Page 3

He let out a sigh and drank the rest of his wine.

It was a fucking entanglement. And Torin knew he hadn’t touched the surface.

Just as he placed the chalice down onto his mother’s wooden table, the screaming began.

Just like it had every night since they had gotten here.

He moved faster than the wind to the spare room. Pulling the door open, it took his eyes a matter of seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room. Fractured moonlight seeped through the window, highlighting where she lay. Another scream left her throat and Torin winced at the sound. Not many sounds made him shudder, but for some reason, Emara’s screams did. The sounds she had made the night of the Uplift had been the worst sounds he had ever heard. He still heard them every time he shut his eyes. He saw her face, the blood, and the chaos building around her. He saw the fire, the running, the demons attacking. The sounds of clashing steel and the dying haunted him.

She cried out again, her arms tangling in her wild inky-black hair.

Two quick strides had him across the small room, and he found himself on the edge of the bed, not getting too close.

“Emara, wake up. It’s not real.”

She thrashed against the fur and wool rugs that had been layered on top of her to keep out the chill of winter.

“Emara, I am here. Listen to my voice, I am here. It’s not real,” he said with a soft authority as he leaned over and placed his large hand to her cheek. “Emara...”

Her eyes batted open, and her body stiffened as the lucidity of her dreams turned into reality. A sob consumed her.

“Don’t cry, please,” he begged, almost breaking restraint. He wanted to pick her up, to hold her in his arms. Was that crossing the line? Would it knock down the wall she had built around herself? He didn’t move, gripping the mattress instead. He said, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Something familiar constricted in his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. He struggled with the idea of comforting someone. He always had. He had tried several times during her recurring nightmares and through her grief to comfort her, but she had almost broken his nose as she flung out every limb she could, fighting with the pain in her heart.

And when Gideon had tried to comfort those nightmares, the whole entire cottage shook. She was clearly still not over his betrayal, so his mother had decided it would be easier to heal a nose than rebuild a full cottage, and barred Gideon from the room. Torin had told his mother to rest during the night so that she could be there for Emara at sunrise, helping her with any healing she required. That left him to make sure she got through the night.

But it was a strange thing, comfort. He hadn’t always been allowed to know comfort in the process of being a warrior of Thorin. So he had always been selfish in comfort, when he could, making sure his own needs were his top priority.

This was different. She was different. It was like an urge he had never had before.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and a huskiness tickled his throat.

She didn’t answer him as she lay sobbing, her full body shaking as her temperature from the trauma plummeted.

He leaned in a little. “Will you let me come closer?” he questioned, his voice not sounding like his own. When she didn’t speak again, he rolled his lips hard against his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. He squared his shoulders and cracked his neck. Carefully, he pushed his large frame in beside her to give her heat. There was not enough room for both of them on the bed, but he sat for a few moments to allow her time to settle from her terrible dreams. As the minutes passed, her shaking didn’t ease, and it took all of his strength to not touch her. He wanted to just pull her against him and give her all the warmth he had.

He wouldn’t allow an animal to suffer this way. Could he really allow this to continue for another night? Even if he didn’t normally comfort anyone, a strange pull of protection fell over him, and it almost broke his heart as she let out another sob.

For the love of Thorin, fuck it.

“Come here.” His voice lay soft in the air.

Gently pulling her into his arms and onto his chest, he waited for the full impact of her elbow—or maybe it would be her fist this time—to connect with his face. But for whatever reason, tonight, she didn’t kick or punch or thrash against him. She let him take her into his arms.

Her skin felt clammy against his hands, and through his hunting tunic, he could feel the cool sweat on her chest and torso. His hand felt it on her back too.

He looked down at her and something stirred in his soul at her lying in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he said as she lay shaking against him.

The fact that one human male had done this to her made him wish he had been the one to slaughter Taymir. He wished he had been the one to ram the spear right through him—several times, of course, not just once. And he would have been sure to give him a slow, merciless death, as he wouldn’t have hit any vital organs for him to quickly bleed out. Torin would have dragged it out.

Hours. Possibly days.

Emara had stabbed him with her spear before incinerating his body. The flames had come directly from the palms of her own hands, and he remembered standing in shock, watching her build a wall of fire around herself and Callyn’s body on the floor. Had the terrors of that night not affected her as such, he would have congratulated her on the accuracy of her kill and the strength of her magic. He had been impressed. But her pain had been too great for her to let anyone in.

She had been so selfless and brave in those moments at the Uplift, and it was something he had admired.

He shut the thought down instantly. Admirations led to places he couldn’t go.