Page 85 of Whisper of Nightmares

The horrific man steps closer. A hand reaches out for her before she can think to move back.

It trails the side of her cheek, as soft as smoke. The whole while, he watches the places where his fingers touch her, something like awe in his eyes.

“But you are made of warmth and flesh,” he says, nearly breathless. “You do not belong here.”

Despite his eyes being human now, Euphemia still feels the heat of his gaze all the same.

She remembers his hand wrapping over her mouth in Náströnd, her back pressed against the warm planes of his chest. When she had broken away, that heat remained. Like the fire inside him had left its scorched mark, a claiming touch.

She swallows the thickness in her throat.

This is exactly what happened with Conwal.

First, it was silly fancies. Secret thoughts she believed were harmless.

But those thoughts were never enough. The more she indulged them, the more she craved something else entirely. Something they had promised to give each other that night. Something she should have never wanted to give.

Euphemia screams at her hedonistic mind. That will be the end of those imaginings, thank you. She is a married woman now. Her body and mind belong to her husband.

It doesn’t mean that she can’t still help Ash though.

After all, it is the Christian thing to do.

Biting her lip, Euphemia focuses on what they know. She reviews everything he’s told her, about this place and himself, what little information it may be. She thinks of how the word theory made him react, though she does not know why. And then she thinks about what he’s just said about warm flesh and her not being dead.

An interesting thought strikes her.

“The same could be said about you,” she says to him. “You’re not cold like the dead you describe either. You’re not like the soul or the helhest or the snakes.” A shudder runs through her when she says it, but she recovers quickly. “Why are you here, Ash?”

His skull face looks outward, across the horizon. “I am…searching for something.”

“Your name?” she guesses, but he shakes his head.

“Something more.”

Euphemia waits for him to explain further. But his gaze remains fixed ahead.

When she’s certain he won’t say more, she interjects. “Well, if you’re searching for something, maybe I can help you.”

His head snaps so fast, she’s certain she sees the skull wobble this time. “No.”

“No?” Euphemia blinks, struggling to understand. To argue. To change his mind. “I’m rather adept at figuring things like this out. My father always said⁠—”

“I do not need your help.”

The beastly man spins on his heels and starts walking away.

Euphemia grabs his arm and she almost flinches at the corded muscle beneath her fingertips.

She pulls on him, but it’s clear if he wanted to, he could keep walking and she’d simply be dragged along behind him.

Fortunately, he stops, though begrudgingly so.

Ash looks down at the place where her hand is wrapped around his bicep, fingers nowhere near touching. Abruptly, she releases him.

“I think you might need my help,” she says. “How long have you been searching?”

“A long time.”