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Evander

S leep evaded me as the night had worn on.

Any time I drifted, my slumber was interrupted by thoughts of Bria.

I had tossed, thrashed in the sheets when I closed my eyes and was blinded by images of her—her and Silas.

Sensing it was jealousy at work, I fought every instinct I had to go to her.

Fought the urge to break down her door and finish what we started last night.

To claim her as mine before that boy could do anything more.

I know it’s ludicrous, beastly even, to think that way. But there is something about her. I have trouble containing myself.

To make matters worse, the fitful sleep caused me to rise early.

And against my better judgement, I do go to her.

While the moon is still a shadow in the sky and the inn is hushed, I cross the hall.

But no one answers when I knock, and when I push the door open, I find her room empty, her bed still made.

She didn’t sleep here, and the realization sends me reeling.

I observe the dull ache that burgeons in my chest as I slam the door. Sconces rattle along the wall, the impact making the one at the end of the hall sputter. Where the hell is she? I should have left that twit of a boy in the village, let him be taken by the king.

Gathering my things in a storm of fury, I nearly run from the inn, not waiting for Quinn before I set off to the stables.

Helara requested we scout the first leg of the trip to the Woods today and be on the lookout for any signs of the king’s men.

Our group is set to leave tomorrow. With Bria.

..and Silas. A day and a half ride, with the two of them.

Though if she lets us all take our own horses, maybe we can move quicker. Maybe I can be rid of him quicker.

My thoughts envelope me as I toss the woolen blanket and saddle on the stallion, fitting the leather straps into their homes and tightening them.

Leaning my arms on the saddle, I press my palms firmly into the hardened leather and let my head fall, hair slipping forward in tendrils around my eyes, tickling the bridge of my nose.

I work to slow my breathing before mounting the horse, not wanting to bother the animal with my storm of emotions.

Inhaling in the warm, earthy smell of the stable helps steady my exhalations.

She's made no promises to me. Not to anyone, for that matter—aside from the prophecy, her destiny. But even that isn’t a promise, isn’t something she desires.

She was born into that ill-fated path. It’s foolish to feel this way, to be letting my emotions get the better of me. And to be lashing out.

But the closer we creep to battle, as the clock wears down, the more I urge time to stand still.

To take in as much of her as I can. Breathing in, my eyes closed, I can almost smell the lavender of her soap, feel the warmth that seeps from every pore of her body and seems to filter through my own, all-encompassing.

I shake my head, attempting to free the images from the clutches of my mind, but it’s fruitless.

There have been other women, plenty of them back when I was in Easthallow, who were pleased to spend the night with me.

But I have never felt like this with anyone but her.

Never been overwhelmingly jealous of anyone but her.

Those women were pretty, some beautiful even, but not once did I consider them anything more than company.

I’d been scratching an itch, patching over a hole that lay agape in my soul.

And I’m beginning to realize that Bria fills that hole, fills it with her energy until I feel as if I might burst.

When I pry my eyes open, I glimpse Quinn staring back at me from across the stables. He’s leaning on the old wooden slats and his legs are crossed over one another, hands shoved deep in his pockets. I had been so lost in thought, so consumed, that I hadn’t heard him enter.

“How long have you been there?” I manage, dropping my head back to rest on the saddle. The leather is cool beneath my skin, a welcome change to the heat of rage and jealousy that ripped through me mere moments before.

“Long enough to guess your mood.” The deep timbre of his voice is barely audible as it travels across the space.

There’s no chance Quinn is going to allow me to spend the day pining and I press my forehead harder into the leather.

But he’s giving me some time, a quiet space to release the pressure building in me.

I listen as he pushes his heavy boot into the solid wood behind him, launching forward from the wall to move toward me.

“So, if you’re all done with your bullshit, we should be on our way.” He slings the saddle over his own horse, not looking at me while he speaks. I have a feeling he’s fueling the rage on purpose. Pissing me off and trying to get it out of me rather than let it fester.

“Fuck off.”

Quinn’s face breaks into a full smile, and I fight the urge to reciprocate as we mount the horses and make our way out of the camp.