There’s something about his stillness that softensthe jagged panic that pressed against my ribs in the moments before they appeared.
I should be afraid like the others who fled, but I’m not.
I don’t understand it, but for the first time since waking, I feel the earth thrumming beneath me in a soft, almost content wave of energy. As if my decision to stay here and face them head on was the correct path forward.
I shift slightly, raising my chin and looking behind him as the shadows pour from the one with silver eyes. They rush across the ground and toward me before I have a chance to process it.
A tendril brushes my ankle, another gliding up the curve of my side, and yet another crawling up my spine. For one breathless second, I freeze. The sensation isn’t painful, but my body and mind don’t understand his intent. I only register the violation of touch without warning.
The panic rises fast and loud within me. My mind knows that magic exists, but to feel it for the first time, encasing my body…I feel helpless.
My fear bursts from me in a broken, feral cry, my limbs reacting before thought can catch up with them. I scramble backward, my heels digging into the scorched earth as my body tries to escape a thing I cannot name. The world spins for half a second, my pulse a frantic snarl in my ears.
“Don’t!” The word escapes me, my voice ragged and high. “Don’t touch me!”
The shadows recoil, snapping back as though I struck their owner directly. They slip through the air like smoke consumed by wind. The sensation lingers, though, like fingers pressed into places they were never meant to be.
I curl inward, breath coming out in sharp and broken pants, shoulders shaking beneath the weight of too much sensation. My arms wrap more tightly around my knees.
My gaze lifts as the mountain lifts his hands and murmurs, “It’s okay. He wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
My eyes flick to the owner of the tendrils and shock spears through me at the sight of his flared nostrils and thinned lips. “I was only trying to cover your nudity from leering eyes.”
The one next to him with the predatory eyes and grin chuffs, like the silver-eyed one is ruining his fun.
Recognition rolls through my mind with his words, as another truth of this world flutters in my memories. I’m naked and exposed, and that is something that is meant for intimate moments here.
He meant to shield me. To hide my body from the others, for my sake.
I didn’t know. How could I know?
Frustration lashes through my mind as I shake myhead and mumble, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were…trying to help me.”
All I have experienced in this world so far is abandonment by the humans who wounded me and then left me for dead. Though it was a brief moment, it molded my first experiences and thoughts of this world. Everyone is out to help themselves…right?
He looks away despite my apology, as if I’ve wounded him deeply with my assumptions.
I take a moment to inspect him now that his shadows are gone. He stands in a plain black shirt, showing artwork etched into his skin. They crawl up his arms, winding against his skin in black curves and jagged thorns, spilling across the strong line of his neck and vanishing beneath his jaw.
The red-eyed predator saunters toward me, and he removes his black coat in one swift motion, leaving him in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I quickly notice the muscles and veins rippling over his exposed skin. I hold still as he closes the space between us, waiting to see what he will do before allowing myself another moment of knee-jerk panic. There’s precision in the way he walks that makes it feel as though he’s cutting through the silence with each step.
He reaches me and in one smooth motion, he leans down to place the coat over my shoulders. The fabric is heavy and warm, smelling faintly of smoke and a spice I don’t yet recognize. His touch is brief but careful,fingers brushing the hollow of my throat for a second before he stands back to his full height.
The gesture is gentle, yet purposeful.
My breath catches and I look up into his eyes.
They hold me in place–not with malice, but with something far more dangerous. Curiosity. Hunger. The kind that doesn’t strike right away. The kind that enjoys the chase.
“You wear fear beautifully,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth,“but I think you’d be stunning in ruin.”
The words strike something sharp and primal beneath my skin. A pull that coils low in my belly, confusing in its intensity, foreign in its ache.
I shiver, watching intently as the subtle smirk tugs one side of his lips up from my reaction.
Before I can turn intentionally away from the intensity of him, another movement draws my focus from his face and over his shoulder.
The tallest of the four approaches with a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
