“I knew it.” The large guard’s voice floats toward me, bitter and cold. “Gods-damned dragon riders, always pushing us around. Not this time.”
My gaze holds Sifa’s for a moment as my thoughts splinter. She doesn’t have to say the words. Astarot’s yell, her expression, tell me everything. They’ve captured Astarot. Dragon hunters always carry the nets that give them control over rebellious beasts. The next one is aimed to trap Sifa and me. And then the Dróttning will execute Sifa. And the Ætt. And maybe our dragons.
She won’t kill me—I think—but she’ll fuck me up. Our relationship won’t be enough to save me from the pain the Dróttning will rain down on me. It’ll be months, maybe years, before I’m free again.
There’s only one thing I can do.
“Fucking bitch,” I growl as one of my hands reaches for Sifa’s hair, the other wrapping around her throat. “If you hadn’t put up such a fight, I’d have been done with you by now.”
And then I turn to the guards, making sure they see my anger.
Chapter twenty-one
Sifa
She'll Ride with Me
Fhordyanksmyheadback as his other hand grips my neck. The eyes that had sparked with lust—and something deeper, I’d thought a moment ago—now glare in anger.
“You’re here a few minutes too early,” Fhord snarls as he looks up at the guards who threw their trap over my dragon. “I’d almost finished with her.” He rakes his gaze over the men as he leans over and spits my taste from his mouth. “Even traitors feel good on the cock,” he adds as his hand squeezes my throat.
I gag, struggling to hold down the disgust that ripples through me. I’d trusted him with … everything. Again. How fucking stupid could I be?
“You were about to capture her?” The bigger guard demands, his voice laced with skepticism. “We’re supposed to believe that?”
His suspicion splashes cold water on my anger. My head spins before I can stop it, searching Fhord’s face. He doesn’t turn so I can only see his tight lips, the firm set of his jaw, the lift of his chin. If he’s playing the guards, he’s doing a gods-damned good job of it. He doesn’t look like he gives one single fuck about me.
I doubted him in the few minutes after the guards found us the first time, my time in the dungeons filling me with dread and reminding me of the Dróttning’s tight grip on everyone and everything in this world. But in the hours that followed, I pulled myself back from that edge. Too much has happened between us. I’ve seen his soul. He was sloppy, and that pissed me off, but I don’t think he betrayed me.
I grasp onto that memory, desperate to believe this is a ruse. That Fhord hasn’t fucked me over.
Fhord straightens, dropping the hand that held my neck. The other stays put, holding my hair tight but not enough to cause pain. He pins the guard with a look that would crumple the resolve of most humans, a scowl twisting his face.
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe. We’ve got her and the dragon now. I’ll fuck someone at the Nest since you couldn’t wait long enough to let me finish here.” He throws me a glance, his eyes empty and cold, before looking back up at the men.
My heart breaks a little at his look, not a hint of emotion in it. My chest collapses like a popped balloon as every part of me grows heavy, lead weights threatening to pull me to the ground. Staring down at the hands that haven’t yet been thrown in cuffs, I fight to hold back the tears, clinging to the hope that Fhord hasn’t betrayed me. That he’s just trying to find a way to get both of us out of this mess.
He felt this thing between us. I know he did. This must be an act.
Calm. Astarot’s voice drops into my thoughts, helping to center me. He’s right. They’ll have to remove the trap if they’re going to get him to the Nest. He’s strong enough to fight back. We might still have a chance.
Can you fly? I speak to him in his head for the first time, my mind finding the path I hadn’t needed before. I haven’t asked him yet about his wings, loath to push him and risk damaging one that’s still healing. But we might have no choice.
Perhaps. Uncertainty fills my mind, sending rocks to drop into my gut. He doesn’t think his wings are strong enough. But he’s willing to try.
I cast my gaze at him, trying to fill it with hope.I don’t want you to hurt yourself. We’ll figure something else out.
Fhord jerks my hands forward, dragging me from my focus on Astarot. Before I can pull them away, he’s retrieved a cord from his belt and is wrapping it around my wrists. It’s snug but might leave some room to maneuver.
“She’ll ride with me,” he declares as he pulls me close and starts to drag me toward Sigurd.
“The fuck she will,” the large guard responds, kicking his horse forward. “I know what I saw. You’re not strangers.” He brings his horse to within a few feet of Fhord, staring him down. “I don’t trust you.”
He’s close enough for Fhord to grab his weapon and fight for us. Fight for me. When he doesn’t, my stomach drops and I struggle to hold back the tears. A cold dread that these last couple of weeks have been an act—and I’m a gods-damned stupid elf—builds within me. But I push back the fear again, grasping onto memories of Fhord’s fierce gaze and soft hands. He’s just waiting for the right time and maybe that wasn’t it. He could have seen some threat or risk I didn’t.
“Like I said,” Fhord responds in the low tone he uses before he resorts to violence, “I don’t give a fuck what you think. She’ll ride with me.” He nudges me toward Sigurd before lifting me into the saddle and throwing his leg up to settle in behind me. I lean forward but there’s no escaping contact with him here.
Others, Astarot tells me, and my stomach drops. I can feel the worry in his word. Three more riders approach. We may have lost our best hope of escaping. I look in the direction Astarot senses and a lump forms in my throat. Maybe we had a chance before. Not now.
