Page 49 of White Raven

The Northerner turned to a man sitting on a stool, his teeth baring. “Get up.”

“What?” The man’s eyes widened, peering up at the beast hovering over him.

“I. Said. Get. Up.” He pushed up his sleeves like he was getting ready to fight, displaying the tattoos covering his arms. The man’s attention went to them, his throat bobbing. He scrambled up, abandoning his seat without hesitation.

Confusion wrinkled my brow as the Northerner grabbed the stool and sat down, staying close to me.

“What was that?” I asked.

“What?”

“Why did that man react that way?” I nodded in the direction he’d disappeared into the crowd. “You didn’t even touch a weapon or threaten him.”

“Because others are smart enough to be terrified of who I am.” He leaned in so I could hear him over the noise, his obsidian eyes reflecting the blaze of the fire behind me, making him look menacing. A demon come to life. “They know my reputation. What I am capable of.”

“Am I supposed to be terrified of you?” I forced my eyes to go big, batting my lashes. “Oh, I’m sooo scared.”

In a blink, like a snake striking out, his hand wrapped around my throat, wrenching me to him. I went still, my muscles locking up.

“You should be, kanin,” he rumbled, his gaze embedding into mine, his thumb sliding over my pulse. “Or I will have to try harder. Make sure you are.”

My back teeth ground together, hiding the fear I truly did feel. Life hummed in my veins, hammering my heart, the heat of the fire flushing under my cloak, dampening my skin. I held his gaze, giving nothing away as energy pulsated around us.

“Onyx?” A woman’s voice broke through our silent battle. He dropped his hand, scooting back on his stool, his head twisting up to the beautiful woman standing next to him, holding two ale pitchers in one hand and mugs in the other.

Appearing in her mid to late twenties, she was dressed in a worn brown linen dress, her long dark hair braided back, her figure lean, like she worked more than she ate. Runes were tattooed over her hands for wealth, prosperity, and protection. Her arms were strong from carrying heavy pitchers around, her aura looking like she could hold her own with a rowdy group, yet she stared at my companion like he could bring her to her knees.

Her eyes were almost plum-colored.

“Onyx . . .”’ She swallowed, her eyes glowing as they rolled over him, almost dropping the mugs in her hand. “You’re back.” Her voice filled with a dreamlike wonder. “It’s been so long . . . I—I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Frida.” He dipped his head, an aloofness clipping his tone. “Good to see you.”

A smile bloomed, making her features light up the room. Her awe turned straight to desire, touching him like she knew exactly what he looked like naked, had experienced how he felt inside her.

Irritation prickled at the back of my neck, my gaze dancing between the pair, picking up on the mismatched energy. She did not hide how she felt, while he kept his expression indifferent.

“We’d like to order some drink and food.” He nodded at the pitcher of ale in her hand.

She blinked, taken back by his reserved countenance. It lasted only a moment before she leaned over him, letting her breasts brush his arm. She set down a mug, pouring him ale. “I know exactly what you like to eat.” She didn’t bother keeping her voice down, knowing perfectly well I could hear her. “And how you devour like a starving man.”

My lips parted in shock at her brazenness, ire spearing through my bones. I sat right next to him; how did she know he wasn’t my lover?

The instant that thought entered my mind, shame burned through my skin, making me sweat under the wool. I shivered like I could fling the idea out of my head. She can gladly have him.

Sitting back, I folded my arms. His gaze darted to me, that tick in his jaw setting off.

“Me and my . . . companion,” he struggled to mutter the word, “just need food, and a room for the night if available.”

Her attention finally traveled to me, assessing what she could under my hooded cloak. A frown twisted up her smile, her demeanor shifting. Defensive. Hostile.

“I will check with min mor.” She swallowed, trying to keep her expression even, but I spotted the flicker of hurt, the disappointment dropping her shoulders.

“Thank you,” he replied, as a younger version of Frida slipped in, dropping bowls of porridge and bread in front of us.

“Onyx!” The adolescent grinned at him. “You’re back.”

“Just passing through,” he replied, but I could hear a slight softness in his tone.