Page 26 of Burned Alive to Be His
13
JUDITH
The return to the settlement is a blur of pain and a strange, terrifying intimacy. Xvitar leans on me, a mountain of wounded pride and muscle, and I, a creature he could snap in two, am the pillar holding him up. The clan watches us, their eyes wide with a mixture of shock, fear, and a dawning, grudging respect. They see their wounded warrior, a victor, but they also see the human slave who walked into the Bone Yard with their enemy and walked out with their champion.
He doesn’t take me to my cold, empty cave.
He bypasses it without a glance, his long, pained strides leading us directly toward the dark, imposing entrance of his own cavern. The message is a silent, brutal declaration to the entire clan. I am no longer the creature to be kept at the outskirts. I am his. And his hoard is now my cage.
The inside of his cavern is nothing like my small, cold prison. The air is warm, permeated with the scent of hot stone, old leather, and a wild, musky scent that is uniquely him. The space is immense, the ceiling lost in shadows far above. And everywhere, things glitter.
My eyes, accustomed to the dim light of my cave, are momentarily dazzled. Piles of treasure are heaped against the walls, not with the organized precision of a dark elf noble, but with the chaotic, possessive abandon of a predator. Smooth, multi-colored sea glass lies in shimmering mounds next to the iridescent, rainbow shells of massive sea creatures. Strange, metallic ores pulse with a faint, inner light, casting an ethereal glow on the fossilized, bone-white skeletons of beasts I cannot name. It is a dragon’s hoard, a collection of beautiful, broken things stolen from the world. Like me.
Xvitar grunts, his weight slumping against me more heavily. He is losing strength, his face pale beneath his dark, scaled skin. The gashes on his side are deep, welling with dark, sluggish blood.
“Sit,” I say, the command soft but firm. I guide him toward a large, flat ledge covered in a mountain of black and grey furs.
He collapses onto the furs with a groan, the sound a low rumble of pain and frustration. He glares at his broken arm, at the unnatural angle of the bone beneath the skin, and a savage snarl rips from his throat.
I ignore his temper. I have lived my entire life in the orbit of male rage. It is a familiar, predictable storm. I move through his cavern, my eyes scanning for what I need. I find a basin of clean water, a stack of what looks like clean, soft cloths, and a small, lidded pot that smells of medicinal herbs.
I bring them to him. “Let me see your side,” I say.
He looks at me, his violet eyes narrowed in suspicion and pain. “You think to play healer, human? You will poison me with your touch.”
“I survived the Serpent’s Maw,” I retort, my voice sharper than I intend. “I think I can manage a few cuts without killing you.” I dip a cloth into the water. “Unless you would prefer to letthem fester. I am sure Grakar would be pleased to hear that his claws accomplished what his strength could not.”
The mention of his rival’s name is a lash. A muscle works in his jaw, and with a low growl, he rips the side of his tunic, exposing the deep, ugly gashes.
I kneel beside him, my heart a nervous flutter in my chest. This is the closest I have been to him since… that night. But this is different. I am not a victim here. I am a participant.
I gently clean the wounds, my touch as light as I can make it. The blood is hot and dark against the white cloth. His skin is a strange, fascinating texture, smooth and warm in the places between the fine, obsidian scales. He is utterly still beneath my touch, his body a coiled spring of tension, but he does not pull away.
“You are… surprisingly gentle,” he grunts, the words sounding as if they are being torn from his throat.
“I have had to tend to my own wounds for a long time,” I say quietly, not looking up from my task.
As I finish cleaning the last cut, my eyes catch on a smaller, shallower scrape on my own forearm, a raw, red line where I must have hit the sand when Grakar threw me. It is nothing, a minor injury compared to his.
But he sees it.
Before I can react, he reaches out with his good hand and takes my arm. His grip is firm but not painful, his large, clawed hand engulfing my own. He turns my arm over, his thumb gently tracing the line of the scrape. His touch is a shock, a spark of heat that travels up my arm and settles deep in my belly. It is the same hand that has bruised me, the same hand that has claimed me, but this touch… this is different. It is careful. It is… tender.
He says nothing. He simply picks up a clean cloth, dips it in the water, and begins to clean the small wound, his movements impossibly gentle for a creature of his size and power. I watch,mesmerized, my breath caught in my throat. I watch his large, dangerous hands, the fine, shimmering scales, the sharp, black claws, perform this small, intimate act of care.
When he is finished, he does not release me. He keeps hold of my arm, his thumb stroking the soft skin of my inner wrist. He looks up, his violet eyes meeting mine, and the world seems to fall away. The cavern, the hoard, the pain… all of it fades into the background, and there is only the intense, searching look in his eyes. The arrogance is gone. The cruelty is gone. In its place is something raw, something desperate, something that looks shockingly like need.
“Judith,” he whispers, my name a rough, broken sound on his tongue.
And in that moment, the last of my fear shatters. It is not a conscious decision. It is a surrender. A yielding to the strange, undeniable pull that has been humming between us since the moment I first saw him on that black sand beach.
I lean forward, my free hand coming up to cup his jaw. He flinches, a subtle, surprised jerk, but he does not pull away. His skin is hot beneath my palm, the rough texture of his short beard a pleasant friction.
“You said my name like normal, not in the your anger or in the throes of passion,” I whisper.
“It is a sound,” he growls, but there is no heat in it. His eyes are fixed on my mouth.
“It is my name,” I correct him softly.
