But he’s gone, leaving nothing but his lingering scent for me to choke on.
I look to the open balcony door, to the curtains billowing in the breeze, lit by a blade of moonlight piercing through …
He’s never going to stop.
I reach behind my arm and pinch an inch of flesh. Pinch harder than I ever have, tears welling in my eyes.
Perhaps he’s my penance for the monster I am inside—a hollow love that churns and burns and destroys.
Just like me.
“This one is well stocked,” Zali calls from within the wreath of tall, black stones three times her height. Lanterns are strung around them that she’s taken the time to light, creating a stark barrier that pushes back the gloomy press of evening.
“Good,” I say, dragging two limp rabbits off Ale’s back. “I’ll get a fire going.”
Tethered to a tree that’s caught in the light spilling off the stones, Ale slurps at the bubbling brook while I scan the dense forest that’s losing more light by the second, shadows spilling from its confines.
I shiver and edge between a gap in the stones, pausing, running my hand over the white marks slashed across the smooth face of the one to my left—a Vruk’s failed attempt to break down the barrier and get to whoever was hiding within. I look to the trench dug into the soil surrounding the outer base, as though the beast tried to gore down enough to tip the massive monolith. But these stones are pierced so deep into the ground, it’s as though they’re rooted to the world’s core.
Some even believe they were thrown down by the hands of a God.
I step within their stony clutch, lump the rabbits by the firepit, then kneel in the grass, using my dagger to till some soil before flicking a stare at Zali. She’s bent over, plucking watercress from the brook that weaves through the space before cupping her hands full of water and splashing her face, dragging droplets through her hair.
I swallow, rip my stare away, and dig my fingers into the soil.
A full-body shiver ignites my skin …
Fuck.
I almost groan, letting my eyes shut, drawing from the earth in greedy gulps, as though chugging back a bottle of rum.
A krah shrieks across the sky, snapping me out of my reverie, and I clear my throat, glancing again at Zali before sifting through the soil for spuds and pulling out a few the size of my fist. “You were right,” I say, brushing the dirt off their skins. “Itiswell stocked.”
Nothing beats a whelve when you’re bone-weary from riding for days with a smart-witted, strong-willed woman bouncing up and down between your thighs because her horse got eaten by a Vruk.
Allthatconsidered, these piles of rock dispersed across the continent are the only thing I’ll thank the fucking Gods for.
Shirt rolled to my elbows, I dip the spuds in the chilly current and rub them down, watching the object of my welling frustrations as I do. Hair falling in a strawberry ripple, she crouches before the bushes planted at the base of one of the stones, using her dagger to hack off some rosemary stalks with a fierceness that’s too captivating.
She looks over, striking me with that bold stare, brow raised. “What … do you not like rosemary?”
“On the contrary,” I tell her, pushing to a stand and stalking toward the unlit firepit in the center of the space. “It’s becoming my new favorite thing.”
Her cheeks redden, and she quickly looks away.
I build the fire, then get to work filling the heavy cauldron with water while Zali digs through the metal chest bolted to the ground. She pulls out bowls, spoons and knives, then chops up the spuds while I skin the rabbits I caught earlier and keep the fire blazing.
We sit on stumps on opposite sides of the fire, silently watching the flames lick at the bottom of the blackened pot while the liquid bubbles away, filling the air with the hearty smell of rabbit stew. The last of the evening light drains away, scattering the sky with a litter of stars.
“It’s got thatfeel, you know?”
I look up, catching her intense stare. “What do you mean?”
She drags her fur shawl tighter around her shoulders, the flames reflected in her unblinking eyes. “That something big is coming.”
“I’m still stuck on the last big thing,” I mutter, leaning forward to dig my spoon into the pot and give it a stir, drawing deep on the rich bouquet of sage and rosemary.
“Do you …”
