Page 7 of Flameborne: Chosen

One of those insects was the man I loved. Flying into danger willingly because he was brave. And he might never return.

I watched until they flew high enough into the clouds that I could no longer make out their forms. And then I kept watching. Waiting for a salvation that never came.

I was startled a few minutes later when the crunch of hoofbeats on the gravel road, and the creak of a wagon heralded the arrival of people. Others who loved those men. Others who’d gone to see the Furyknights off. I should have hidden myself, but I stood there, dumbstruck.

A horse and rider passed first, the man’s countenance dark. Then a wagon. Then there were footsteps crunching on the dirt and pebbles. People passing in twos and threes, some of the women crying, others only grim.

And then I sawher.

I recognized the elegant trim on her cloak.

She wasethereal.Like the dragon I’d seen earlier.

She rode a sweet, prancing mare, her cloak spread over the mount’s back, her hood down and dark hair gleaming in the sun as brightly as her horse’s coat.

She was a vision.

Of coursehe would choose her.

Who wouldn’t?

And even if she’d given her virtue, as I had, the fine stitching on her cloak and gloves, and the servant riding at her side told anyone with eyes that she was a woman of means.

Any man given the chance would choose her over aruinedfarmgirl with dirt under her nails and callouses on her palms.

Of course they would.

She knew that as surely as I did.

Then my breath caught.

Did she know aboutme?Had she seen us in the wood?

Would she have asked him what had passed between him and thelowborn farm girl?

For a moment I prickled with anger. Ruin was mine.He’d named himselfmine.Taken me and… Iknewhim. And he knew me. We had learned together until he knew his way very well.

I almost screamed as much as the woman passed, her elegant jaw tight, her perfectly gloved hand holding the reins capably—there would be no callouses on her fine hands.

Fine hands that had found their way with him, as well?

It was the wrong thought, because the moment I had it, my mind replacedmymemories of Ruin withher.

Ruin jogging across the barnyard, hair sticking to his sweaty brow, beaming ather.

Ruin unbuttoning his leather jacket, his breath heavy with want, eyes blazing forher.

Ruin, his eyes gentle and warm, tugging to straighten the blanket he’d thrown over the hay, then picking a single blade of straw fromherhair…

One after another, in quick succession—

Ruin takingherin his arms the way he’d done with me.

Ruin pleading and kissing, undressingher.

Ruindeclaring himself.

The pleasure he’d wring fromhersweet body—so soft and clean becauseshedidn’t work.