You stupid, silly fool.
Tears wanted to come but she held them back.
“Look at me, lass.”
She resolutely faced away from him, scanning the darkness. Her trousers were a few feet away, along with the simple, close-fitting tunic she wore to support her breasts. Her shirt was still trapped beneath their bodies, but she had shirts a plenty. Her boots…there.
She rose, not bothering to hold back on the speed of movement natural to her. Grabbing her clothes and the weapons that had fallen when Irian recklessly stripped her naked, she started for the path.
He was behind her and moving fast.
But not fast enough.
The moment she stepped into shadows formed by the thicker trees, she took off at a run only possible because of her fae heritage. No human, even one possessed by a long-dead warrior enchanter could catch an elf in the darkness.
She was ashamed for running, almost just as shamed for letting her needs blind her. That hadn’t been Aryn in control then. Aryn barely seemed to notice she had tits. But Irian had taken advantage of her need—and likely Aryn’s want for a soft woman, then used it against them both.
Bloody bastard.
Chapter 7
Morning came and Aryn had no memory of it.
She didn’t know whether to be frustrated or thankful. Clearly, Irian was letting Aryn remain in control during their sessions each evening, otherwise Aryn would have taken control last night. Unless he was acting now…
But, no. She didn’t think that was likely.
There was something amiss—it called to him. Or rather, to Irian, pulling him to the surface so they both looked through Aryn’s eyes.
Something called Irian, something on the other side of the chasm that lay just to the west as they left the woods of Morstia. Something more than the whim to live vicariously through Aryn.
But the blade had to learn a better way of communicating his needs and wants. He could do it—she knew that without a doubt. The enchanter used words now instead of taking over Aryn—a first, she suspected.
It wasn’t always so simple, though. There were times, like now, when she contacted him, Irian could not tell her what drove him.
As she watched, the snarl faded from Aryn’s face and he looked at her, that slight grin tugging at one side of his mouth. “He backed off. And what the bleeding hell do you know? The bastard can speak. Seems like he’s in a foul mood, too. He told me to go fuck myself, and a bloody-arsed goat. They made them sick and twisted then, didn’t they, elf?”
With an answering smile, she said, “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re just as stubborn as an ancient sword?”
The wagon train contract ended.
Tyriel wasn’t surprised when he came to her room at the inn that night. Although she was hungry, she’d stayed in her room, checking her gear and repairing what needed repairing, admiring the pretty new shirt she’d bought with some of the bonus she’d earned and…waiting.
When the knock came, she answered. Aryn stood there, his pack in one hand, Irian sheathed at his back. Before he could ask, she said, “Yes.”
“I haven’t asked yet,” he replied.
“You’re going west. You want to see what is calling you—what’s calling your blade and you want me to come with you. The answer is yes.”
“I need a partner,” he said bluntly. “I’ve lost jobs because I’m a solo contractor, or because I’ve no magic in me. The few times I tried to make a go of it with some magic-user I’d met along the way, the bastard annoyed me too much. But you…we work well together. I thought this could be a trial run, see how we do outside a caravan contract.”
Something told Tyriel she should say no, that she’d only go with him for this. She already felt too drawn to him; spending more time with him would only make it worse.
But she didn’t.
“Do you have a room for the night?”
Head cocked, he said, “Not yet. This bloody hunk of metal has been chattering like a magpie in my ear, telling me things I must have for the journey. I’ve been in the market since collecting my pay and buying supplies.”
“You’re not likely to find a room this late. You can stay with me. I can sleep on my bedroll—”
“No.” He shouldered inside, edging past her. The doorway was narrow and his bicep brushed her breast.
Tyriel felt that contact to the tips of her toes, both nipples contracting and tightening as if he’d touched his mouth to her flesh, rather than an accidental brush of his arm.
Her mind stupidly blank, all she could do was stand there, gripping the door and trying to get her burning need under control.
“No?”
He glanced back at her before moving over to the empty space by the window. “No. This is your room. I’ll not steal your bed. I can sleep on my bedroll easy enough.”
“Aryn—”
“Just stop arguing, Tyriel. Haven’t you learned yet? I’m easily as stubborn as you and it in no way makes sense for me to steal your bed when you were the one who paid for the room.” Face twisting into a scowl, he looked at the bed before adding, “Besides, that bed will fit you—barely. I’ve a couple hands on you so there’s no way I’ll manage.”
They followed the call that was still only a whisper to Aryn, but as the hours turned into a day, then two, that whisper became a song, then scream.
He was almost mad when they finally reached a small border village. The hand-lettered sign on the outskirts read Morstia.
Eyes glittering like he had a fever, Aryn looked around.
The small town was picturesque in its perfection, with brightly colored cottages with thatched roofs on the outskirts, bricked buildings in the central section. Boys and girls were busily cleaning up the streets and guards were professionally friendly and courteous.
Such a far cry from the town where the two of them had first met.
“And something is wrong here, ‘ey?” Aryn drawled, kicking one long leg over Bel’s back and sliding to the ground. Booted feet planted wide, he crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the village once more before looking at Tyriel. “What problem had that useless hunk of metal dragging us across the countryside?”
“Perhaps not so useless, my friend.” She suppressed a smile as she continued to look around.
The village was a peaceful one, out of the way and not used to new faces, but they all seemed friendly.
And yet…
Tyriel lifted her head, scented the air. Yes. There was something amiss.
Death lingered here.
Not a normal death.
Bad death.
“You owe your useless hunk of metal an apology, Aryn.” She looked once more and found her gaze falling on a wooden board posted outside a large pub. A message board—she’d seen the like in several towns and villages.
In the middle of the board, a hand-lettered post stood out.
Missing
17 summers, Girl child
Elsabit Minsa
Last seen at the Square near Sundown
Summer Solstice Eve
Reward
Centered in the poster, a hand-drawn picture of a young girl, the bloom of innocence still on her face, perfectly caught by the artist’s hand.