Page 12 of Upon Buried Embers (Upon Buried Embers #1)

Elf

A heavy weight on top of me has my eyes flying open, a loud gasp leaving me. Rohan startles awake, hovering above me, axe in hand while looking around the space with a snarl on his lips.

Where did he get his axe from?

Grunting, he lowers it and looks down at me with furrowed brows. I blink wide eyes up at him, my lips slightly parted.

My hair is probably a tangled mess, and the tunic he gave me has slipped down one shoulder. He looks me over, pausing on the shoulder briefly, then the metal around my neck.

With another grunt, he stands, removing the rope that attaches us from his waist and leaves the room. Going to the table, he pours something into a cup.

Why was he half on top of me?

I watch his back as he drinks, his dark hair still half-braided to his shoulder. The knot he has in it looks a little wonky, and he takes a moment to redo it after he places the cup back down.

I pick up my own hair and scowl.

“Come.” One word, and my legs move instantly.

I creep toward him, moving the sheer curtain out of the way as I rub my eyes and wrangle my hair, my fingers snagging on the knots so much that I wince.

“Bath!” Rohan shouts, his face turned toward the entrance of the tent. Two women appear, carrying a wooden tub into the space, like they were waiting outside for him.

They go through another area I didn’t notice, this one also having a sheer curtain.

“Give Agnis my thanks,” Rohan says, and the females nod, eyeing me with disdain before leaving.

Agnis?

Rohan strips off his clothes, and I try to avert my eyes. A dark chuckle has my back tensing.

“Come, Elf.”

After a beat, I turn, eyes to the floor as I follow him past the curtain to the wooden tub. His clothes hit the floor as he stands before me, completely naked. Unashamed.

Again.

My eyes trace over his muscular legs, dark hair trying to hide the scars of battle under them, but the raised, white lines peek through, nonetheless. My eyes continue their perusal, landing on his soft cock before my cheeks heat and I turn my head away.

He’s not small by any means, or shy when he grabs it.

What a barbarian.

“You’re scared of a cock?” he rumbles. I stay silent.

He laughs.

A splash comes next, then a sigh, and I peek from under my lashes as he relaxes back in the tub, not threatened by me in the slightest.

I wouldn’t be either.

“Do not try to run, Elf. If you do, my men outside the tent will have you tied to a cart in the snowfall to freeze. Understand?”

“Yes.” I shuffle my bare feet. Rohan takes notice.

“So small,” he hums, looking at my feet before trailing his eyes up my legs. “And so easily bruised.”

I look down to my legs peppered with bruises, scrapes and cuts. I do bruise easily, but what does he expect?

“I was thrown into The Pit, and then I ran for my life and was attacked by wolves… one would assume bruises are bound to happen,” I mutter, then bite my lip.

I don’t make it easy for myself.

“Hmm,” he eyes me. “Anything life-threatening?”

I shake my head.

I’m hurt in many places, but I won’t die.

Unfortunately.

I stand awkwardly while he soaks in the tub, my eyes going to the table with cloth and small jars with different colors in them. Soap is there, and a comb rests next to it, piquing my interest along with the small, leather bands.

“Wash me.” My head whips toward him, but his eyes are closed. “You’ll earn the food I put in your belly, the clothes on your back. The warmth of my bed.” He opens an eye. “No one slacks-off in my clan, you earn everything here. Including respect and honor.”

I wonder if I can refuse, but I’ve been ordered to do far worse for a man than simply wash him. And if washing him will get me the things I need until I can leave…

The respect and honor part, I don’t need that. I just need to stay out of trouble.

I nod, shuffling to the table and grabbing a cloth. Tentatively, I stand next to the bath. If I kneel, it would be hard to wash him, if I stand, my back will feel like it’s breaking by the end of it.

Nothing I can do about it.

I dunk the cloth into the water, pulling my hand back, hissing at the heat of it.

“Ahh, Elf, it’s only warm.”

It’s like lava! How is it so hot?

Steeling myself, I dunk more slowly, getting used to the heat, then rub the soap into the cloth until suds appear.

I start with the arm closest to me first, trailing down from his shoulder and over his forearm. I swirl the cloth briefly over a large scar. I then wash his chest, his abdominal muscles hard and firm, a scar trailing down to his hip and the hair trailing even lower below his navel.

I clear my throat and move to the other side. All the while, Rohan keeps his eyes on me.

“Starting today, you are to feed the horses and groom them. Then you will check Serah’s wound. After that, we’ll eat at home.”

Where is home?

“You will help in any other way my clan asks of you.” I wash his hand, making sure to get in between his fingers as he spreads them for me. “You will not dishonor my mercy for keeping you alive by disrespecting me and my clan.” A pause. “Or my dragons, in any way. Understand?”

I look up to find him staring at me, and I nod.

I’ll agree until I can leave.

“You will not try to leave again, understand?”

Thrown out by one Master and straight into the arms of another. No matter how you word it, it’s still the same thing.

“Is that clear?” He growls when I don’t answer.

“Yes, Master.”

It happens so fast.

One moment I’m next to the tub, leaning over to wash his bent knee, the next, I’m in the tub, straddling his waist, my arms gripped tightly.

I whimper at the heat of it, my body not used to the luxury or being in such a vulnerable position. He snarls in my face, teeth bared, nose touching mine, water sloshing over the tub.

“I am Rohan Asgarr. Rider of Drogonah, Dragonbond, and the Leader of Clan Blackscale!” He shakes me, and I try to nod, but I’m not sure I succeed. “I am not your Master.”

There’s a tense silence as we stare at each other, my heart thrashing against my chest.

“I am not your Master,” he whispers harshly, and I swallow, nodding.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke.”

He growls, sitting back and causing more water to spill over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to care. With me straddling his thighs, my body bare beneath the tunic, I try to control my nerves.

“Continue.” He passes me the cloth and I do what he asks, wordlessly.

“Tell me, Elf.” I look up at him, ignoring how my tunic sticks to my skin, most likely revealing some of my body beneath, but he doesn’t even look. “Your Master, who was he?”

“We only ever addressed him as Master .”

“We?”

I take my time to answer. “Yes.”

“And?”

I don’t want to tell him about Effy. What if he takes her too? Is that better than being with Master?

“Answer me, Elf.”

“Effy is in the home, too. We… she looked after me.”

“She’s an elf, also?” I shake my head.

“It’s just me there.”

“Where did you live?”

“Lothmere, in the city.”

“Do you know of others from the city?”

“Yes.” He growls impatiently. “Master takes us to the underground place. Most are dressed in nicer clothing, but it smells bad, and there are a lot of common folk there. Some elves, mostly humans. I think there are some Dragorie too. They had braids in their hair just like you.”

He goes utterly still, his muscles tensing beneath me.

“What else goes on in the underground?”

I shrug. “They place bets. Fighting. Some kind of card game.”

“For coin?”

“Sometimes…” I squeeze the cloth in my hands.

“They bet slaves,” he realizes, and I nod. His fingers tighten on the edges of the tub. “What else do they do down there?”

“They drink ale. Talk business. They smoke something that makes my head fuzzy when they do it close to me, and they…” I lower my eyes. “They have sex, in the back rooms. Some don’t even make it there.”

“They pay for sex?”

“Sometimes.” He gets my meaning, and he closes his eyes briefly, looking almost pained.

It’s a strange reaction considering he’s Dragorie.

He would probably like it there, I suppose. It’s no different than what the clans do, other than it’s underground while the clans ravage out in the open, uncaring.

I continue to wash him. He doesn’t help in any way, just watches me struggle.

When I’ve finished the tops of his legs, unable to reach further, I pause and hand him the cloth.

I’m not washing him… there.

He opens his eyes, looking at the cloth, his lips tipping up slightly at the corners. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down and grabs hold of himself and starts to wash.

I look off to the side.

When he’s done, he shuffles me forward and climbs out. “Get out of the tunic and wash yourself.”

He holds out his hand, water dripping across his naked flesh and I try not to look as I shrink back.

I’m fearful of him, but his body is honed for violence, for commanding dragons. It’s hard to look away.

“I won’t look, Elf. If I wanted to fuck you, I would have been slamming you down on my cock as soon as you straddled me.”

Swallowing my nerves, I quickly remove the tunic and give it to him, sinking down in the water, my eyes resting on the surface while he stares at me like I’m crazy.

He shakes his head before leaving the space. Though I can see him through the curtain, it gives me a false sense of protection.

I lean back, the water a little cooler now and grab the cloth. I eye the soap on the table, and checking to make sure Rohan isn’t looking, I grab it and bring it to my nose.

Roses.

Would he mind me using the soap? He didn’t last time.

“Use the soap, Elf,” he barks, and I jump. “Clean properly.”

I rub the cloth on the soap and then wash myself, making sure to keep an eye on Rohan the whole time.

This may be a trick.

He dresses in dark pants and a dark tunic before sitting down on one of the cushions at the table. I wash quickly, including my hair, wincing at the cut on my head, and then I wash under the collar as best as I can.

Rohan comes over just as I dunk my hair one more time and rinse it, though I did a poor job if the scoff that comes from him is anything to go by.

He shows me a large towel and clothes before he places them on the table, then leaves.

I quickly get out and dress while he’s not looking.

“Sit.” He points to the other cushion next to him and I walk through the curtain and kneel as he ordered. A dragon roars in the distance, causing me to flinch.

He chuckles at my expense, and I scowl down at my fingers, playing with the end of the tunic.

I don’t find it funny. There were rats in the barn, and Master had some horses and pigs I was allowed to feed but not touch. We had a cat once, until Master killed it, but I haven’t been near dragons.

“Drogonah is grumpy in the mornings, you will get used to it.”

I don’t want to.

“Breakfast!”

A woman comes in, her hair high in a braided knot. She carries a tray with an assortment of food, and she lowers herself next to the table as she places the bowls out.

Steam rises from the heat of it, my mouth once again watering at the smells.

“Anything else, Dragonbond?” the woman murmurs, head bowed a little.

Is she afraid of him too?

“No, Saelon,” Rohan moves the bowls around as she exits the tent, leaving us alone.

He grabs an empty bowl and starts filling it with what must be broth, followed by a chunk of bread. I bow my head as my stomach rumbles aloud, and I grip it, hunger pains shooting through me.

“Here.” Broth sloshes over the bowl as it’s placed down in front of me, and I stare at it. “It will not eat itself.” A spoon is shoved next to it.

I peek at Rohan as he tears into some bread, dipping it into his broth. He must sense my eyes on him as he turns, looking at me sharply.

I suck in a startled breath, my head bowing once more, and I see his hand coming for me.

I curl in on myself, my eyes squeezing shut.

The air stills, a growl coming from him before my chin is grabbed harshly.

“Look at me.” I cannot refuse the command. His tone, though quiet, has that dragon rumble to it.

His eyes are deadly when my gaze meets his.

“You’re mine now. I found you. I took you. As you are now within my clan, I can’t have you looking so… weak .” He spits the word like he tasted something awful.

“You’re an extension of me, and I hold nothing but strength and honor.” He shakes my chin a little. “You will not make me look weak, you will not embarrass me, and you will if you do not eat.” He lets go of my chin and shoves a spoon at me. “So. Fucking eat.”

I do as I’m told, with shaking hands that show my fear, but I eat the whole bowl, even though my stomach protests. His words rattle around in my head.

I’m his now.

For what, I don’t know, but that’s what I am to him.

To do what I’m told, to not make him look bad.

Men are all the same.

They want someone to be less than they are, to make themselves seem more.

To be Bigger. Better.

I may be weak, I may be quiet, but my silence can also be a strength, a secret one.

It’s the only thing I have left.