A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

27. Dryston

Chapter 27

Dryston

S ilenus followed them out of the clearing and took them to the river's edge the next morning. He’d packed homemade tarts and smoked fish, with an assortment of berries and nuts, to last them the rest of the way. Dryston handed him the letter he’d written for the other demons and Silenus stowed it away in his crossbody.

“You’ll be careful?” Silenus asked.

“Of course,” Dryston said. He gave the satyr a hug before parting ways.

They wandered up the river, hiding just inside the forest until they couldn’t anymore, then they scrambled down along the river’s edge, hiding amongst the rocks and crags. Plains spanned out around them, grains waving in the wind for miles.

They stopped on the riverbank at midmorning to eat. The sun bore down hotly on them, and Onora threw off her jacket, closing her eyes against the cool breeze. She looked so calm, so at ease that he marveled at it, his musings tangling as his eyes drifted to her arms and the tattoos there.

A burst of anger lashed inside him, and he swallowed, tamping it down. She noticed his face and grabbed her jacket to put back on, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her, and looked closer.

Her breath hitched, but he ignored it as he truly looked at them for the first time. He’d thought they would be swirls of black ink, faded under her skin, but instead he saw an intricate design that swirled and dipped, patterns rippling out with scrolls and dots and lace. The ink was fresh as the day a tattoo was laid, an intense black.

“These tattoos are magical,” he breathed, finally meeting her gaze again.

She shifted uncomfortably, her expression hardening in a challenge. “What did you think they were?”

“I know it’s customary for Hunters to get tattoos reminiscent of the Shadow Lord’s,” he said, unable to fully keep the anger out of his voice.

“I would never,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s a barbaric practice. These marks are magical.”

“But it’s demonic ...” He rolled up his sleeve, placing his bare arm next to hers, the pit of his stomach falling away.

They were identical.

Magical tattoos were always unique. Mating tattoos, acquired during the joining ceremony, were similar, but unique. He’d only ever seen something like this one time before.

She cleared her throat and asked, “Do you know what it is?”

“How long have you had these?”

“It happened when Enid opened the well of magic in Evolis. My skin burned for days after. It felt like a tattoo but my whole torso, all at once.”

He blinked, astounded, scrambling for any other explanation. “That may explain some of it. You’re a conduit able to take in extra magic, and she’s a demon who was using her powers, so it may have jumped to you somehow.”

“Does branding normally happen when conduits use their powers with another?”

“No.” He stood, clearing his throat. “Let’s keep on.”

Dryston turned over this new information about Onora’s tattoos in his mind, searching for any new way to look at it. Whatever it was with Onora’s tattoos, it had to be a mistake. Some magical mishap.

She sure as the darkest pit couldn’t be his mate.

That would be catastrophic on so many levels. Least of which being their deep-seated hatred for one another.

His eyes drifted over her backside as they walked along the river's edge, the afternoon light hitting her golden hair and making his breath cease for a moment.

He shook his head. She was objectively attractive, and they were in a dangerous situation. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had developed a slight fixation on the person they were surviving with.

That’s all it was.

Not because she was his mate.

Besides, he’d been around her for a while now. Traveling here and in Orc Haven. If she was his mate, he would have felt the effects of her fertility and the mating frenzy already. He would have been driven mad with lust for her.

And what he felt was normal lust.

Maybe slightly elevated levels of lust.

Nothing too far out of the norm.

The morning drifted by without incident, though they both startled at every little out of place sound along the way. A bridge rose up in the distance, strong and wide with the flags of the human realm on one side, and flags of the largest Orc Clan—Lord Killgan’s—on the other. The marker of where the human lands ended and orc territory began.

“We’re close,” Onora said, excitement shading her voice. “We’ll cross the bridge and a few miles northwest we’ll see fields—after that, the farmhouse.”

They stuck to the river’s edge until they came to the bridge, carefully scrambling up the rocks to pass over it, when they heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. Dryston peeked over the edge, cursing when he saw a troupe of Hunters approaching in the distance. He grabbed Onora around the waist, pulling her against him and pressing her into the side of the riverbank under the bridge. She let out a yelp, but he covered her mouth with his hand, shushing her. He clenched his jaw, terrified of removing his hand and her betraying him again. She’d helped so much recently, but was that because he was the safer option?

She stared at him over his hand, hers resting gently on his wrist, firm, but not threatening, not fighting. She gave him a begging look, curious, wanting an answer.

He had to trust her. He let his hand fall away, sending up a prayer to the twin moon goddesses for protection.

She stared at him, confused, but stayed silent. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear and trying desperately to ignore how her scent called to him, made his head dizzy and his senses leave him. “Hunters.”

“Shit.”

She tried to crane her neck to look, but neither could see from here. Then she leaned forward, her lips to his ear, the breath hitting and making his cock stir, and he bit back a groan. “What can you hear?”

He closed his eyes and focused. He could hear her hammering heart and hitching breath to an agonizing level of detail, but he needed to focus. The horses came closer with a few footmen, their armor clanking. It took several minutes before he could make out much else, but then a man asked, “Do you think she’s helping him?”

The man was shushed by a woman. “No, of course not. She’s being held captive.”

“But there’s been another attack. How could he have gotten there so quickly without her help?”

Dryston’s blood ran cold. Another attack.

“What is it?” Onora asked.

He placed a finger over her lips and her eyes darkened, her breath hitching and making his mind scramble for control. He closed his eyes again.

“Even with her help, how?” the woman asked. They were talking low, as if they didn’t want the others to hear them speak. “It’s in the elf realm this time. We’ve been tracking them for days with better resources. How could they have gotten there?”

“Flying?”

“We would have seen him.”

“Onora wouldn’t have done it,” another male voice said, also low. “She wouldn’t sit idly by while he murdered all of those people.”

“What if she is under his thrall?” man number one said.

“She’s not,” the woman replied. “She’s not, I can feel it.”

“The chief said he has evidence. He said he’s been trying to rehabilitate her, but this was the final straw and she’s a threat to everyone.” The man’s voice sounded tortured, scared, unsure.

What in the darkest pit was going on?

They moved over the bridge, only snippets of conversation coming here and there that were mostly inconsequential. He stayed pressed against Onora the whole time, afraid of moving and anyone seeing them. Her curves met his hard planes in a way that made it difficult to breathe. He was painfully aware of how his hands gripped her hips, holding her steady. He wanted to sink his fingers in, to press her against him, to feel her body as close to his as possible.

He dipped his head, coming close to hers, and she tilted hers up.

Fuck.

This was a bad idea.

A terrible, horrible idea.

But his logic and reasoning were faulty—nonexistent at the moment.

He moved his hand up her side, to her ribs, and her breath caught. Their noses brushed and his cock stirred, throbbing, aching.

Fuck.

A cart clanked over the bridge, rattling it and making both of them startle.

He came back to his senses as she seemed to as well. She looked up, carefully avoiding his gaze.

“What did they say?”

He told her, and a myriad of emotions crossed over her face.

“They were defending you,” he said quietly.

It might have been unwise, possibly giving her more reasons to confront Hunters later, knowing she had backup, but the sight of her immense relief made it feel worth it.