Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
My ears listen for falling water, and so keen are they, the silence around me crackles. Getting to my feet, I shuffle around, and I swear I catch a whiff of something cedarish. The horse doesn’t seem to notice me or any scent. Is it possible to pass out while standing up? As time spools out, I yawn and wonder if I won’t try that theory myself—
The door opens again and I breathe in deep. “Oh, that soap … smells good.”
“Do you want a go?” Merc shuts things, and puts our saddle down. “It’s cold out there, but I could carry some buckets in so you’re away of the wind.”
I bring my sleeve up to my nose. Whatever that oil of Julion’s was, its scent still lingers. “I think not.”
“I wasn’t going to recommend it. There’s a chill even in here.”
“You’re cold?” I shift around. “Maybe I can start a fire—”
“Let’s try for some sleep.”
“But we could warm ourselves by the hearth? There’s wood set.”
“We can’t risk any smoke coming out of the chimney. I’ll be fine.”
Merc doesn’t lower himself down in front of the door. He throws himself onto the floor as a dog would, all sharp impacts that don’t seem to bother him as he settles himself with his back against the panels and his legs outstretched and his broadsword in his hand.
As he stares across at me, his face seems to glow as if it’s in moonlight, though there’s no illumination inside because all the windows are shuttered.
What’s he thinking of?
“Tomorrow’s another long day.” He crosses his ankles, the heavy blade of his weapon bisecting his thighs. “And we don’t know what the rest of this night brings.”
After he falls silent, I pick a spot by the cold hearth and lower myself down with a groan. All of my muscles are freezing up, and when they stop cramping, I steal a glance in his direction. Even though it’s very dim, and I refuse to get anywhere near his eyes, I can tell he’s exhausted. There are lines carved in those harsh, handsome features that haven’t been there before, evidence of the exhaustion he’s hiding from me.
Maybe hiding from himself.
He’s utterly spent.
My eyes travel to the bucket—the one he held for me to drink from.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
A quiet snore weaves through the still air between us, and I return to staring at him. His body is powerful, even at rest, and I have no doubt that if anything or anybody tried to come at us, he would spring up and fight to the death to keep us alive. I also know that he’d hate to think anybody watched him in his repose, and the stolen intimacy warms me in spite of the temperature.
Or maybe that’s the desire I feel for him. Even though I’m also tired beyond measure, I’m acutely aware that we are alone in this house, and I have a thirst for more of what we shared in the tunnel.
On that note, I close my eyes, and breathe deep. But it’s not to relax and try to find repose.
I love the smell of him.
Thirty
The Veil Is Dropped.
Something wakes me.
The thudding sound comes again as I lift my head, and my sluggish brain can’t place the disruption, even as it provides an instant awareness of where I am. As I look to the door through my blue veil, the darkness is so dense, it’s a tangible solid.
“Merc?”
Except I know he’s not here. I can sense his absence, even as I plumb the void for the shadows of his broad chest and his long legs.
I’m alone. In the wasteland of the burned village.
Fear hits me like a physical blow, and I paddle at the floor with my feet and hands to stand up. “Merc.”
My body is stiff and unbalanced, and when I’m finally vertical, the shivering that rattles my teeth and my limbs is a reminder of just how far the temperature continued to drop. I rub my upper arms to generate warmth as my eyes trace the doorjambs. Wan gray moonlight seeps in through cracks in the planks. Dawn isn’t even close—
He’s out with demons.
Merc heard something outside and was ambushed when he went to check on the sound.
An internal roaring knocks out my sense of hearing, and as I begin to choke on panic, that thin covering over my face thickens into a sodden woolen blanket. Batting at the fold that falls from the turban, I open my mouth to get more air in, and when that doesn’t help, I have a sudden paranoia that the water was contaminated and I’ve been poisoned.
With shaking hands, I tear the veil off my head, and yank in some deep, unrestricted breaths. My head begins to spin, and as I throw out a hand, I catch my balance on the ash-dusted wall. The air is instantly filled with fine particles, and it turns out that makeshift face cover offered my nose and throat a kind of protection. Coughing, I feel like I have to run. Run fast and far. Where am I going, though?