Page 11

11

DAIN

T he fire crackles low, flames licking over blackened wood, casting flickering shadows across the gathered figures.

They are my kind, or what remains of them. Gargoyles, carved from stone and flesh, survivors of a world that has tried to erase us. They sit hunched around the fire, broad forms shifting, clawed hands wrapped around raw cuts of meat, their eyes glinting in the dim light, sharp, calculating.

I should feel at home here.

I don’t.

The fire smells wrong. Smells like something that shouldn’t be burning. Like flesh. Human flesh.

The moment she stumbles into the camp, I feel her before I see her.

My body goes still. My breath slows and my muscles lock.

Liora.

She’s in the same ruined dress, soaked and tattered, clinging to her form in a way that speaks of cold and exhaustion. Her hair is a mess of tangles, filthy from the river, from the mountain, from survival.

She doesn’t belong here. Yet, she is here.

I don’t understand why that sends something sharp through me, something that tastes too much like possession.

I say nothing. I do not move.

She doesn’t see me. She only sees them.

The way they turn toward her. The way they notice.

One of them stands.

Rhogar.

His bulk shifts as he rises to his full height, a scar carved from his brow down to his cheekbone, one eye missing, the other gleaming molten in the firelight. He isn’t as large as me, but he’s close.

His gaze lands on her like a claim.

Something in me snarls. I crush it before it can surface.

She should not matter to me.

Rhogar tilts his head, stepping closer. His voice is smooth, amused. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

Liora stills, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

She doesn’t cower.

Good.

But Rhogar likes that.

He circles her, his tail swaying lazily behind him. Interested. Testing.

“This is no place for a human,” he murmurs.

She lifts her chin. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

I clench my jaw. Fool.

Never show weakness. Never offer yourself up like that.

Rhogar’s smirk widens. He steps closer, inhaling deeply, as if scenting her.

Something burns under my skin.

I stay silent.

“I could help you,” Rhogar muses, his claws grazing the ends of her tangled hair. “If you ask nicely.”

She doesn’t move. Her heartbeat stutters, but she doesn’t yield.

Why do I feel that in my bones?

Another gargoyle chuckles. A third shifts in interest. I should stop this.

I should stand, step forward, rip Rhogar’s hand away before I break it in my own.

But I don’t because that would mean admitting things I don’t want to acknowledge.

So I sit. And I watch.

Rhogar’s fingers trail down to her jaw. He grips it, forcing her to look up at him.

“Nothing to say?” he murmurs. “Pity.”

She doesn’t speak. But her pulse beats like war drums, her eyes burning with that same defiance that drove me mad.

Rhogar sees it. He likes it.

No.

The word snarls through me, silent, furious.

I hate that he touches her. I hate that she lets him. I hate that this should not matter.

I should not care who looks at her. Who touches her.

She is not mine.

But deep in my gut, something ancient, something primal, twists and says, liar.

I force myself to look away, to focus on anything else.

The fire. The stench of damp stone and charred meat. The sound of the wind rattling through the mountain peaks.

The way my claws dig into my thighs, threatening to snap stone.

She shouldn’t be here. I left her. I made my choice.

Then why does my body want to move, want to drag her away from them, want to put my hands on her just to remind her that I was here first?

I exhale slowly. I do not understand this.

I shouldn’t have to.

I turn my attention back to the others, watching as Rhogar tilts her head back just slightly, his grip still firm.

“Tell me, human,” he murmurs. “Are you lost?”

A slow breath.

Her pulse quivers.

Then she speaks.

“No,” she whispers. “I was left behind.”

My gut twists.

I rise.

The motion is slow, deliberate, calculated.

Rhogar notices. He does not release her.

Liora turns and our eyes meet.

For a moment, the world shrinks. The fire dims, the wind fades, the others disappear.

There is only her and the way her breath catches, just slightly.

Rhogar’s head tilts. His eyes flick between us. He is not a fool. He sees.

A smirk touches his lips. “Interesting.”

The fire crackles. The wind howls.

The beast inside me stirs, furious.