Page 15

15

ERYSS

I wake to the sensation of something heavy and warm curling around my wrist.

My breath tightens as I open my eyes, finding Naranus standing by my bed, his massive form casting a deep shadow over me. His golden eyes flicker in the dim morning light, his claws gently wrapped around my wrist. Not tight. Not painful. But unmovable.

“You’re coming with me,” he states. Not a question. A command.

I yank my arm back. His grip doesn’t budge.

“And if I refuse?” My voice is hoarse from sleep, but the defiance laces through every word.

His lips curl into something close to amusement. "Then I carry you."

I scowl, shoving off the blankets. “Where?”

The smirk vanishes. His expression hardens, unreadable. “Outside the stronghold.”

I stiffen. "Why?"

He cocks his head. "Curious, little bride?"

I grind my teeth, jerking my arm again. This time, he lets go.

"You give orders as if I’m supposed to listen," I snap. "I’m not your obedient pet."

His eyes flare, the molten gold pulsing as if he finds my defiance entertaining. "No. You're not. Pet and prisoner are different. "

I glare at him, unable to come up with words.

His wings shift, the blackened stone-like texture of them gleaming as he exhales slowly. “Dress yourself. We leave soon.” He doesn’t wait for my response, turning toward the door with an air of finality that makes my hands twitch to throw something at his head.

"Why should I come with you?" I press.

His gaze flicks back. "You want to leave the stronghold, don’t you?"

I narrow my eyes. "You think taking me out changes anything?"

He shrugs. “I think you’ll come regardless."

I hate that he's right.

I don’t trust this.

Not the way he’s acting. Not the way he wordlessly lifts me into his arms, talons curling beneath my legs and back as if I weigh nothing.

The world drops beneath us as his wings beat once, then twice, and suddenly, we are in the sky, soaring over the jagged cliffs of the stronghold.

The wind lashes against my skin, whipping my hair into my face, but I barely feel the cold because fuck, we’re flying.

Not levitating. Not gliding like a controlled descent. Truly flying.

My arms tighten around his shoulders instinctively as my stomach churns, the sight of the endless land below making my pulse race.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my ribs. “Scared, little bride?"

I scowl, gripping tighter. "Let me go, then."

His grip around me tightens. “If I did, would you still be so eager to pretend you have control?"

Bastard.

The sky stretches endlessly above us, the clouds like streaks of ink against the gray horizon. The wind rushes past, carrying scents of damp earth, old magic, and the faint, distant trace of human fires.

We descend before I can argue further, his wings cutting through the air with a lethal kind of grace. The ground rushes up too fast, my stomach flipping before he finally lands, boots hitting dirt with the softest impact.

I blink, heart still hammering from the flight, taking in our surroundings.

We are not in a gargoyle stronghold. Not even close.

A human settlement lies before us, tucked between the rocky outcroppings and sprawling grasslands. Simple wooden homes, a few scattered carts, smoke curling from chimneys. And there are people.

They stare at us, not with terror, as I expect, but with something closer to awe.

A child, no older than seven, suddenly bolts from a doorway, her feet bare against the dirt as she rushes toward Naranus.

He does not flinch.

He does not move away.

The girl stops just inches from him, her round face tilting up, grinning.

“You’re back,” she says simply.

I blink.

What?

An older man steps forward next, his beard streaked with silver, his frame wiry but strong. “We didn’t expect you so soon, Warlord.” His gaze flickers toward me. “And with company.”

The way he speaks to Naranus is not fearful.

Not hesitant.

Not like a man addressing a monster.

“Had a need for trade,” Naranus says, tone casual. “You have what I need?"

The man nods, already motioning toward a cart nearby, filled with bundles of dried herbs and vials of medicinal tinctures. "Everything you usually take, plus extra for the wounds you surely refuse to let heal properly."

Naranus grunts, but there’s something oddly familiar about the exchange, as if this is routine.

I cross my arms, watching as Naranus drops a heavy leather sack at the man’s feet.

The older human kneels, untying it, revealing the contents, freshly hunted beasts, skinned and gutted, cleaned of rot, still glistening in the morning light.

A trade.

I glance between them, my mind working to piece this together.

This isn’t raiding. This is bartering.

The man looks up, shaking his head. “You bring too much again.”

Naranus shrugs. “Your people are smaller. You eat less. That’s not my problem.”

The girl laughs, looking up at him with bright eyes. She is not afraid of him.

None of them are.

The realization hits like a sharp kick to the ribs.

They call him warlord, but they don’t see him as a monster.

A woman nearby steps forward, offering a package wrapped in cloth. “You don’t have to give us more. You could take what you need.”

Naranus tilts his head. “I could.”

Eryss shakes her head, and whispers because she can’t help herself, “Then why don’t you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Because I take nothing that isn’t worth the price.”

I stare at him.

At the way the humans speak to him. At the way they offer him respect, not fear.

This isn’t how things should be.

He is a beast.

A gargoyle warlord.

He should be just as vile and merciless as the stories say.

A child tugs on his wing.

He shifts, turning slightly, humoring her as she giggles.

The humans look at him as though he is their protector, not their executioner.

He is nothing like I expected.

My heart knots, confusion blooming into something unsteady.

I have spent my entire life hating his kind.

So why, then, does this feel more like a lie than the truth I was taught?

Maybe it’s only Naranus. Somehow, the thought is even more absurd… and terrifying to me.