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

REIKA

Night on Volcaryth wasn't really night at all, not under tons of rock that made this place home. It was just quieter.

I slid out of the human quarters like a shadow, satchel clamped to my chest. Boots silent on rock. No one noticed me leaving; crawling back in was when I’d have to answer questions. Not that anyone wanted to know where the broken girl disappeared after dark.

No one wanted my answers.

The hallways emptied as I moved deeper into the tunnels, away from the set of rooms we now called home. Away from Kira's worried glances and the memory of my humiliating escape from the training grounds.

Everyone had seen me panic. Everyone had watched my retreat.

Pathetic. Weak. Still so broken.

The river called to me, not with words, but with the whispering rush of water, the promise of somewhere I could breathe without the world’s scrutiny.

Even humans had grown tired of my sharp corners, my late-night screams. I knew they whispered when I wasn't there, trying to figure out what to do with me.

I followed the route I’d worn into memory: chin up, stride confident, bluffing a right to exist wherever my feet landed. Even the Drakarn hesitated to challenge someone who seemed certain of their destination.

My haven waited: a niche carved high above the river, half-hidden in the city’s lowest bowels. Stone shelves jutted outward in rough, uneven steps leading toward the water’s glow. The river below bled cold air and banished a bit of the heat of Scalvaris.

Water over stone, a lullaby meant to calm. Instead, it made the memories echo—mountains, another night, bodies in pursuit, wings chasing overhead, my pulse a drumbeat of terror.

“Not now,” I whispered. “You’re fine.”

Sinking onto my ledge, I drew knees to chest, the satchel clutched tight.

The river churned below, shot through with bioluminescent algae, tiny constellations tracing the current, reflected in slick black stone.

I tried to lose myself in the light, following each eddy, each flicker, hoping that if I stared deeply enough, my mind might still.

It never did. Instead, the night brought too many thoughts.

The market with Omvar. The shame of running. They circled overhead, scavengers waiting for weakness. I hugged myself tighter, throat raw with words I could never say, muscles aching with remembered violence.

The river’s whisper almost drowned them out.

I unclasped my satchel, spreading the contents carefully on the ledge beside me.

The herbs I’d purchased were meager: a handful of mintine leaves, some crimson pods of something called fire-thistle, a cluster of pale, feathery sprigs that Selene used for pain relief.

I’d been studying their properties whenever sleep refused to come, a small attempt to be useful, to learn enough to justify my presence here.

The mintine leaves were supposed to help with nightmares.

I’d been steeping them in hot water each night, choking down the bitter brew before bed.

So far, they’d done nothing. The terror still found me, wrapping skeletal fingers around my throat, dragging me back to Ignarath, to the cages, to the games they played with us.

To the burn of sand beneath my feet as I ran, the sound of wings?—

A scrape of claws on stone cut through the silence. My hand snapped the herbs back into the satchel, body tensing, senses stretching.

Two figures moved onto the ledge at the far end, robed in Temple yellow, faces foxlike, green scales gleaming. Forge Temple acolytes. Zealots who believed humans were stains that couldn’t be scrubbed away.

They hadn’t spotted me yet. I might still slip past if?—

My boot caught a stone. One of the acolytes’ heads snapped toward me, pupils narrowing.

“Look, Mervath,” his voice slithered. “A little human, all alone.”

I straightened, hugging my satchel to my chest, spine to the wall. “I was just leaving.”

The second acolyte sniffed, lips curled. “You reek of healing herbs. Are you ill, human?” The word landed like a curse.

“No.” Too flat. Too small.

Their eyes burned faintly. Mervath’s tail sliced the air, agitation unmistakable.

“This area is restricted,” Mervath intoned. “No humans are permitted by the sacred river.”

"I didn't know." That was a lie. I knew perfectly well this area was borderline forbidden, especially at this hour. If caught, I’d be reported, punished, denied even my small daily freedom. But this place was special. It felt like mine.

I’d risked it anyway.

“You lie,” the other one spat, tongue flicking. “I taste it on you.”

My hand tightened on the satchel strap, knuckles white. I kept my expression neutral, my spine straight. Don’t show weakness. Don’t flinch.

"I’ll leave now." I took a step toward the passageway I’d come through, but Mervath shifted, blocking my path.

"Temple law requires penance for trespass on sacred ground." His lips peeled back, revealing too-sharp fangs. "Especially from impure beings."

My heart skipped, then raced. "I’ll speak with Priest Jalliun tomorrow. Make my apologies formally."

Mervath laughed, the sound echoing off stone. "You would approach a High Priest? A human?" He moved closer, looming. "You’ve been here long enough to know your place. Below us. Grateful for the mercy we show in not casting your kind out."

I said nothing. Words were useless against that kind of hate.

There were two of them, both taller than me by at least a foot, with fangs, claws, and the religious authority to make my life hell.

I couldn’t fight. Couldn’t run. The only exit was past them or over the edge into the river—a drop I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

“Tell me, human.” The other one’s purr slid closer. “Are you the one who escaped Ignarath? Did you fight in their arena?”

My lungs constricted. Cold sweat joined the pulse of blood in my ears. The roar of the river sounded like the roaring crows, cheering for blood. My blood. A champion’s. Their own. It didn’t matter as long as the need was satisfied.

“No.” My voice barely trembled.

His face split into a cruel grin. “I have a cousin there. He says slaves who fail to learn their place don’t last long. Maybe we could learn a few things.”

I shrank inward, armor on the inside crumbling. The alcove constricted, air clotted thick. I was caged again, every way out locked.

"Perhaps we should show you the true purpose of the Temple." Mervath's words were honeyed poison. "Cleanse you in sacred fire. Burn away the taint of your kind."

I knew they were just words. Intimidation. If they truly intended to harm me, they would have done it by now. But reason couldn’t reach the part of me suddenly back in a cage, helpless, watching others be dragged away, hearing their screams. Knowing I was next.

“Back off.” The words surprised me, almost brave, coming from the ruins of my voice.

Mervath’s friend snickered. “Or you’ll what? Will you call your protectors?” He took another step, claws flicking open. “Do you think they’ll happily come from slaking their disgusting lusts with their human mates?"

My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to retreat. My breath came in short, painful bursts. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision.

Not again. Not here. Please. Not now.

“Look, it’s frightened,” Mervath said, delighted by my reaction.

His friend’s claw hovered above my cheek. “I wonder what it sounds like when it screams?—”

A shadow fell over us. Massive. Absolute. The temperature around us plummeted, then surged with savage heat.

Both acolytes went rigid. The acolyte closest to me snatched his hand back as if burned.

“Move away,” a voice rumbled, rough, low, dangerous. I knew it.

Omvar.

The acolytes spun around, cowed, some primal order enforcing itself. Omvar filled the ledge behind us, scales smoldering red in the glow, wings half-open, eyes molten gold and fixed on them.

“This is temple business,” one of them said, voice cracking. “The human trespassed.”

Omvar’s reply came soft and lethal. “Did she? Or did you corner someone half your size to feel powerful?”

Mervath's wings flared. "You overstep, Ignarath scum. The Forge Temple?—"

"The Forge Temple," Omvar cut in, "would be very interested to know two of its acolytes threatened harm to a guest of the Blade Council.

" His tail whipped once, the motion so fast it cracked the air.

"I'm sure High Priest Jalliun would love to hear how you invoked the sacred fire to terrorize an unarmed civilian. "

The Drakarn both flinched.

"We meant no harm," Mervath said, stance shifting to something less aggressive. "We were merely informing the human of proper boundaries."

"She has been informed." Omvar stepped fully onto the ledge. Even hunched slightly, he was enormous. "Leave. Now."

For a moment, I thought Mervath might argue. His body tensed, claws flexing. Then his friend grabbed his arm, yanking him backward.

"Come," he muttered. "This isn't worth the trouble."

They retreated, backing down the ledge toward the doorway they'd emerged from, eyes never leaving Omvar. Mervath shot me a final, venomous look before they slipped away, the sound of their footsteps fading into silence.

The moment they vanished, my legs gave out. I slid down the wall, landing hard on the stone, satchel spilling its contents. I couldn’t care. I could barely breathe.

The panic that had lurked at the edges, held back by pure survival instinct, crashed over me in a sickening wave. My lungs were on fire. Tears burned behind my eyes. I curled forward, arms wrapped tight around my middle, trying to hold myself together as everything splintered.

Pathetic. So pathetic. Can’t even stand up to two damned priests.

Through the roaring in my ears, I heard the careful approach of footsteps. Heavy, too loud, announcing themselves. Omvar's shadow fell over me, but he stayed back, giving me space.