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The man flinches like I've physically struck him. “Well…” He gets to his feet, appearing far taller than I remember. I don’t falter as he glides forward, eating up the distance between us. And this time, his voice is smooth, like one would speak sweet nothings to a lover. “I would’ve let you stay had you not stabbed me. You made your own bed.” He glances at the tree. “Or perhaps mother nature did. Either way, it’s of your own doing.”
My brows knit together as I stare him down, refusing to be shaken by his coy, flirty,beautifulface. “Why are you here?”
He lifts a brow. “Was I supposed to let you get eaten?” I inhale sharply as he leans an inch closer. “Did you want to be?”
“No.” My eyes narrow to mere slits. “Believe it or not, I don’t wish to die.”
He presses his lips together and releases them with an audiblepop. “I don’t think we’re on the same page, but I’m here becausewhether you’re gnawed into pieces on this side of the wall or my side, I’m still going to be stuck smelling your rotting body. Besides, you snore like a broken gear.” The man scoffs and shakes his head, as if my breathing is despicable.
“I do not.” Recoiling, I take a step back, desperate to put distance between us. He’s far too close for comfort.
“Youdo, and had I not used my magic to conceal the sound, everything in earshot would’ve known your location. You should be thanking me.”
“Thank you? You’re the one who put me in this mess.”
“Ahhh. There are the words I was looking for.” He gives in over dramatic bow. “You’re welcome.”
“I wasn’t—”
He holds up a finger. “Now, I’d planned to offer my services. I have no interest in sleeping in the trees every night as you wander on your way, so where would you like to go? I’ll take you there.”
Anything to be free of you.That’s the part he doesn't say.
He extends a hand.
I stare at his palm, head canting as I take in the burned mark there. A sigil of sorts. “So, you are nephilim?”
“Something like that.” When I don’t take his hand, he lets it fall to his side.
“I’ll be just fine. I don’t require your help.” I take another step back.
He scrutinizes me, those amber eyes brightening and darkening as if he’s reading words written on my skin, my clothes. “Did I offend you? I thought I was being friendly, all things considered.” A single finger skims over the space between his ribs where a fresh puckered scar has formed.
“You are,” I say, trapping my lips between my teeth. “I just don’t need your help. I’ll find my way on my own. Surely, you’re a busy man. You’re the lord of this estate, yes?”
He lets out a short “Hah,” and his lips pull into a smile that’s all teeth. “Something like that.” Mischievous amber rings gleam at me in the morning light. “Is this my land? Yes. Am I a lord on the king’s court? Not a chance, and gods, I hope I never am.”
My shoulders ease, the tension leaving my body with every passing second. “Then what are you?”
“I know better than to disclose all of my secrets to strangers.”
Something about the use of the line I’d given him when he asked for my name has a smile pulling at my lips. So much so, my cheeks heat. “I see… Well, you know my name, and considering you know my sleeping habits, I’d hardly consider us strangers.”
He looks into the forest for a moment, then dusts off his peck like some invisible layer of dust exists there, then slowly, his eyes return to mine. “I suppose you can call me Asmo. That’s the most you’re going to get. The last thing I need is you trying to summon me. It’s not a pleasant experience.”
“Very well, then. It was a pleasure meeting you, Asmo, but I have a home to find.” Turning on my heels, I suck in a breath when he appears out of thin air in my path.
“I meant it. Tell me a place.” His hand is extended in the space between us, palm up, beckoning of mine. “I could take you to the Elven Islands. It’d be for the best, anyway. Relations with the elves are strained at the moment.”
“I don’t have a place to tell you because I don’t have a place to go.”
Asmo’s face falls blank, eyes toggling between mine. “You were banished? Let me guess, half-breed?”
“Not banished, but something like that.”
He knows I’m lying. Despite my hair being darker, I otherwise look like a pure-blooded elf. It’s hard to miss. Yet, by some gods-given grace, he doesn’t pry. I wouldn’t know what to tell him if hedid. How do I explain that I was shipwrecked? That the reaper didn’t let me die?
His features pinch as if he’s trying to put the pieces together.
