me.
“Wake up,” he said, his voice pitched almost gentle. “You’re in Scalvaris. No harm will come to you.”
He didn’t touch me, and that made it easier to breathe. I stared at him, every muscle ready to snap while he waited, unmoving, as if the wrong gesture might drive me up the walls.
“Nightmare?” His knuckles grazed the edge of the platform, steady as bedrock.
I nodded, choking back the mess of words stuck in my throat. My teeth wanted to chatter, but I wouldn’t let them. I forced my jaw tight, pressing my fingers into the blanket so hard my nails ached. The fear didn’t drain away; it pooled, sour and bright under my skin.
He hovered there, carved from patience and worry. I saw it in the lines of his body, the way he leaned in but pulled back at the same time. His wings were pulled back so tight I almost couldn’t see them.
If the world made any sense, I’d want him gone. I’d want to be alone with my ghosts. But the silence clawed at me, worsethan the memory. All the old panic was still there, but loneliness was a deeper ache.
I hated this, hated how swiftly the fear could hollow me out. Yet I hated the silence more. I hated being left alone with the wreckage of my own mind.
He shifted back on his heels, like he was getting ready to go back down to the mess of blankets he was calling a bed.
My voice scraped out, a raw, ugly thing. “Can you … just, don’t go. Please.”
Pathetic. Weak. The words bit at my pride, but I couldn’t take them back.
Omvar’s eyes softened, wary and hopeful in a way that hurt to look at. He shifted his weight, climbed onto the edge of the sleeping platform. He still didn’t touch me, but he was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
I could taste his nearness. Spice and salt, sweat and something ancient that wormed under my skin, hungry and deep. My heart thrummed, uneasy. Not all fear, not quite. The comfort his presence offered warred with the terror he embodied. My body reacted anyway, soaking up the heat while my mind screamed caution.
He didn’t try to bridge the gap. He just waited. His breath was a steady tide beside me, dark and rhythmic, the heaviness of it settling my frantic breathing by degrees. The silence stretched, no longer hostile. The nightmares edged away, stubborn as smoke, reluctant but receding.
With him, the dark lost some of its bite. I started to breathe again, small and slow. Each inhale brought more of his scent, less of the phantom blood and fire that haunted my skin.
My body betrayed me. I shifted closer, just enough that my shoulder brushed his.
