“This is ridiculous,” he chattered. “We need to get warm.”
She stiffened before giving in with a sigh. “Try anything, and I’ll find a pitchfork.”
He chuckled, deep and low. He maneuvered his arm under her. She shifted until she wrapped around him. Gradually, their body heat mingled. The shivering stopped. The storm settled a little. Finally, finally, she relaxed.
She nuzzled into him, liking the way he felt against her, the size of him. She splayed her fingers across his chest. He was brave and kind. He understood her. He hadn’t judged her. He—his heart was beating too fast, and he held himself far too stiffly.
She froze, realizing that she hadn’t been curled around him for warmth. She’d been cuddling him. With that realization, a different kind of heat built in her—heat fueled by embarrassment and trepidation and more than a little longing.
“Would you like to rescind your threat of a pitchfork?” he asked, voice thick.
She wanted to say yes. Wanted it very badly, fool that she was. She’d only known the man for two days. Anyone could be charming for two days. Mal had managed it for months. “I can’t—I’m not—I didn’t mean . . .” She trailed off before she could make a bigger idiot out of herself.
“I imagine it’s hard to trust anyone, after what you’ve been through.”
She relaxed. “I just met you.”
“It’s all right, Caelia. Go to sleep.”
They lay for a long time, neither sleeping.
“Gendrin?” she finally asked.
“Yes?”
“How do you kill a beast?”
He stiffened. “It takes a team to bring them down.”
But they could be killed. “Could I do it?” She’d promised Atara she would, after all.
He was quiet a long time. “To my knowledge, no woman has ever managed it.”
Her mind spun for what felt like hours, until she gave up on ever going to sleep on her own. “If you put me to sleep like you did last night, would I wake up if there was danger?” Danger like you.
“Still don’t trust me?”
“It’s not that.” Although it was.
He chuckled, clearly unoffended. “Only if I kept playing, which I promise not to do.” She could feel him looking down at her. “Would you like me to put you to sleep?”
She nodded.
“At times like this, I wish it worked on me.” He pulled his flute from inside his shirt. It sounded gentle and sweet. Caelia fell asleep, but this time it wasn’t her mother whose arms she imagined around her. It was Gendrin. And he was very, very real.
Chapter Eight
Beast
Caelia dreamed of hustling to her family’s outhouse. But the door stuck fast, no matter how she pulled. She woke, her bladder demanding immediate attention. She pushed up and looked down at Gendrin. Judging by the dark circles around his eyes, he hadn’t slept much.
She reached to pull the pod open, revealing thick clouds and a light drizzle. But it was morning, which meant it was safe to leave the tree. Not wanting to wake him, she tried to extricate herself without rolling on top of him.
“Where are you going?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“I have . . . needs to attend to.”
He grunted. “You can’t leave the tree until morning.”
“It is morning. And I can’t wait.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But she really, really couldn’t wait.
He pushed himself up.
“No, go back to sleep. I can manage. I’ll even start a fire.”
He flopped back down, clearly exhausted. “Take the knife.”
She managed to extricate herself. She tied on the belt, gripped each bough firmly, and eased from one slippery branch to another, going faster and faster as she neared the lowest.
It was still quite a jump to the ground. She eased onto her backside and pushed off. She landed off kilter in the mud and tipped forward, catching herself at the last second.
She almost lost control of her bladder then and there. Brushing leaves and mud from her hands, she hustled far out of sight—she didn’t think Gendrin would peek, but she didn’t feel like taking chances.
After she’d finished, she sighed in relief and gathered wood. The wind picked up, bringing with it the smell of death—some animal rotting. She pulled the edge of her cloak over her face and breathed shallowly. The smell grew stronger. A strange smell—like the crypts she’d visited in Landra.
Foreboding slithered along the ground toward her, pooling around her feet like vapor. Like something otherworldly. Like death.
Like a beast.
The sticks clattered from her hands.
“Caelia!” Gendrin cried. “The sun hasn’t risen yet. Get in a tree!” Sounds of branches shaking as he dropped.
But . . . he’d told her morning. He’d never said anything about sunrise. Had he? The fear lapping at her ankles reared back and struck. She turned to run back to Gendrin and stopped short.
Before her feet, shadows ripped apart and thrashed like dying snakes. They rose up, forming a mist in the shape of a man, his cloak made of torn shadows.
The beast. The thing that had killed Atara.
She staggered around it, unable to look away, desperate to reach Gendrin.
The mist became solid. Eyes, yellow and malevolent, fixed on her. “A bird has slipped her cage,” it chittered.
She ran, her feet churning through the mud. She felt the creature getting close. Felt it in the icy cold that spread from her back, around her ribs, before penetrating her core. She caught sight of Gendrin between the trunks as he sprinted for her. His gaze shifted to the beast behind her.
“Get down!”
She dropped. The beast loomed over her, his sword cutting through where she’d just been. Too late to run. The beast recalled his swing and brought his blade above his head. She lifted one useless arm to block the blow.
Gendrin leaped over her, the full force of his body tucked behind his shield. He slammed into the thing, knocking it back. Both man and creature rolled away from each other.
“Get in a tree!” Gendrin cried.
She shot toward a tree with a low-enough bough, leaped into the branch, and hustled up. From behind, a thud echoed through her. She whipped back. The beast’s sword slammed into Gendrin’s shield, biting off a chunk. Gendrin backpedaled and jabbed. The beast caught the blade in a mind-numbing parry and delivered a vicious kick to Gendrin’s leg.
Gendrin limped back. The beast pressed its advantage, delivering a diagonal swipe that tore another chunk from Gendrin’s shield and had him scrambling.
It takes a team to bring them down, Gendrin had said.
But he’d attacked it alone. To save her. Knowing the beast would kill him. Like it had killed Atara. Atara who Caelia had sworn to avenge.
If she cowered again, she would lose the only other person who’d known about her past and hadn’t judged her.
Not again. Instead of running from the fear, she embraced it. Embraced that she might die.
She slipped the knife from the sheath, dropped from the tree, and stalked forward. Gendrin’s gaze flicked to her. He gave an infinitesimal shake of his head—clearly not wanting to alert the beast to her presence.
That lack of focus cost him. The beast caught Gendrin’s blade in the hook of its axe and wrenched it from his grasp. It fell to Caelia’s left. Gendrin shifted toward it, but the beast cut him off, driving him back while Gendrin could only parry with his shield.