Page 43 of Beast of Blood and Ash
I looked up at him, studying the way his jaw ticked, the way his wings hunched tighter. He wasn’t just watching me, he was tracking everything: shadows, echoes, the unseen violence always lurking one stone corridor away. His scales caught the heat crystal’s light, reflecting gold and blood-red, dangerous and battered, every line of him honed to the edge.
He reached over, slow enough for me to see the intent in every movement, and touched my arm. The contact sent a thread of fire down my nerves, his claws trailing lightly over my skin, delicate, measured.
The scrape wasn’t pain, but the prick of purpose: not restraint, not a threat. Each claw tip barely skimmed my flesh until goosebumps erupted across my bicep.
He stopped, as if giving me every chance to pull away. I didn’t. My body had learned to brace for pain, but his touch was a different kind of shock.
“I know what you need,” he said.
I should have found that ominous. Instead, I felt the knot in my gut loosen a little.
He cocked his head, a silent order to follow, and turned into a side passage I hadn’t noticed before: a narrow arch nearly hidden behind a spill of mineral-veined rock. The city’s noise dulled as we slipped through, the world shrinking to the echo of our steps bouncing off slick, curving walls. I realized, with a flutter that was equal parts thrill and fear, that I’d never walked this path with anyone before. The air thickened, humid and strangely perfumed, carrying not just the scent of Drakarn but metallic steam and something almost sweet.
Omvar’s steps were confident, predator’s steps, calibrated for silence and dominance. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, reading my face, my every flinch, as if he needed proof I was still with him.
The tunnel opened abruptly, into light.
At first, I couldn’t see. Steam rolled over the threshold, thick and curling in sheets off a pool so wide I couldn’t find the far side through the haze. The scent hit me: minerals, copper, a sharp tang that stung my nose and made me think of old blood, but laced with something cleaner, restorative. The water was alive, its surface fractured by heat and shadow, reflections rippling across the glossy, volcanic stone.
Crystals embedded in the walls pulsed with a constant, mellow radiance, bright without glare. The light bent through the steam, painting everything in honey and bronze. No lamps, no harsh white light, just an endless warmth, as if the planet itself was holding its breath.
It felt like a secret world, carved by fire and time, meant for no one but us.
For once, I didn’t crack a joke. Words felt too flimsy in the face of all that heat and shadow. I just stood there, heart hammering, aware I was trembling under Omvar’s gaze.
I didn’t have a swimsuit. Not that swimsuits were even a thing in Scalvaris.
The way Omvar was looking at me made me realize just how good that might be.
He watched me, not as a conqueror or a guardian, but as someone who wanted. The hunger in his eyes was raw, primal, but checked, a question, not a demand. My cheeks warmed, sudden and traitorous, but I didn’t look away. Not now.
I slipped off my tunic and pants quickly, flinching against the muscle soreness and pretending I was braver than I felt. Every movement was an effort, pain zinging through my traps, my thighs. But I made it through, shoving away the old instinct to hide every inch of flesh.
I didn’t cover myself. Not anymore. Not with Omvar.
I approached the pool, each step over slick stone careful, my old armor falling away. Heat hugged my bare skin, the air so thick it clung to me, carrying the faint, metallic lick of minerals, the ghost of Omvar’s scent tangled in the mist behind me.
The hot water was bliss.
The heat seeped into my skin and melted the tension from my bones. Every ache, every knot, every old ghost of pain burned away, replaced with an almost unbearable pleasure. I groaned, letting the sound escape for once, not caring how it might echo in the cavern.
I let my head fall back against the smooth rock ledge, my eyes drifting shut.
For four perfect seconds, I floated. The world shrank to the pulse at my neck, the way the water enveloped me, made my body feel weightless and possible again. The gentle slap of waves against my shoulders was the only sound, everything outside suspended.
The surface rippled as Omvar climbed in.
I almost opened my eyes, eager to see him, but the luxury of the heat was too much. I felt him settle behind me, thedisplacement of water, the pulse of something wild coming closer.
His hands, the ones that could crush stone, were impossibly gentle as they found my aching feet.
“Better?” he rumbled, his thumbs working circles into the knots of muscle there.
The touch sent a shiver up my spine. Not just from pleasure, but as a deep, animal memory flickered, warning me that hands could always become weapons. But Omvar’s touch was measured, reverent, each pass of his thumbs learning my limits, listening to the tension in my body and working with it, not against it.
I didn’t know he could be so gentle. I didn’t feel even a hint of his claws.
“Mmm,” was all I could manage.
