His smile widens. "Well then, let’s not waste time." He looks away back at his tent a few rows away, but I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be heard. I don’t want to hear anyone else.
“You’ll like my dwelling. Come,”
He follows me, weaving through the crowd, up the tunnel, across the agonizing distance, until we reach my house. I step inside, shut the door, and turn to face him. The armor barely clatters to the floor before his lips are on mine.
And it is enough. Enough for now. I like knowing that this—this moment, this pleasure, this choice—is mine.
It will be a nice night, one that does not have to be forever—because I don’t even know if forever is in the cards for me.
It certainly hasn’t been up to this point.
Chapter 13
VANN
Perhaps it is guilt from attending the Mating Journey, but Adra’s face lurks in the corners of my mind, haunting me as I move through the tunnels of my dreams.
I find myself at a wedding ceremony that never happened. We were a couple cursed before we could even begin. There is a blue gown, a chain of thousands of crystals, each one shattered, useless. Blood is staining the floor, and Adra is beside me, our bodies sprawled against the cold, unyielding stone, unable to stand, to move, to reach the place that should have bound us together.
This isn’t real, but it feels like it when the stone presses into the back of my skull, sharp enough to numb my face. This dream has come to me before. I don’t want to watch what comes next. Don’t want to hear her sadness.
“My Vann,” her voice whispers. “My strong, mad love. Time robbed us of something we borrowed. Be happy and let me go.”
I open my mouth, trying to argue. But the rock beneath us comes to life and spreads over my mouth, encasing me, trapping the words inside my throat. I scream against the stone, thrashing, fighting—until it consumes me completely.
The pressure mounts and crushes me beyond repair. I wait for death, for the moment I will finally be free to return to her.
Then a true scream rips through the silence.
Not my own.
Real.
I bolt upright, my chest heaving as I choke on nothing. My tongue tastes of dirt, my throat is raw, and my lungs burn as I hack and cough, trying to force out something that isn’t there.
Another scream shatters the silence.
I am out of my bed in a second, grabbing the knife I keep under my pillow, my body already moving before my thoughts catch up. The house is cold and there is a lingering scent of old smoke and mead.
Then I hear a final, gut-wrenching scream of a man dying. I’d heard it a thousand times on the battlefield.
It comes from nearby.
Was it Arlet?
Has Daniel come back?My skin is colder than usual. I throw on some clothes, pound down the steps and run out my front door. The distance between my house and Arlet’s house is short and I shove her door open without hesitation. She could get mad at me for intruding later. The scent of blood hits me first.
The darkness is thick, but the metallic tang coils through my gut like a knife.
Damn it.
I surge forward, leaving the door open and pushing through the hallway, my feet too fast, too desperate. I feel lightheaded. The cold that creeps through my limbs, that sick, creeping circulatory collapse, is already starting.
I reach the stairs that lead to the second level where her bedroom is. Light spills from the open door.
Taking two steps at a time, my vision narrows to the scene inside.
Arlet stands over a mangled body, gore gumming up the tip of her red-stained knife. Who the fuck knows where she got that from?