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Alora was forced through the entrance, eyes adjusting once more.

The tent was pitch-black inside. She didn’t know what to expect. A chair made from the bones of his victims? Blood pooled in glasses and bowls for sacrifices, maybe even to drink? Perhaps tortured victims in shackles and chains to do his bidding?

A candle lit as Jade swiftly moved away from her, casting dancing amber shadows around the space, forcing Alora to squint.

No bones.

No blood.

The only chains were locked around a large leather chest in the back. Beside the lonely candle Jade had lit and the table it rested on, a large cot, fit for three of her size and full of furs, was positioned against the canvas wall. Decorated with hanging metal lanterns, an animal pelt rug beneath the cot, and the large chained trunk in the back, which held two large swords on top.

Against the right wall, a table prepared for two sat, with parchment spread out, a cask of wine, decanters of amber liquid, and two chairs with peaked backs and red cushions were pushed under it. A form stood in the far right corner, holding the armor she’d seen him wearing the night before.

“Sit,” Jade commanded, pulled a chair from the table, and motioned to it.

Alora gritted her teeth and stepped toward her. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’mdonebeing ordered around.”

She could down her, Alora was sure of it. Jade’s height was about half a foot shorter than her own, easily manipulatable. The long, fiery red ponytail would be easy to grab and wrench Jade’s head back, then she could steal a sword and shove it into her muscular torso. After all, she did owe her for the blow earlier. If that didn’t work, a fist to her high-cheek-boned face might render her unconscious.

Jade’s clothing—knee-high, brown boots tucked into black pants, a black tunic stuffed into a chest-high corset belt, hidden under a light brown leather jacket—Alora could possibly change into and escape under disguise. No one would think twice if she looked like her. Even their skin color matched. Both pale. But her eyes certainly wouldn’t fool anyone. Jade’s greens; her bright blues. And their ears were both pointed too, but Jade’s were much shorter than her own. Easily hidden with a cloak, though…

“You going to just stare at me all morning or get your ass in the chair? Perhaps my boot would be more comfortable shoved up your?—”

“Perhaps she would be more comfortable on my bed.”

Alora whipped her head around to find shadows diminishing around the chair in the middle of the tent.

With his cloak still shrouding him, he sat, one leather-covered ankle rested on his knee and a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Condensation gathered at his …bloodyfingertips as he lazily leaned back in the chair, his blood-covered forearm draped on the armrest.

Jade backed away a step. Carefully laying a hand on the chair’s back.

“Leave us.” His deep voice sounded dismissive as he flicked his hand, motioning to the exit with his attention fixed on Alora.

Nodding, Jade walked toward Alora. A sharp glare and a hard bump of her shoulder later, Jade walked out of the tent and into the dawn.

Alone. They were dreadfully, dangerously, alone.

Alora waited in silence, bones threatening to tremble. Her eyes couldn’t decide if they would surrender to his burning gaze or find something else to consider. The dirt by his boots perhaps, or the tent wall behind him, the bedside table…

She willed herself not to swallow.

His bed… Perfectly made, not a wrinkle, thread of fabric, or piece of fur out of place. Ready for him to?—

Her body stiffened. Vision narrowed at the thought.

“Relax. If I wanted you in my bed, you could have graced it hours ago.” He tugged at the fabric against his abdomen.

She gritted her teeth, pressing her lips taut as scarlet flushed her cheeks. And their eyes finally clashed.

“You have not slept.” He surveyed her, and the hood, casting shadows in his eyes, shifted slightly. Mouth twisting indispleasure when her filthy, dirt-covered arms dusted against her borrowed cloak. “Or washed.” Agitation filled his posture. “The clothing I had prepared for you … not suitable enough?”

Sapphires observed her attire. She nervously scraped a patch of dried blood from atop her fingernail. “I’m fine.”

He tossed back the glass to his lips, emptying it with a grimace. “Try that again. The truth this time.”

She paused for a moment, then balled her hands into fists, and stepped forward. Body tense, pleading for her magic to burst out of her and rip the tent apart—set it on fire—or doanything. But still,nothing.

“You steal me from my city, and you’re only worried about what I’m wearing?” Alora glared.