Page 7 of Beast of Blood and Ash (Drakarn Mates #6)

How long I crouched there, trying to force air past the knot of terror in my throat, I couldn't say. Eventually, the worst of it receded, leaving me hollow and shaking, utterly spent. Humiliated. When I managed to lift my head, Omvar was still there, watching me with those unreadable golden eyes.

"Can you stand?" he asked softly.

Not are you alright when I so clearly wasn’t. For some reason, that made me feel better.

I nodded, though I wasn't certain. Pride made me try. My legs trembled but held as I pulled myself upright. The wall steadied me. I must have looked wrecked—tear-streaked, hair wild, body quaking with aftershocks.

My scattered herbs lay between us, crushed and damp. All that precious effort wasted.

"They shouldn't have bothered you." Omvar's voice was careful, as if speaking to a wounded animal. "Temple acolytes should know better."

I swallowed, throat dry. A click echoed as I tried to speak. "Most of the acolytes follow Karyseth. They hate us. They’ll take any excuse to cause trouble." I’d been warned. I’d felt the yellow-robed bastards staring at me in the market. I thought I could ignore it.

Silly me.

"That shouldn't matter. The river belongs to everyone in Scalvaris."

A funny thought from the outsider. "Not to humans." The bitterness in my voice surprised me. "Nothing here does."

Omvar was quiet for a moment, his massive frame somehow less threatening than it had been in the training grounds or the market.

He knelt carefully and began gathering my scattered herbs, placing them gently back in the fallen satchel.

His huge, clawed hands were capable of crushing stone, yet they handled the brittle leaves gently.

"They're ruined," I said.

"Some, yes." He examined a twisted stem of what I thought was fever-root. "But not all. This one is stronger when bruised."

I stared at him, unable to reconcile this gentleness with everything I knew about Drakarn warriors. About Ignarath champions.

With a final, meticulous sweep of his hand, he collected the last of my herbs and held the satchel out to me. I hesitated, then took it, careful not to let our fingers brush.

"Thank you," I said stiffly.

Omvar merely inclined his head. He made no move to leave, nor to come closer. We stood in awkward silence, the river's current whispering below.

"How did you find me?" I finally asked.

"I didn't." He paused. "I come here sometimes. For the quiet."

We'd both sought solitude in the same hidden corner of this vast city. A strange kinship flickered between us, shocking some of the fear out of me.

"You're shaking," he said.

I was. The adrenaline crash left me chilled and unsteady. I pulled my top tighter around me, bracing for warmth, hating the vulnerability.

"It will pass." Everything does, eventually.

Omvar shifted his weight, wings adjusting behind him. They were beautiful, in their way, the membrane stretched between bone, red as cooling coals. I'd never allowed myself to really look at a Drakarn's wings before. They'd always been symbols of pursuit, of predatory speed.

"May I …" He hesitated, seeming to search for words. "Would it help if I stayed between you and the passageway? Until you're steady?"

The offer was unexpected. A Drakarn, an Ignarath Drakarn, offering to guard me? It should have been laughable. Terrifying.

It wasn’t.

And that was even scarier.

"Why?"

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in those gold eyes. Pain? Regret? It was gone too quickly to name.

"Because they were wrong to frighten you," he said simply.

Another wave of tremors overtook me, stronger this time. My body betrayed me once more, a sob catching in my throat. I bit it back, refusing to break completely.

"I can't stop shaking," I blurted out. "I can't … damn it, I’m so cold."

Omvar's gaze never left mine, steady and deep. "I am very warm," he said carefully. "If you wished … I could block the cold from the river."

The meaning was clear: he was offering to hold me. To wrap those massive arms and wings around me, enclose me in living heat.

If anyone had suggested such a thing yesterday, I would have laughed in their face, then run. But I stood in the aftermath of terror, hollow and raw, desperate for something solid to cling to. His presence was the only steady thing in a world that kept slipping sideways beneath my feet.

I should refuse. I knew I should.

"Yes," I whispered instead.

Omvar moved with the same methodical care he'd shown when picking up my herbs. Two steps forward, slow, giving me every chance to change my mind. He stopped an arm's length away.

I was so cold. And he looked so warm.

Another step, and he was there, right in front of me.

Huge. Impossible. His scent reached me, not unpleasant, oddly familiar.

Like hot metal and woodsmoke, with something underneath I couldn't name.

My mouth watered, and my tongue felt strange, like I'd just eaten a chili but it wasn't spicy—just … tingly.

Slowly, Omvar opened his arms. His wings unfurled, creating a sheltered space between us. I hesitated, heart hammering so hard I thought it might explode. Then, with the last scrap of my courage, I stepped forward. Into his space. Against his chest.

Heat radiated from him like a forge, instantly warming the air around us.

I stood stiff, uncertain, hands clasped tightly around my satchel, in between us like a shield.

This close, I could see the pattern of his scales, the way they overlapped like living armor.

The scars that mapped his body, silvery against the red.

Some looked intentional, ritual markings, maybe.

Others were clearly the result of battle.

Omvar moved his arms slowly, so slowly, until they nearly encircled me. Not touching. Just … there. I could feel the power in him, even without contact. The strength held carefully in check.

I shivered again, a full-body tremor.

"May I?" he asked.

I nodded, beyond words.

His arms closed around me, and his wings followed, wrapping me in a cocoon of crimson membrane and living heat. I tensed, waiting for the panic, for the horrible sense of being trapped.

It never came.

Instead, something in my chest unraveled, a knot loosening for the first time in … I couldn't remember how long. Omvar was solid, immovable. His embrace didn't trap; it anchored.

He smelled of safety. Of shelter. The hard planes of his chest were a wall between me and a world that wanted me broken.

Without really deciding to, I let go of my grip on the satchel and let myself lean into him. Just a little. My forehead rested against scales that were smoother than they looked, warm as sun-baked stone. I expected them to feel alien, repulsive.

They didn't.

One of Omvar's hands, so large it nearly spanned my entire back, settled carefully between my shoulder blades. The gesture was tentative, as if he expected rejection. Ready to withdraw at the slightest sign of discomfort.

"Better?" he asked, the word rumbling through his chest.

I nodded against him. The shaking had subsided. In its place was something dangerous, the desire to stay there, wrapped in living armor, protected from everything.

"I’ve got you," Omvar said quietly. "I promise."

In the arms of a monster who should have terrified me, I believed it.