Page 33 of Beast of Blood and Ash
I shoved the blanket away. The sudden loss of warmth made my skin tighten. I forced myself to walk into the main room, arms wrapped around my middle as if holding myself together. Omvar stood half in shadow, his gold eyes tracking my every move. A tension hung in the air, so fragile that a single loud word might shatter it.
My throat was dry. “I can’t just stay here.” The words came out as a crackle of sound.
He went utterly still, every muscle locking into place. “What?”
Was I being stupid? Was I about to destroy the only scrap of comfort I’d found in months?
My voice came out sharper this time, honed by a fear I refused to show. “I can’t hide away forever. Have you heard anything about the Ignarath? Is there any news?”
His posture snapped rigid, wings clamping tight to his back. The guard went up so fast it was like a physical blow, erasing the softness he’d held just a moment before. He watched me with a wariness that made my skin crawl and my heart ache.
I felt like I was back in the arena, exposed under a thousand hostile eyes, every word a gamble.
“You came for me like some monster,” I blurted, my words harsh and uneven. “You dragged me away. I can’t … I just …” I swallowed against a mouth gone dry as desert sand. “I need the truth.”
He didn’t flinch. His voice was a low rumble, final. “The threat is real. I killed one, and we captured two. Your name was mentioned. Skorai wants you back.”
A cold fist squeezed deep in my gut, stealing my breath. “But why?” I pressed, even though part of me already knew. I needed to hear it from him, from someone who wasn’t in the business of selling hope.
His tail twitched, the only sign of his agitation. “Slaves who escape Ignarath are captured and returned. Anyone who assists them is executed or enslaved themselves. Ignarath has gone to war for less. That a human escaped? It is an insult almost beyond bearing. If he cannot have you back, he will kill you.”
The words struck like a slap. I stood there, arms wrapped tight around myself, as he recounted the interrogation, his voice flat. The assassins were specialized killers, sent directly by Skorai. Their orders were simple: target escapees, send a message. My name, spat out in that guttural Ignarath snarl, made it all real.
Each detail made the walls close in, the air growing thick and suffocating. My mind spun through faces: Kinsley, Kira, Vega. “What about Kinsley?” I demanded. “Or the others who are still there? That envoy came here to steal humans. Are we all in danger?”
His gaze flickered for just a second. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his eyes darting away as if looking at me too long might break something between us. I locked onto that tiny crack, hope and fury a volatile mix in my chest.
“Well?” My voice rose, sharp as shattered glass. “Are they safe?”
A silence followed, heavier than before. He looked down, working his jaw, grinding the words before he let them out. When his eyes finally met mine, there was nothing left in his face but raw, brutal honesty. No monster. No protector. Just him.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice flat and final. “You are the only one in this damned city that I care about.”
It landed like a punch to the gut. I swayed, caught between the urge to lash out and the urge to collapse into him. The air crackled, the weight of his confession pressing on me from all sides.
Only me.
How could that be true?
14
REIKA
The confession hungin the air between us, heavy and suffocating.
You are the only one.
It wasn’t sweet. It was obsession. Possession. Another name for a chain, and the air in his quarters suddenly felt too thin to breathe. The stone walls pressed in, a solid weight against my ribs until my lungs ached with the effort of fighting them.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
Claustrophobia, sharp and familiar, clawed its way up my throat. I scrambled back, my feet shuffling desperately on stone to put distance between myself and the heat rolling off his body.
Away from the crushing weight of his confession.
“I have to get out of here.” The words were a ragged gasp. If I stayed another second, I might just crumble into dust.
A wound opened in his gold eyes, a flicker of pain that punched me in the gut. His hands, which had been hanging loose at his sides, curled into fists, the knuckles straining, white as if he were physically stopping himself from reaching for me. He took a single, predatory step forward.
