Page 34 of A Dance With Fire
“If that’s what it takes,” she threatened.
The male stepped forward, close enough so that his chest brushed across Shula’s. She was suddenly too aware of what she was wearing, of the thin shift that was see-through, but his eyes never strayed below her own.
“Try it,” he dared. There wasn’t a whisper of the thrill, of mischief. No, this man’s voice held all the dangerous promise of death. And of a male who wasn’t afraid to impart it.
“Ryker, big guy, what the fuck are you doing?”
The man—Ryker—took a single step back as Clay came jogging towards them. Ryker angled his body so Clay could get through, and Shula didn’t miss the glare Clay shot Ryker, or the surreptitious glance he shot the little sparks on her fingers.
She smothered them in her fist.
“She was trying to escape.” Ryker’s big arms crossed against his chest.
Clay shot her a glance. “Aww, already? You haven’t even let me kiss you yet.”
Shula felt her cheeks heat at that, but all it did was cause Clay to laugh. He thrust a pile of clothes and boots into her arms.
“These should fit. Orna loaned them to you, so you might have to give them back once we can find you your own set.”
Ryker snorted at that and turned to stalk away now that Shula was with Clay.
“Then I’ll have to thank Ornaandthe blacksmith,” she replied reverently, hugging the clothes to her chest. She didn’t mention that she wouldn’t be thanking Ryker at all, and Clay didn’t mention it again.
“Yup. Now go get dressed. Valerio wants to speak with you, and I’m sure you’re hungry, right?”
In response, her stomach emitted a soft growl.
“I could eat.” Her cheeks heated again.
Clay nodded in understanding. “Go change. I’ll wait right here.”
As she turned, Shula couldn’t help but feel like those words weren’t just spoken lightly like his tone implied.
They’d been a warning.
She went back into the room, closing the door behind her, though it seemed futile at this point since there were gaping holes in them. Thankfully, she could make out Clay’s figure on the other side turn his back to her.
She breathed a sigh of relief and began to strip. If she were being honest, she was glad to get rid of the sheer dress the Fae servants had forced on her. It felt tainted, like poison against her skin and burned as badly as their touch had.
She yanked it off and tossed it aside, making quick work of putting on the clothes from the mysterious Orna. There were no undergarments, but that didn’t worry Shula too much. She slid a pair of drab, brown pants over her legs, shimmying into them. They were tight against her ass, but fit perfectly around the waist. Then, she pulled on the long-sleeved white tunic and belt. It was short and tight as well, constricting against her chest. Lastly, she pulled on a warm pair of socks and snug leather boots.
She wished she had a mirror to look at herself, but under the circumstances she supposed it didn’t matter. Her heart clenched tight as she realized that she would never see the inside of her tent again. Never step foot within the circus again. She would never see the place she’d called home for years. No more silks and fluffy, comfortable pillows. She’d no longer hold her jeweled combs, look at her reflection in the full length, obsidian-rimmed mirror.
She wasn’t sure why the tears threatened to come at the thought. She hadn’t cried when her best friend betrayed her, but the fact that she’d never see her things again brought tears to her eyes. She was just now processing everything that had happened. The way her life had suddenly, irrevocably changed.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep the tears at bay by running her fingers through her tangled hair. When she finished with the knots, she felt calmer. A part of her still felt dirty, covered in the oils the Fae slaves had slathered her with. She hoped she could find a stream or a tub or something soon so she could wash the taint of their touch off.
When she was as presentable as she could be, she went back out into the hall to meet Clay.
He turned to her and offered his arm like a proper gentleman. Strange when there was Fae wildness in his smile. “Shall we, Fire Dancer?”
She found herself slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. “My name is Shula,” she corrected him. “Shula Azzarh.” She wasn’t the infamous Fire Dancer. Not anymore. She never would be again.
The thought broke her heart.
“And I’m Clay Valentino.” He flashed her a dazzlingly blinding smile. “At your service.”
He guided her down a series of hallways with broken structures for walls and rooms without doors, until they made it to what seemed like the back of the semi-destroyed cabin.
