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Chapter Seven
Sensitive?
Sorin managed to keep his mouth from falling open but it was a close thing.
After she turned her head to talk with the child, he narrowed his eyes and stared at her even harder, willing her to look at him. She didn’t, of course, so he gave her his back, glaring out into the pouring rain and endless dark. The lightning had finally begun to let up and he took the opportunity to study the corpse some yards away.
The body stank.
Had he not been there to watch as she’d thrown that iron dagger into the man’s body, Sorin would have guessed the man dead several days, at the very least. He wasn’t ruling the possibility out, either. Some of the more powerful Fae could infest a carcass, wearing the dead body like a second skin or even commandeer it from afar, like a puppet. It was dark and dangerous magic, normally only used by those with nefarious intent.
However, it was also a complex skill. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible from a Redcap. Those creatures could be strong, but they were rather...base and simple, with a singular focus. Havoc.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he eyed his witchling, then the boy and the human woman. The boy sat by his mother, stroking her hair with a sad look in his eyes while Sorin’s witch built a fire. She was quite competent at the task, too, so he didn’t insult her by going in and offering to handle the job.
The cold rain pounded down on him as he crossed to the human’s corpse. Hunkering down next to the body, he studied it, puzzled by its appearance. Why did it look so...odd? It was...flattened, the body looking to have half the depth it should. It retained all the height, but the mass was missing.
Loathe to touch the fouled thing, Sorin scanned the area around him, then looked up, studied the iron blade protruding from the eye. Then, with a shrug, he pulled it free, ignoring the wet sucking sound and the black fluid that leaked from the orbital socket. He held it in his hand and let the fire that lived within his very veins surge to the surface. The blade heated in an instant, glowing cherry red for a moment. The rain hissed as it came in contact with the surface, steam rising as the red glow faded, leaving the blade clean.
He didn’t give the blade time to cool. While the cold rain was no threat to his health, he hated being wet. The hot, sharp tip parted the flesh easily.
“What are you doing?”
He slanted a look at the witchling. “Trying to understand why this body looks so wrong.”
She came around and crouched down, elbows on her knees as she looked the corpse over. “Why?”
“Because dragons are nosy,” he said shortly. “Go back into the cave. This rain is cold.”
“The cold can’t hurt me.” She leaned forward, her eyes sharpening. “Where are the bones?”
“That is an excellent question, witchling.”
“I have a name, dragon.”
Tugging the blade from the body, he grinned up at her. “As do I. I’m called Sorin. What is your name, witchling?”
“Gia.” She pursed her lips as she studied him. “Your eyes glow like they’re aflame.”
“Well, I am a dragon.” Thunder rumbled overhead and he peered upward, scowling when he caught sight of lightning flickering in the distance. “Another storm comes this way.”
“We’re not getting off this mountain tonight.” She glanced past him to the small shelter they’d managed to find. “We’d both be fine if we kept going, but I’m not leaving them.”
“Thank you for not insulting me by suggesting I leave the three of you here.”
Her lips bowed upward, an amused light in her green eyes. “Well, I’d hate to have you try, again, to glare a hole through my head. Seeing how sensitive you dragons clearly are.”
“Brave little witchling,” he said, a grumble escaping. Then he focused his attention back on the body. “The boy can’t see us, can he?”
Gia leaned over, peering through the rainy dark. “No. He’s too focused on his mother.”
“Good.”
He started to turn the knife over, then stopped, gauged the heat of the blade more closely. “It’s still too hot. I don’t want your skin to burn.” Laying the iron weapon on the earth, he did a small shift, razor-sharp, strong claws slipping free. “It’s a fine blade, your dagger, but too small for this job.”
He slashed through the dead man’s arm, half way between elbow and wrist.
“That was easier than it should have been, wasn’t it?” Gia asked, her eyes wide, unflinching.
