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“What?” I asked.
There was a hint of growl in his voice as he said, “Good to have my scent on you again.”
I paused. Again? What did he?—
Memory played back. “The blanket. The one in the glass box.” Certainty settled over me as a tinge of embarrassment flitted through his eyes, there and then gone. “That was you… putting your scent on me?”
The words felt strange and yet erotic, and when he stepped closer and bent down low enough that his head was near mine, another quiver of desire rolled through me.
He inhaled like he was drawing me deep into his lungs. “Yes.”
It took me a moment to find my voice. “I see.”
His fingers took up a lock of my hair, brushing it back behind my shoulder.
The quivers grew stronger, even at that light touch. Because it wasn’t just that. It was the desire I could feel from him. The way I knew he wanted to strip me naked again right now, covering me even more with his scent in the most natural way possible.
But then his gaze flicked to the side, and regret crossed his face.
A shaky breath left me as he stepped back again. The others were coming. Right.
Discomfort swirled in my chest as I pulled on the rest of what remained of my clothing. My shirt was a total loss, but while my pants were torn, they were still usable. I supposed I would need to ask Clay for help fixing them, considering I had no needle or thread. I only hoped he didn’t press for too many details.
Which was really unlikely. This was Clay, after all.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the discomfort swirling up inside me again. Gods help me, I didn’t want to keep secrets from my men. The thought of doing so left me feeling sick. And yet I didn’t want to risk the seemingly impossible chance I was wrong about them either. I knew I trusted them completely, but Ozias knew them well too, and if his fear had even a possibility of being corroborated…
Besides, was it truly my secret to tell?
Raking my fingers through my hair in an effort to return it to something resembling order, I looked out at the forest. It was my secret and it wasn’t, and I didn’t have a clue how to sort out that mess. What I felt between Ozias and me was incredible and beautiful, and I didn’t want to hide it.
But then, maybe I wouldn’t have to. Not forever. Maybe somehow I could help determine if Ozias truly was in danger of being cast out. And then, with that fear assuaged, he could tell them the truth himself, knowing he’d still have his home and family afterward.
It wasn’t a perfect answer, but it was something.
Ozias cleared his throat and I glanced over at him. His pants and boots back in place, he was watching me, and a wave of his concern and grim resolve rocked me. As much as I’d relished feeling what he felt during sex, I still wasn’t anything close to adjusted to this new reality.
He twitched his head toward the forest. “Come on, little mate.”
I nodded and then followed him, a warm feeling flickering through me for the sweet nickname he’d given me.
One he wouldn’t be able to use once we were around the others.
The warmth faltered, but resolutely, I tried not to give in to despair. Keeping this secret was a temporary situation. It would only last for the hopefully short, short time it took for me to somehow figure out what the others thought of people like Ozias—all without letting on what he was.
Even if I had no idea how to do that.
11
MELISANDRE
Ididn’t care what Alaric wanted to do about Gwyneira. I would see that brat dead with all traces of her mother’s magic erased from this world. I would show every last one of those elitist fools in the precious “Jeweled” Coven that their affiliation to gods-be-damned rocks meant nothing.
And the moment we reached the Warden Wall, I would absolutely kill that metal-toothed bastard.
My fingers clenched and unclenched while I trailed Alaric across the windswept terrain. We’d left the outpost behind and spent the past few hours picking off stragglers who’d escaped in this direction. Alaric seemed to think continuing to provide me blood would make me forget the indignity of my position or the injustice of the fact my stepdaughter would remain alive longer thanks to his idiotic beliefs about the so-called Nine.
But I’d spent too long under the thumbs of people who believed themselves better than me to be appeased so easily. From the beginning, my childhood had been one series of indignities to the next—from the village children who labeled me “Smelly Melly,” all for being the daughter of impoverished farmers, to my own father who’d only ever seen me as a possession to barter away for something he believed more valuable. Being taken into the Jeweled Coven should have been an improvement, but when their flawed system decreed my magic wasn’t significant enough to matter to them, they sentenced me to be nothing more than a servant to those they deemed more worthy. Even as queen of Aneira, nobles still whispered behind their hands at how I wasn’t as good, as kind, as strong as their beloved, oh-so-dead Eira—or as her precious little Gwyneira would supposedly be when she took the throne.
