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I sigh, closing my eyes, trying to fall asleep. But his presence is like a lightning storm. Impossible to keep your eyes closed when the sky is demanding attention above your head.
I force my eyes into small slits, doing my best to hide the fact that I’m watching him. My gaze trails over the largeness of his chest, the taut muscles along his stomach contracting as he breathes.
I wonder how much his muscles would tense if I ran my hand up his abdomen and—
Okay. No. Stop that.
He’s the chicken coward. He’s rude and crass, and I don’t like him.
But his black hair falls around his head in shiny waves. And in the strange lights, those big eyes look bluer than the midnight sea.
“My hand is securely at my side. You can stop waiting for a show,” Warrose purrs, a smirk glinting in his eyes without looking over at me.
“Pfff.” I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed that I’ve been caught staring. “No one wants tickets to that show.”
His tattooed chest rumbles with a laugh, but he doesn’t respond, so I keep going.
“And another thing—”
I’m interrupted by a low, guttural growl. Labored breathing. Slow, thumping steps. Warrose and I perk up at the same time, instantly zeroing in on a massive figure passing our cages. Slowly. A gargantuan man that’s over six foot seven with hair so long, it grazes the floor behind him. No shirt. Black pants. And a metal cage around his head. Rusted iron like a muzzle for a dog.
The collar around his throat is attached to a long chain that drags against the floor behind him. I flinch as he stops in front of my cage, hand gripping my bars.
I hold my breath, and every muscle of Warrose’s body seems to turn to stone.
There’s a prisoner out of his cage!
He doesn’t look at me, though he lingers close as if he’s waiting for me to make a movement he can track.
And I smell him. Months of built-up rank body odor mixed with a waft of wet dog. I wince, and that’s all it takes. The giant, long-haired, muzzled man turns to me. His movements mechanical and awkward.
I gulp loudly as his beady eyes meet mine through the slits of his cage.
“Don’t move,” Warrose breathes, low and gruff.
I force myself to turn into a concrete statue. But my hands tremble at my sides, and my stomach drops as if I’m falling off a cliff. Someone get him to stop staring at me!
“He can’t hear us. But stay very still,” Dessin says quietly. I shift my gaze to him from the corner of my eye. He’s holding Skylenna’s sleeping body against the bars. And it’s clear he doesn’t want this little disturbance to wake her. In fact, Warrose, Dessin, and I are the only ones awake.
I almost ask Dessin how he knows the monstrous man can’t hear us, but I quickly see the raised, jagged scars where his ears once were.
“Keep still, little rebel. His eyes are planted on you.” And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of agitation in Warrose’s voice. A territorial tone.
The prisoner grunts after a long moment, then continues to walk in a slow, dazed path.
I let myself relax back down to the floor with a long sigh. “What the hell?”
“It looks like there are some prisoners only allowed out at night,” Dessin comments before closing his eyes and resting his head back against his cage.
I nod against the chill that rakes down my flesh. Flexing my fingers, I feel a weight covering my right hand. It’s rough and warm. I nearly jerk it away before realizing it’s a hand. A strong, calloused, bronze hand.
“Are you alright?” Warrose asks without paying me a glance.
“I guess,” I say, still watching his large hand completely enveloping my own.
Warrose nods stiffly.
I remain still, afraid that if I move at all, his hand will return to his cage without another thought. I should want that. But for some reason, I hold my breath. I like the surge of heat pouring from his hand to mine. It’s so unbelievably comforting. A touch of solace I’ve been desperate for.
