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Chapter eighteen

I was too exhausted to last as long as the others. Before midnight, I started to sway where I stood, which was all the justification Gavin needed to escort me upstairs. He said little, only grumbling “good night,” and “stay in your room,” before making sure the door was locked behind him.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep. The boisterous sound of laughter, the clink clink of glasses from downstairs, and the knowledge that I was the only one of my companions in bed kept me awake.

A coat rack stood in the corner of the room, and the moonlight cast a warped shadow upon the far wall, shaped like a monster with spindly arms and a twisted torso.

I glanced at the knife on my side table and envisioned rising swiftly, silently, and attacking the figure before it could best me.

Surrendering to the need to stay on guard.

No wonder it seemed Gavin hardly slept. A mind trained to be perpetually alert was hard to calm.

The longer I lay awake, the more aware of my body’s discomfort I became.

The noise dissipated from downstairs, but Gemma didn’t return.

Elowen had always called me hyperactive during my restless nights, when I complained of a dry mouth, legs that wouldn’t settle, an aching back, and a mind that refused to quiet. She’d always fetched me water.

I rose from bed, deciding a fresh glass might do me some good.

A draft blew from the north-facing window, and I saw that someone had left me a pair of wool socks at the foot of the bed.

Though the room was comfortable and clean, the building was old, and Damond could only do so much to protect it from the elements.

I rose, put on the socks, and let the curtains fall over the window, allowing a sliver of nighttime to glimmer into the room. Enough to light my path to the door.

At the end of the hall, I heard voices from an adjacent room. I pressed my ear to the door and caught the end of his sentence.

“—gotten yourself into quite the pickle, cousin.” Damond’s voice. Of all the connections Damond could have had to Gavin, cousin was not one I’d expected. “It’s her?”

“Yes,” Gavin replied. “Yes. It’s her.”

I frowned. They were speaking of the prophecy.

“An adorable, pint-sized spitfire of a queen.”

“Watch it!” snarled Gavin, his deadly tone startling me. “I don’t care if you’re blood, Damond. Sniff around, and I’ll play cat’s cradle with your intestines.”

Damond laughed, unfazed. “And you haven’t bedded her?”

My stomach dropped and my ears felt hot.

Gavin gave a heavy sigh that made me guess he was clenching his jaw so tight he could split a molar. His usual.

“I’ll take that to mean you wish you had.” Damond chuckled. “You couldn’t hide it if you tried, old man.”

“She’s nineteen, Damond. Fucking—” Furniture shifted abruptly, likely kicked or shoved. “ Nineteen .”

“So were you.”

I frowned when a long pause followed, without elaboration.

Finally, Damond spoke. “What happened to your shoulder? ”

“Oh,” chuckled Gavin, his tone softening. “She got me.”

“Is that what foreplay looks like for you these days?”

“Fuck you.”

Damond laughed, then whistled through his teeth. “That’s some inhuman willpower, my friend. Being alone with that girl, knowing who she is, and doing nothing about it. Must be hell.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.” I heard the clinking of glasses and guessed Gavin was pouring himself another one.

“How’s that working for you?”

There was a pause, then a grim, “It’s not.”

Damond burst into laughter, and my cheeks heated.

“Simeon is adamant she has no army without the Winterton boy,” continued Gavin, his deep voice strained. “And I… I won’t jeopardize it, not if they can help her.”

“When have you ever given a shit what that old bastard has to say?”

“I know her.” The words snapped out of him.

“And though I wish she could turn a blind eye and say fuck it all, she’s not me.

She could never find peace or freedom knowing she left thousands of innocent people to die.

” I heard the forceful thump of his glass on the table and the footsteps that followed.

“If peace is what you’ve found, Smyth, then I sure as hell don’t want it.” There was a long pause before Damond continued. “So you’re going to surrender her to Elias Winterton?”

“She’s not a fucking pawn to be surrendered.”

“Smyth,” Damond sighed. “Man, you’ve got to—”

“Enough!” Gavin snapped, low and lethal. “I’ve made my intentions clear: to protect her and teach her. She’s safe with me, she knows it. For now, that will have to be enough.”

I felt nauseous at the implication that there was more.

“Smyth.” Damond’s voice leveled out. “What about—how do you know she’s safe from Molochai? ”

“He doesn’t know she exists yet.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if he knew, he would have come for her already.”

“What are you going to do when he does?” Damond asked, sounding grim. “What are you going to do if he tries to use—”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

I turned away from the door, having heard enough.

Secrets. I kept none from him, but he kept plenty from me. Or at least half-truths that left me wondering if his touch, care, and protection were nothing but a dream or a means to an end. He clearly felt something for me. Wanted me, even if just for sex.

Yet, he had reason enough not to act on it. Gavin Smyth was beholden to no one, certainly not the Wintertons or Simeon. He could take what he wanted, and he said he did exactly that.

I sighed, frustrated as I descended the stairs. It was dark, but I could see the back room was empty, the store room door closed. I would need to go through the bar to the kitchen for a glass of water, which I resented because I was still in my nightgown.

As I turned toward the main room, a familiar woman, loud and full of life, squealed from behind me.

“Ary! What are you doing?” Gemma threw her long arms around my neck and squeezed. Her breath was both sweet and sour from hours of drinking.

I winced but put up with it, unable to suppress a laugh. At least she was sober enough to stand and speak clearly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

“I’m just getting some water.” I leaned back and held her elbows, testing her steadiness, just in case.

“Hmm, well, don’t go through the bar, it’s closing up. Go through that door there.” She pointed to the door on our left. “Go on, quench your thirst and get to bed before you’re seen. The last thing we need is you stealing the heart of some drunken lunatic before Elias can give you a proper ring.”

My stomach churned at the reminder.

“What about you?” I forced a laugh. “Are you coming to bed?”

She clicked her tongue and bit her lip, smiling. “Eventually. I was using the bathroom and am now on my way to spend some time with Finn.”

“Ah.” I smiled. She deserved it. “Good. Be happy.”

Her bright grin widened. She kissed my cheek. “Good night, dear.”

She left, and I made my way to the kitchen. Once I entered, I looked around. It was still dark, but I could see enough to search for glasses. The small kitchen was long and thin. A stove, sink, wood-fire oven on one end, a door on the other, and lined with cabinets between.

I drew some water from the sink and let the drink soothe my dry, scratchy throat.

A window with a pane recently cleaned allowed me to see out into the dark night.

There was enough clearing that the stars twinkled bright.

Beacons of hope in an all-encompassing void of unknown.

Warrich was usually overcast. I had seen more stars while traveling through Wymara than I’d seen my whole life.

Lost in thought, I barely heard the footsteps behind me, but I felt the hair on the back of my neck and arms stick up straight in laughable defense.

“I was hoping I’d get you alone.”

I spun around to see the man from earlier—with red hair and scruff—standing in the doorway.

“I waited, actually, all night.” He sidled toward me. “I know my way around this place well enough to figure out where you sleep.” He waved his hand around the kitchen we stood in. “But you made it easy for me.”

With a shaky hand, I reached for the knife on my hip and found the fabric of my nightgown .

My knife . I didn’t have my knife.

“What do you want?” My voice echoed, the false courage scraping the walls, a punchline to a terrible joke.

He took two steps forward. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“I’m not interested.”

His huffed-out laugh, cold and grating, made my skin crawl. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. I bet that barbaric beast has fucked you so many ways, you aren’t even tight anymore.” He gestured around the room. “Only he isn’t here, is he?”

My eyes burned. Should I tell him that I’d never even been kissed? Would that disgust him, dull his interest, or make this worse?

Frantic, I looked for a way out, but there was only the door I came through. He blocked the other and left little space for me to make a successful escape.

“Well,” the man sighed, taking another step, even closer to me now. “I won’t turn down sloppy seconds, not when they look like you.”

I repressed my whimper, forcing my lips into a sneer.

“Yes, that pink mouth.” His hot, sweaty hand reached for my throat.

My back hit the counter, and I felt his erection press into my stomach. He pushed it against me, invading me through multiple layers of clothing, his and mine.

“Shall we see if it matches your cunt?”

“I—I’ll scream.” I failed to hide my fear this time.

His green eyes revealed a cavernous gloom and merciless soul. “Good,” he crooned, leaning so far over me I feared my back would crack over the counter. “I like the screams of little sluts.”

If I screamed, Gavin would hear me. I knew he would. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to give this man that satisfaction.

Then again… I could fight.

Or, I could do both .

With an angry, wild screech I kneed him square in the groin and lunged around him. He wasn’t expecting me to strike. But even with training and surprise, I wasn’t fast enough.