Page 32 of Beast of Blood and Ash
“There are others,” I cut in, my voice dropping to a low, rolling threat. “Humans still in Ignarath. In the cages.” I met Darrokar’s stare, holding it with the weight of everything I had lost. “Will you send a force? Will you bring them back?”
He had his own human mate. If he would do it for nothing else, he should do it for her.
Darrokar’s jaw tightened, a crack in the mask of his authority. Whatever he felt, he didn’t show it. “An assault on Ignarath is not a decision to be made lightly. Escalation would be unavoidable. We must have patience.”
The word burned, useless as water on hot stone. Patience. Politics. Words. All useless.
I thought of Reika, of what she had suffered, of the others still enduring it. My fists clenched, claws digging hard enough to draw blood from my palms. I didn’t know how I could save them, but I knew something had to be done. I would not stand by while this city debated itself into paralysis. Not again.
I left the chamber with their caution thick as oil in the air and my rage coiling ever tighter in my chest, a promise echoing in my bones.
I would not fail her again.
The hunt wasn’t over.
Not until every shadow was burned away.
13
REIKA
Two daysof breathing Omvar’s air, sleeping in his bed, eating the food he brought me like some prized pet.
I told myself this was protection. A measure of safety. But the line between protection and captivity was blurring, the stone walls of his quarters transforming from a shield into a cage.
A comfortable one, yes, lined with soft blankets that smelled of him, a scent that promised no harm could reach me there. But it was a cage all the same.
Was I truly safe, or just hidden away?
Shadows pooled in the corners of the room, stretching and shrinking with my every move, a reminder that there were no windows and only one door. Only the oppressive warmth pressing in and the scent of Drakarn, a mix of smoke, hot metal, and a sweetness that now clung to my skin.
I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, his scent sinking into me. It was invasive, persistent. My pulse tripped every time I breathed it in. There was a comfort there, a feeling so potent it felt like a betrayal of something I couldn’t name.
I hated how I knew he was near before I saw him, how the ache in my chest quieted at the sound of his heavy footstepsoutside. I hated how, despite everything, my body settled when I knew he was close.
What did that make me? Pet, prisoner? Both? Maybe neither. Maybe just a survivor who’d gotten too used to hiding in caves.
This wasn’t Ignarath. Omvar kept his distance, mostly. Except for those smoldering looks he shot me when he thought I wasn’t watching. There hadn’t been a repeat of that first night.
Thankfully.
Terribly.
The memory was a constant, looping thing I swore I’d ignore. His arms closing around me, the surprising heat of his scales under my palms, the way his mouth had found me, both hungry and careful at once. I’d gone soft in his hold, surrendered to a touch I thought would break me. I’d wanted it. Even with the fear coiling in my gut like a snake, I’d wanted to forget why I should be afraid.
But the memory always soured. I could feel my own independence slipping, replaced by a need that scared me more than any nightmare.
With Omvar, I didn’t have to be strong. I didn’t have to do anything but exist. It was a terrifying relief. Needing someone so badly always ended in pain. I’d fought too hard to survive just to trade one keeper for another.
In my first weeks there, every step outside my rooms had ended with me screaming, clawing at walls, begging for a safety that didn’t exist. I had come so far. I almost didn’t shake when I walked alone now. Almost.
But the comfort of this room called to me, dark and forbidden. It would be so easy to get used to this, to let myself disappear behind the broad back and wings of my Drakarn protector.
They called him the Beast in Ignarath. Here, he was my beast.
But no matter how good the blanket felt, I couldn’t pretend it was freedom. I couldn’t let him hold me prisoner, not even if I was willing.
My tongue felt thick, my pulse a frantic drum against my ribs. I could hear him moving in the outer alcove, his steps slow and careful. Giving me space. As if space wasn’t just another kind of cage.
