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Chapter eleven

M y now blood-free hands were my sole focus during breakfast the next morning. Anything that spared me from looking any of my friends in the eye.

No one mentioned a word about my bloody midnight meltdown.

Gemma promised she’d tell the others how bad my nightmares could get.

How I sometimes felt lost along with my memories from before the accident.

How, when my nightmares weren’t about Phillip and Oliver’s deaths, other horrors erupted in my sleep.

Mercifully, she told the others I would rather not discuss them.

Nightmares like the one last night never made sense, and I was just as glad as they were to pretend they never haunted me.

The frosted forests of northern Warrich gave way to rockier terrain the farther southeast we traveled. The climate grew more tepid, as well—a small mercy. Still cold, but far more bearable. The nights were long, but the company was good.

Wymara—with its expansive, green, rocky highlands—stole my heart.

The trees were sparse, but the sky was broad and blue.

The prowling, dipping mountains were beautiful and terrifying, and the lakes scattered across the terrain were clear and sparkled beneath the early-winter sun.

I had never been able to see so much or so far at once.

Especially at dawn and dusk, when the sun and the moon changed hands through a graceful dance, a selfless give-and-take, one of them no better than the other.

The colors… I could hardly find words to describe what they made me feel, only what they were.

Cerulean pools in the sky peppered with rosy pink clouds.

The ochre waves off the sun. I was mesmerized.

Along with the blue and orange hues of dusk came the camaraderie and laughter I looked forward to every night we stopped. Before the nightmares waged their wars on me.

Whether over a campfire glowing defiant against the winter winds or huddled around a table in a crowded tavern, I loved listening to my new companions share stories about their lives. It gave me a glimpse into some of what could be. What was already developing. Friendship. A family.

My will was strong, but my body was weak from exhaustion, despite the reprieve from the frigid cold the northern Wymaran sun provided and the endless supply of food Gavin insisted I eat.

The rocky hills were steep. I was so very tired and ashamed at how weak, frail, and out of shape I had become hiding away in that house.

One morning later in the week, I tripped over a rock and lost my footing, despite my new well-gripped boots. Mercifully, I caught myself, but Caz whistled for my attention and told me to hop on his back. Just for a little while, he said. The least he could do for his queen.

Gavin appeared sorely displeased with the idea, but I did it anyway.

At one point during the third night—spent below the stars and amongst the chilly air—I woke from the sound of pine needles crunching beneath sturdy footsteps. When morning came, I had one more blanket tucked around me and Gavin was already awake and cooking deer sausage over the fire .

He served me first—honeyed green tea hot and ready—before the others woke to the mouthwatering scent of brine and burning wood.

“Thank you.” My mouth widened when I realized how effortless it was to smile. It had been a while since I felt this type of contentment. It was morning, there was a whole day ahead of me, and daytime was good.

Gavin nodded, his mouth curling into my favorite half-grin.

The others woke and ate, their clamorous conversation echoing throughout the frigid forest. When they finished eating, they split off in different directions to relieve themselves and left me alone with Gavin.

My long, silver-blonde hair was loose from its braid and in need of taming.

I brushed through it with long, gentle strokes, reluctant to yank too hard on my cold scalp, which already protested at the removal of my blue hat.

Gavin trained his eyes on me, his stare lingering, as usual, while I packed my sleeping mat into my bag along with my quilt and other necessary items I carried.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked.

“No.”

But his question was a mere courtesy. He pulled a roll out of his bag and handed it to me.

I laughed softly. “You don’t have to keep giving me your food.”

He waved a hand. “Took it from Freyburn. Don’t want it. Too sweet.”

Indeed, the roll he gave me was less of a bread roll and more of a pastry—round, with a jam-filled center. Strawberry, by the smell of it. When was the last time I had tasted strawberries?

“Hurry.” He nodded toward the pastry with a smirk on his face. “Before the others get back and fight you for it.”

I gave in, playfully gasping. “Do you have a secret stash of goodies?”

His gentle chuckle caused warmth to pool in my belly. “There’s a lot your friends don’t know about me, Ella. ”

When I bit into the pastry, my eyes rolled back in my head and an involuntary long half-sigh, half-moan slid out of my throat. It tasted so good.

“ Fuck .”

I looked up, shocked to see Gavin Smyth, one hand pinching his nose, the other gloriously muscular arm pressed against the tree, glowering at me like I had just kicked his imaginary dog. All traces of that playful smirk, that gentle laugh—gone.

“Don’t do that again!” he snapped at me, body tense.

“Wh—” I swallowed down my large bite. His eyes widened. “What? Eat this delicious treat you so generously gifted me?”

“That… noise.” He waved his finger at me. “That sound you just made. Don’t do that again.”

“I… why?” I glanced nervously at the others, who had just returned.

“Because I said so!” he shouted, storming toward me.

I tensed, unsure what to expect. He was careful not to brush against me while reaching for the treat in my hand like he would tear it away, like it had…

wronged him. But he stopped, a brief, unexpected hint of sadness passing through his angry glare at the sight of me.

With an irritated grunt, he pointed at me and ordered, “Finish your cake!” before stomping away.

“What on earth did you say to him?” Gemma sidled up to me, watching him storm off.

“I didn’t say anything,” I answered, still in shock. “He got mad at me for making a noise because the pastry was so good.”

“A noise.” Gemma’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, scanning me from head to toe. “Interesting.” She scratched her chin with her index finger. “It has to be a woman that has him on edge. I’ve never seen a pair of balls wound up so tight.”

“Must be some woman,” I grumbled, stomach souring.

“ Ary ,” she hissed. I glanced up and found her studying me with a furrowed brow. “What was that ?”

“What was what?”

“You, just now.” She pointed up and down the length of my body. “I mean, I suppose he could be attractive under all that… displeasure .” She shuddered.

“Gemma!” I hissed, glancing to make sure the boys hadn’t heard. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, forget about it,” she muttered under her breath. “He’s at least ten years older than you. He’d be robbing your cradle for sure.”

I cringed and blushed.

Finn and Ezra looked at us warily, like they didn’t want to know.

“I’m almost nineteen years old,” I whispered back. “Hardly a child.”

“ And you’re Winterton’s bride.” She winked at me, her beautiful smile bright in the light of the sun.

I forced back a scowl at the reminder and mentally apologized in advance to Elias Winterton for not wanting to give him a chance. “How old is Elias again?”

“Twenty-four.” She nodded toward the thicket of trees Gavin had disappeared into. “Older than you, but not as old as him, that’s for sure.”

“Is Elias Winterton… attractive, at least?” I felt ashamed for wondering. But was it shallow to hope ?

“ Oh , yes.” Gemma raised her eyebrows suggestively. “That’s not something you need to worry about, Ary.” She smirked. “Elias has the kind of hair you’d kill to run your fingers through—thick and shiny and bronze. The face of a god. Tall. Lean muscle, tight ass.” She shivered with delight.

Finn shifted uncomfortably where he sat. I immediately felt bad for him and every other perfectly handsome man trying to compete with Elias Winterton in those Caves.

“You know what, though?” Gemma’s eyes darted fleetingly behind me, her mouth curling into a mischievous grin. “I think you could benefit from your own bit of fun before being married off. The gods know Winterton’s had his share of it.”

“What kind of fun?” My stomach churned, laced with apprehension.

“Well,” Gemma sighed, “there’s nothing more refreshing than a nice, proper fuck .”

Ezra choked on water and suddenly found the view of his feet wildly interesting. Caz—the last to return to the group—snorted. Finn ran a hand through his neat black hair and cringed.

And a terrifying growl from behind me burrowed beneath my skin and lifted every hair on my body to attention.

Stiff with alarm, I spun toward the source of the noise.

There Gavin stood, his knife in his left hand, and his right…

wet and red with his own blood. Two halves of a fresh apple lay on the ground before him.

It took only a moment to realize what he had done—cut straight through the fruit with enough force to put a gash in his own palm.

But that bloodied hand just dangled at his side, the least of his concerns as his deep-brown eyes burned with inhuman fury.

His mouth, his nose curled up into a nasty snarl. He was predatory. Terrifying.

And that , I knew, was the look of a killer.

Pointed right at Gemma.

“I knew it,” she mumbled, a smug grin on her face, arms tucked behind her head as she eased her back against the large oak tree that sheltered us.

I turned back to Gavin, but he had already disappeared.

“Was that necessary?” I snapped, facing Gemma again.

“Why, Ary?” Gemma scoffed, waving a hand in the direction he’d gone. “Why should he care who you fuck?”

That was a good question. One I didn’t have the answer to.