Page 37 of Daughter of the Serpent

“Pray, tell me,” his voice a quiet snarl, “what gives you such authority?”

Brunhilda faltered, her breath hitching as his presence bore down on her. For a moment, her defiance flickered, her lips parting as if to respond - but no words came.

He leaned in just enough to loom without touching, his gaze narrowed.

“Take heed,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade of ice. “The gods do not suffer arrogance lightly - and neither do I.”

Brunhilda, usually quick to retort, stood rigid, her fiery red hair a vivid contrast to her now pale face, and burning brown eyes. Sylvie could almost see the flames of Brunhilda’s temper flickering behind her cold exterior, yet they failed to lash out. Her lips remained pinched, her nostrils flaring briefly, her hands clenched at her sides. Before she knew it, the heavy wooden door groaned on its hinges, and Brunhilda had disappeared behind them.

Sylvie’s pulse quickened as she sat frozen. Aside from Tara whonow lay in the thick of sleep, she was alone with the stranger - themurderer, who had also coincidentally saved her skin - twice.

She watched as the man turned back towards her, their eyes connecting. A certain energy seemed to swallow the room as she took in his shadowed figure, a strange and unfamiliar emotion coiling in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze drifted to his cloak, still damp, still caked with mud, and the worn furs draped over his shoulders, battered by what could only have been the harsh, unrelenting winter. Despite the fire in his eyes, he seemed carved from stone rather than made of flesh.

"Who are you?" Sylvie’s voice trembled, barely more than a whisper.

The man’s face remained a blank canvas, but his eyes lingered on her as if calculating every breath.

“Someone who doesn’t believe in leaving the innocent to suffer.”

His eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of his hood, sharp and predatory - like a mountain lion poised to strike at any moment.

“Did she hurt you?” He asked after a moment, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the scarlet flare still blooming across her skin.

She stiffened, and she couldn’t help the heat that rose up her neck and spread across her cheeks.

Her lips parted, but nothing emerged.

What could she possibly say?

In all her years of temple service, such moments of scorn were as common as the air she breathed - and not once had anyone cared enough to ask after her.

When had she ever been anything - but tolerated?

Her gaze faltered, dropping to her feet, and her inability to meet his eyes - seemed to speak louder than anything she could have said.

His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching there as understanding dawned.

“She struck you,” he said, the words more a statement than a question, as though saying it aloud cemented the truth.

Sylvie stayed silent under his gaze, but she was sure her trembling fingers gave her away. “It’s nothing.”

When he stopped just in front of her, his calloused fingers reached out slowly, hovering near her cheek. His presence felt almost too near - powerful, commanding - but there was something else there, too. It simmered beneath the surface, unspoken. He paused, giving her space, the choice to pull away.

But she didn’t. Instead, she stood frozen, watching him through wide, wary eyes.

With a gentleness that surprised her, his fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face slightly so he could see the marks more clearly. His eyes swept over her as though accounting every bruise, every scrape, every place she had been wronged. His touch was warm despite the roughness of his skin, and Sylvie fought the urge to lean into it. She was so cold, so tired, yet something rose inside that made her want to draw closer.

“She’ll answer for this,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, his thumb grazing just below the reddened flare of her cheek.

“You can’t - ” she started, her voice cracking, taken aback by his response.

“I can.” he interrupted, his gaze flicking back to hers, and they were wrapped in flame. “No one lays a hand on you. Not while you’re under my charge.”

The memory suddenly flared at his words - of what and who this man was.

A stranger, dangerous and lethal.

A man who broke bone and body like bread, and who had seemed to save her life - without reasonable cause. He may have rescued her, now more than once, but he still hadn’t made his motives clear. Sylvie instinctively recoiled as the realization took hold, shifting her body closer to the wall. Her arms curled protectively around herself despite the sharp pang of pain that radiated through her body.