Page 16 of Beast of Blood and Ash (Drakarn Mates #6)

REIKA

Two days of breathing Omvar’s air, sleeping in his bed, eating the food he brought me like some prized pet.

I told myself this was protection. A measure of safety. But the line between protection and captivity was blurring, the stone walls of his quarters transforming from a shield into a cage.

A comfortable one, yes, lined with soft blankets that smelled of him, a scent that promised no harm could reach me there. But it was a cage all the same.

Was I truly safe, or just hidden away?

Shadows pooled in the corners of the room, stretching and shrinking with my every move, a reminder that there were no windows and only one door. Only the oppressive warmth pressing in and the scent of Drakarn, a mix of smoke, hot metal, and a sweetness that now clung to my skin.

I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, his scent sinking into me. It was invasive, persistent. My pulse tripped every time I breathed it in. There was a comfort there, a feeling so potent it felt like a betrayal of something I couldn’t name.

I hated how I knew he was near before I saw him, how the ache in my chest quieted at the sound of his heavy footsteps outside. I hated how, despite everything, my body settled when I knew he was close.

What did that make me? Pet, prisoner? Both? Maybe neither. Maybe just a survivor who’d gotten too used to hiding in caves.

This wasn’t Ignarath. Omvar kept his distance, mostly. Except for those smoldering looks he shot me when he thought I wasn’t watching. There hadn’t been a repeat of that first night.

Thankfully.

Terribly.

The memory was a constant, looping thing I swore I’d ignore.

His arms closing around me, the surprising heat of his scales under my palms, the way his mouth had found me, both hungry and careful at once.

I’d gone soft in his hold, surrendered to a touch I thought would break me.

I’d wanted it. Even with the fear coiling in my gut like a snake, I’d wanted to forget why I should be afraid.

But the memory always soured. I could feel my own independence slipping, replaced by a need that scared me more than any nightmare.

With Omvar, I didn’t have to be strong. I didn’t have to do anything but exist. It was a terrifying relief. Needing someone so badly always ended in pain. I’d fought too hard to survive just to trade one keeper for another.

In my first weeks there, every step outside my rooms had ended with me screaming, clawing at walls, begging for a safety that didn’t exist. I had come so far. I almost didn’t shake when I walked alone now. Almost.

But the comfort of this room called to me, dark and forbidden. It would be so easy to get used to this, to let myself disappear behind the broad back and wings of my Drakarn protector.

They called him the Beast in Ignarath. Here, he was my beast.

But no matter how good the blanket felt, I couldn’t pretend it was freedom. I couldn’t let him hold me prisoner, not even if I was willing.

My tongue felt thick, my pulse a frantic drum against my ribs. I could hear him moving in the outer alcove, his steps slow and careful. Giving me space. As if space wasn’t just another kind of cage.

I shoved the blanket away. The sudden loss of warmth made my skin tighten.

I forced myself to walk into the main room, arms wrapped around my middle as if holding myself together.

Omvar stood half in shadow, his gold eyes tracking my every move.

A tension hung in the air, so fragile that a single loud word might shatter it.

My throat was dry. “I can’t just stay here.” The words came out as a crackle of sound.

He went utterly still, every muscle locking into place. “What?”

Was I being stupid? Was I about to destroy the only scrap of comfort I’d found in months?

My voice came out sharper this time, honed by a fear I refused to show. “I can’t hide away forever. Have you heard anything about the Ignarath? Is there any news?”

His posture snapped rigid, wings clamping tight to his back. The guard went up so fast it was like a physical blow, erasing the softness he’d held just a moment before. He watched me with a wariness that made my skin crawl and my heart ache.

I felt like I was back in the arena, exposed under a thousand hostile eyes, every word a gamble.

“You came for me like some monster,” I blurted, my words harsh and uneven. “You dragged me away. I can’t … I just …” I swallowed against a mouth gone dry as desert sand. “I need the truth.”

He didn’t flinch. His voice was a low rumble, final. “The threat is real. I killed one, and we captured two. Your name was mentioned. Skorai wants you back.”

A cold fist squeezed deep in my gut, stealing my breath. “But why?” I pressed, even though part of me already knew. I needed to hear it from him, from someone who wasn’t in the business of selling hope.

His tail twitched, the only sign of his agitation.

“Slaves who escape Ignarath are captured and returned. Anyone who assists them is executed or enslaved themselves. Ignarath has gone to war for less. That a human escaped? It is an insult almost beyond bearing. If he cannot have you back, he will kill you.”

The words struck like a slap. I stood there, arms wrapped tight around myself, as he recounted the interrogation, his voice flat.

The assassins were specialized killers, sent directly by Skorai.

Their orders were simple: target escapees, send a message.

My name, spat out in that guttural Ignarath snarl, made it all real.

Each detail made the walls close in, the air growing thick and suffocating. My mind spun through faces: Kinsley, Kira, Vega. “What about Kinsley?” I demanded. “Or the others who are still there? That envoy came here to steal humans. Are we all in danger?”

His gaze flickered for just a second. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his eyes darting away as if looking at me too long might break something between us. I locked onto that tiny crack, hope and fury a volatile mix in my chest.

“Well?” My voice rose, sharp as shattered glass. “Are they safe?”

A silence followed, heavier than before. He looked down, working his jaw, grinding the words before he let them out. When his eyes finally met mine, there was nothing left in his face but raw, brutal honesty. No monster. No protector. Just him.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice flat and final. “You are the only one in this damned city that I care about.”

It landed like a punch to the gut. I swayed, caught between the urge to lash out and the urge to collapse into him. The air crackled, the weight of his confession pressing on me from all sides.

Only me.

How could that be true?