Page 71 of Dream Reaper

Fingers brushed over the back of her hand, over the one she had accidentally pressed against Jerrid’s chest as she made her confession. His callused fingers now rested on top of hers.

He blinked up at her blearily. “Hello, Meat Pasty.”

Ava choked, caught between crying in despair and laughing with relief.

“Ah, someone has finally had his beauty sleep,” Brynja said as she leaned around Ava to get a better look at him. “You’re not dead, so that’s something.”

Jerrid’s mouth pulled down in a frown. “I’m not really alive either.”

“Dragon?” Ava’s chest constricted.

Is that what he meant when he said he wasn’t really alive?

Jerrid’s fingers gently moved over hers. “He’s fine. For the moment. We’re still fighting, but it’s getting harder.”

The tight knot in her chest eased slightly, surprising her. She was afraid of Dragon—didn’t like how he thought of everyone around him as food. Didn’t like his biting sense of humor or rough ways.

But she still liked him, for some reason.

Her gaze shifted to Jerrid’s hand, the strong knuckles arching over her slender fingers. No, truth be told, she liked them.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, her body hot and cold at the same time. It didn’t make much sense. They were both ornery and closed off and stubborn. Too proud for their own good. Too secretive.

And yet, for some stupid reason, she liked them anyway.

Her gaze roamed to Jerrid’s face, his eyes fastened on her, his expression intense. She froze, mouth dry, face warm, wondering if he somehow knew what she was thinking. What she was feeling.

His lips parted, and she tensed as she waited. Did he perhaps feel something for her too?

“You need to go.”

The words washed over her like a flood of icy water. “I’m…I’m sorry?”

“You need to get out of here,” he continued, still holding her gaze. “All of you. We can’t hold this thing off much longer. And it’s best you all be as far away as possible when that happens.”

The pain in her chest shifted to something harder and darker. “That’s ridiculous. We can’t just leave you out here to die.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Ava.” His words held no emotion. “But you are mine. I need you to get yourself to safety. Get back to Eroth by any means you can.”

“Well, I can leave him here to die,” Brynja said, sounding ridiculously chipper about the prospect. “Except we don’t have anywhere to go. We’d rather die ourselves than go back to Eroth.”

Jerrid frowned at her. “You will die if you stay here. Think of the girls, Brynja, and the children. You’re sentencing them to death if you don’t leave.”

“But where are they to go?” Ava asked him. “She’s right that they can’t go back to Eroth. The fates that await them there might well be worse than death. Trapped in loveless marriages. Perhaps to…unkind elves.”

She dared to meet Brynja’s glare, but she wasn’t just trying to mollify her. She was thinking of Talos and knew all too well that there were horrible males in Gelaira as much as there were anywhere else in Rhuin.

“Surely they aren’t all like Talos,” Jerrid muttered.

How had he known that was what she was thinking?

“If they risked running away, I wouldn’t bet on that,” Ava shot back at him, not entirely sure why she was fighting Brynja’s battle for her.

Only…someone had to fight for these girls.

Because nobody besides Brynja had stepped up to do the job. The face of one of the palace maids swam into her mind. Dagmar, the freckle-faced redhead with a temper to match. She’d come from Haldor to become a peaceweaver, and her potential husband had treated her horribly.

How many others were out there like Dagmar, and Brynja, and little Ylsi with her ponytails? Girls far too young to be sold into slavery.