by Frost Kay
One corner of his mouth turned up. “What soldier isn’t?”
“So true.”
His arm trembled as he tried to lift his hand. Mira caught it and held it between hers. “Tell him goodbye for me, and that I won’t miss him sewing me up anymore.”
“I will make sure to pass that along,” she said softly. “Is there anyone else you want me to speak to?”
The soldier slowly shook his head. “Family is all gone.”
Mira swallowed, and her smile felt like it was frozen on her face. “What is your name?”
“Micah.”
“I promise I won’t forget your message, Micah.” Mira squeezed his hand for emphasis. A hand that was much too cold.
A wave of pain crossed his face. “Thank you, fair lady.” He seemed to gather strength somehow, and he squeezed her hand and gave a slight tug. Mira lowered her hand to his mouth. The soldier pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, a roguish smile touching his mouth. “No better way to go than with the taste of a woman upon the lips.”
The soldier sitting to his left chuckled. “Amen to that, brother.”
Her patient winked at her and sighed. “I think I’ll take a little nap.”
Mira held back her tears and smoothed the hair from his face. “I think that’s wise. Rest for a while.”
He smiled and embraced death, even as his hand slipped from hers.
She blinked down at him, her body flashing cold and then hot. “He’s gone,” she heard herself mumble. “Please retrieve some men to help move him.”
Her legs quivered as she stood and walked away, her steps jerky. Heat filled her eyes, and Mira held tears back, quickening her pace. She burst from the infirmary and rushed into the nearby darkened wood. Moonlight briefly peeked from between the dark clouds and spilled over her favorite spot, but she hardly noticed its usual beauty as the torrent of tears broke free. Salty droplets rolled down her cheeks, and she tipped her head back, trying to keep the sobs at bay.
Her papa loved her, but he always said she was too soft at heart. Sure, she could cut open a man and not blink an eye, but not being able to save a human being? It tore her apart. Her chest shook with silent sobs, and Mira wrapped her arms around her waist. The past few weeks had been brutal. So much death. It was despicable. What was it all for? Logically, she knew they needed to protect their land from the warlord, but he’d only played games with them. Had Tehl been able to destroy the war machines? Was Sage safe?
Mira halted in that line of thought. She could not go down that road. Her friend could take care of herself and if Mira thought too much about what Sage was going through… well, it would be easy to become distracted with worry and make a mistake while she was healing a patient. She needed to focus on her job and trust her friend to do the same.
You know what the warlord did to her. In what state will you find her this time? If you ever see her again?
Mira shoved that thought deep down, locked it in a box, and then tossed it into a bottomless pit in her mind. Her heart stalled for a second when the moonlight disappeared, a creature soaring above. A fiilee. Mira wiped at her wet cheeks as the flying feline circled closer and landed in her little glen. The feline stretched his wings, and his rider slipped from his back.
Raziel and Skye.
Frozen to the spot, she watched as Raziel murmured softly to Skye, who stared straight at her, his white whiskers twitching. Mira admired the way the Methian prince cared for his beast. He didn’t look upset. If anything, he looked invigorated and proud with a smile on his face. That meant they succeeded.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushed her own problems aside, and stood. Raziel twisted, and their eyes clashed. His smile slipped from his face, and he darted underneath Skye’s midnight wing. Mira held a hand up. If he asked her any questions, she might break down again.
He paused and cocked his head, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Giving him a wobbly smile, all she could do was shrug.
His frown deepened. “Was it bad tonight?”
Her bottom lip quivered, and she bit the betraying flesh.
Sorrow crossed his face. “Oh, Mira. I’m so sorry, sweetness. What happened?”
“I can’t,” she croaked, shaking her head.
“Can I hug you?” he asked.
No. That would just make it worse. If he wrapped his arms around her, she’d break.
Mira shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured, concern lacing his tone. “I understand that some things are just too raw to speak about.” The prince shifted and glanced back at Skye. “You know, Skye has been working hard tonight. I’m sure he would love some attention, or a hug or two.”
Her gaze moved to the winged feline. Skye crouched and released a loud rumble, as if he knew what was being discussed. Before she made a conscious decision, her feet were already moving through the crisp snow, her steps crunching as she flew toward Skye. The fiilee crouched and tucked his wings back, ruffling her hair. Mira threw her arms around his thick neck and sank her fingers into his luscious, silky fur. Skye released a loud purr and leaned into her, as if hugging her back.
That was the last straw.
Tears pricked her eyes. She pressed her face into the feline’s fur and cried, her shoulders shaking. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be more like her papa? Why did she have to feel everything?
Skye tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against her arm as heat suffused her back and strong arms wrapped around her waist. Raziel rested his chin on top of her head and just held her. He didn’t say anything, for which she was grateful. He let her have her cry until there were no more tears.
Exhaustion washed over her, and Mira turned her head to the side. She watched as more snow drifted from the clouds that had covered the moon. It was there one moment and gone the next. Fleeting, just like life. Combing her fingers through Skye’s fur, she soaked in the comfort.
“Better?” the Methian prince asked.
“Better,” she whispered. Sometimes, a woman needed a good cry to be able to move on, and it was only appropriate for her to mourn the soldier. He had no other family. “I won’t forget you.” Her words were only a shadowy whisper in the night.
Raziel shifted, making her very aware of the man holding her. Mira scowled when a little blush heated her cheeks. She tamped down the urge to twist out of his grasp and focused on petting Skye’s black and white spotted fur.
“How did it go tonight?”
“Well.”
It was almost as if she could hear the smile in his voice. He lifted his head when she glanced over her shoulder. “How well?”
He smiled, his white teeth a flash of brightness against his swarthy skin. “The war machines have been destroyed.”
Mira sagged in relief. With the infernal death contraptions gone, hopefully the war would end sooner. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day. Did everyone make it out safely?”
The Methian prince released her, so she could fully face him. His expression said everything.
“Tehl?” she rasped. Please let it not be him.
“He’s okay. We lost a few, including William.”
She placed a hand over her mouth and shook her head, a sense of numbness creeping through her veins. William was one of her father’s oldest friends. It didn’t make sense that he was gone. “He can’t be.”
Once again, Raziel said nothing, but pulled her trembling form into his arms and held her close.
“How will I tell my father?” Her tremors grew worse, and she finally began to feel the cold. “I’m so cold.”
Raz cursed and yanked off his cloak before tossing it over her shoulders and sweeping her into his arms. “When is the last time you slept? Or ate?”
Mira didn’t know. All she could do was blink up at him.
“Damn, woman. You’re going to get yourself killed. How will you help others if that happens?”
She didn’t answer, her teeth
were clacking together too hard.
Thirty-Six
The Warlord
The Warlord
Her body lost all tension and Sage sagged against him, her head lolling forward. He adjusted his grip on her and swung her fully into his arms. Her head was cradled against his chest, her braid dangling over his arm. In sleep, she was beautiful, but she was absolutely breathtaking in the heat of battle.
Fierce. Lovely. Ours.
He hitched her closer to his body and slowly moved toward the bed, the one she’d darted across like it was hot coals. The wrinkles on the bed bothered him. Chaos wasn’t solely bad, but he didn’t like it in his space. His attention moved back to his consort. She was proof that he liked a little chaos.
Nege hissed as he drew closer, and he slanted a glare at the feline. The leren lowered its head repentantly and backed away. Zane watched the feline slink toward his desk before using the toe of his boot to push the blankets back. What was it with this woman that inspired such devotion? Nege hadn’t acted out like that in a very long time. It seemed the feline forgot who was dominant in the relationship. He must need some punishment.
The warlord lowered Sage into the bed and unclasped the cloak still secured around her neck. He scanned her head to toe. Despite the gifts he’d given her, she hadn’t changed. His jaw twitched at the slight. It would be so easy to redress her while she was sleeping.
Touch. Kiss. Taste, the voices crooned.
He ran a finger along her delicate collarbone and stopped at the laces of her shirt, her breasts rising with each breath she took. Saliva flooded his mouth at the thought of tasting her skin once again. It had been too long since the last time.
His fingers tangled with her laces, and he began to pull one loose, his blood heating with excitement.
Claim, the voices urged.
The warlord froze, his body stiffening. What was he doing? How long had he waited for this woman? Was he really going to ruin everything by being weak and giving in to the voices?
His hand shook as he pulled away, breathing hard. Zane stared at his hand like it had betrayed him. Something wasn’t right. He needed to take his draught and check his levels. Leaving her side was harder than it should have been. Rage at his lack of control triggered his berserker rage.
He stormed from his chambers and through the war room. The frigid night air did nothing to cool his skin. He glanced at Jacobi who stood to the left of the tent entrance. “The prisoner?”
His commander didn’t bat a lash at the warlord’s snarl. “The forest.”
He smiled and, this time, Jacobi did flinch the tiniest bit. “Let no one inside, or everyone you hold dear will suffer in ways you’ve never experienced before.” His tone was light, but his commander understood the gravity of the situation.
Nodding, the warlord set off for the forest.
Spilling a little bit more blood might just take the edge off.
Thirty-Seven
Sage
Sage slowly woke up and blurrily stared at the canvas wall of the tent. The air was cool. Not frigid, but cold enough that her nose was frozen. She snuggled deeper into the covers and pushed herself against Tehl to soak up his heat, her mind in a morning fog. When was the last time they’d stayed in bed? It was utterly glorious. She yawned, her jaw cracking in the process.
“Good morning, consort,” the warlord whispered.
Her body stiffened, and all grogginess fled as reality set in. She was not in her bed. It was not her husband pressed against her with his arm around her waist, his hand resting dangerously close to her left breast. Sage tossed the covers back and tried to spring from the bed, but her body didn’t comply. The room spun, and she found herself on her back with the warlord hovering over her, looking rumpled, his dark eyes staring at her with concern.
“Take it easy,” he crooned. His thumb ran along her ribs, and she shuddered at the sensation. It was just a little thing, but it disturbed her immensely. “It will take time for the powder to wear off.”
“What did you give me?” she demanded, her mind flipping through the memories of the prior night. The nail. Nege. The blood. The drugs. Her mind returned to the nail. She needed it. Her hands brushed her body, and relief filled her. She was still in her same clothes as the night before. Nothing had happened. Unless he redressed her, which was always in the realm of possibilities when dealing with the deceitful demon.
“Just a little something to make our first night back together easier.” He touched the skin just beneath her right eye, causing Sage to flinch back. “You needed rest.”
Rage flared in her gut. How. Dare. He. “Don’t ever do that again,” she hissed. If only she could get to the damn nail.
The warlord smiled.“It was for your own good, wild one.”
Sage wriggled away from him and put as much space between their bodies as possible. She attempted to control her breathing and school her reaction, but she failed utterly. “You have no idea what is best for me. How could you take my freedom like that?” It was a dumb question to ask, but fear and anger caused the words to pop out anyway.
He sighed. “Freedom is overrated. Sometimes freedom must be taken away, because it can cause so much harm.”
“So says the man with all the power,” she retorted, fingers clenching and unclenching. “How would you feel if someone rendered you completely helpless?”
“I know the feeling well,” he replied calmly. Leaning closer, he forced her to meet his gaze squarely. A powerful emotion that she refused to acknowledge passed across the warlord’s expression. “You have completely undone me.”
Her skin crawled, and all she could think of was getting away, if only her body would cooperate. Part of her wondered why she wasn’t losing her damned mind. He was the monster that plagued her nightmares. Unconsciously, her weak hand lifted to her throat, and the warlord’s gaze followed the movement. His lip curled, and fear flashed through her. This was the terror she’d been looking for. She shied away as he brushed a gentle finger along the twisted scars around the base of her neck.
“I can fix this,” he murmured.
What an odd thing to say. Unbidden heat filled her eyes, but Sage blinked it back. This demon did not deserve her tears. She’d made peace with the scar, and she now wore it as a badge of survival.
“I have a balm that will—”
“No!” The vehemence in her voice surprised her.
“No?”
“No. I want no more of your potions. I want nothing from you.”
But his death. The ring dug into the back of her head as she tried to relax. Could she possibly retrieve it and stab him now? No. Too risky.
His expression shifted. “You presume to dictate to me?”
Sage lifted her chin proudly, refusing to be cowed by the darkness shadowing his expression. He may have drugged her, but he was not in control of her. She’d never give him that power again. “It’s my body.” That was supposed to be the end of her argument, but more stupid words flooded from her mouth. “And you deserve to look at these scars. You can’t erase your crimes and pretend they didn’t happen. I will wear your cruelty and depravity around my neck for all my days, to serve as a reminder that not all things can be fixed. You’re not all-powerful.” His eyes flashed, and his hand tightened around her neck, a snarl twisting his lips. He pressed his weight along her side and leaned so close that all she could see was the pain he promised in his expression, and the madness glinting in his eyes. Her heart galloped, and her lungs screamed for air. Sage clumsily lifted her arms and yanked at his fingers. Her left hand moved to the back of her neck where his fingers overlapped. This was not how it ended. He was the one who would die. If only she could get to the ring.
Her fingers brushed the silver ring as the warlord cursed and rolled from the bed. He stormed to the desk, and pulled a key from a pocket inside his shirt. The warlord yanked open the bottom drawer from his desk and pulled a bottle from it. He turned his back to her. Sage gasped for air, her throat already
aching.
What in the bloody hell was that? She was not sticking around to find out. Sage forced her muscles to work and clawed her way out of the bed. Her hands and knees crashed onto the cold floor, but she barely felt it. With her gaze on her predator, she pulled the nail from the dirt and stood on wobbly legs, determined to get out.
He slowly faced her and cocked his head. “Where do you think you’re going, consort? Come back to bed.”
No way in hell. “I will never be biddable.”
“I never wanted you to be.”
Sage snorted and edged toward the entrance to the room. “You and I both know that’s not true. You can’t help yourself. You want everyone to bow to you, to obey you. I will not.”
He took one gliding step toward her and sighed, his bare chest rising. “I’d hoped we would have enjoyed a nice lunch together before we arrived at this part of our journey.”
Her palms began to sweat. There wasn’t a chance she could outrun him, but when he pursued her—and he would—it would give her the perfect opportunity to stab him and escape.
“Things will get better. You just need to let go of the past. It’s not healthy.”
“The past?” she whispered. “Which part am I supposed to let go? The torture? The pain? The loss of my friend and family?” She swallowed and stared him down. “I know what you did in the northern village of Aermia.”
He blinked slowly, not giving anything away.
“You slaughtered them.” Her throat constricted at the memory of little toes. “They were children. Children, Zane!” Her voice rose, and she stumbled back a step when his name flew from her lips, a name she swore she would never use again. “How could you?”
“I was not there.”
Lies. She shook her head. “And the children outside my camp?”
He arched a brow. “They were soldiers.”
“They were children, and you know it. What happened to your lofty principles of protecting women and children?” she yelled. “Is every word you utter a lie, a twist of truth?”