Chapter 13
Jolene
The village, from the inside, was as quaint and medieval-looking as it had appeared from the hillside when Khawla and I had watched it from afar.
They had built slightly raised wooden paths between every home that were swept clean of mud and snow; it kept their tails clean.
The houses were all small and squat, and though they all had sloped roofs, I doubted they had a second floor.
Most didn’t have a chimney, but a hatch was cracked for smoke to escape.
Closer to the heart of the town, the houses appeared newer and larger, and some did have a proper stone chimney.
If I weren’t in danger of being “killed on sight,” like Khawla had warned, I might have enjoyed the sightseeing.
In the dark, the roofs all glowed pale white with their cover of snow, and the smoke itself had a yellow glow from the fire beneath it.
Lights glittered warmly, and campfires sat in worn pits along the way, with Naga glittering like gems around them.
I saw no Naga females at all, and I had to admit to being just a little curious what one would look like.
What if they looked just like the males, and that’s why it looked like there weren’t any?
Then I got a look at the town’s square. Here, torches stood all around, and several fires also blazed to provide plenty of light for my eyes.
The houses here were all newer and large, crowded together as if they’d tried to fit as many as possible.
Clearly, the edge of the square was prime real estate.
One building took up more space than any other, and it partially projected into the square, too.
With an arched roof and heavily carved beams, the wooden structure stood out because the walls were like movable panels.
There were also two guards at the building, and from the sounds of voices coming from inside, some kind of party was going on.
They sounded like female voices, brighter, higher, more melodic than the gruff snarls and growls Khawla made.
“Why are you here, Reshar?” one of the guards at the entrance to the party building called out loudly, just as a flute rose in a cheerful tune.
He frowned and abandoned his post to cross the town square and come our way.
Something in my stomach clenched painfully, and a chill went down my spine at the sight of this newcomer.
I was scared of the guy holding my arm, his seafoam blue-green hair a bright beacon in the dark.
I was also scared of the handful of Naga at my back, the ones that had run into us in the forest. This guy’s ice-cold stare eclipsed all of that in an instant.
“Just giving the prisoner a look at what her future holds, Msera,” my captor responded with a lackadaisical grin.
He flicked his head to the side, and pale blue hair flung through the air like it was a freaking hair commercial.
So, his name was Reshar? He stood out, not just because his scales were the brightest blue of all, but because he was handsome, slick, and friendly.
The others were all grim-faced and scowly, but not this guy.
“Hmm, we’ll put her with the traitor. That abomination does not need to spoil our appetites tonight!
” the cold guy huffed, his dark blue eyes glowing with sparks from the nearby fire.
He didn’t even look at me now, as if the sight of me disgusted him.
Turning on his tail, he returned to his post by the entrance to the lodge, where a party was clearly in full swing.
We didn’t move yet, standing there as my companion Reshar stared after the mean guy.
Perhaps he was staring at the lodge with the party; there was something close to longing in his gaze.
Then he turned, and his eyes skated right over me to lock with the gazes of the males who had followed us here.
We’d grown a bit of a crowd, grim-faced hunters who reminded me of Khawla, even if their scales were a different hue than his.
“Make way—you heard Msera—she goes to the traitor in his prison.” I didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit, but I hoped they were talking about Khawla.
I’d take getting locked up in a cell with my gruff, protective hunter any time.
Hopefully, it would be warm wherever this prison was, because my toes were growing numb again.
With a hand against the small of my back, I was made to turn and march back the way we’d come.
We passed hunters now; one after the other had slipped away from their campfire or home to line the path.
Hands reached out—sometimes tails—to brush against me.
It made my stomach turn and my skin prickle, but they did not hurt me.
They were quickly brushed touches, there and gone again, but I didn’t understand why they were doing it.
Was seeing a human that much of a novelty?
The house we stopped at was no different from its neighbors, small, squat, but well cared for.
The only indication that this was a prison was the armed guard out front: a big Naga with an even grimmer expression than that of the crowd, his scales a dark blue so deep they were almost black in the dark.
He seemed uneasy, restlessly squeezing the shaft of his spear and glaring at the crowd behind me to keep their distance.
“Msera has ordered this prisoner to be locked up here too,” Reshar drawled, and the silent hunters behind us, if possible, went even more silent.
The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
There were all kinds of undercurrents here that I knew nothing about, but maybe it was to our advantage.
I was still mad Khawla had not told me the truth, but after all this, I would be equally happy just to see him and know that he was alive.
The guard shrugged as if he did not care where I was locked up, as long as I got out of the way.
His tail was already curling around the handle of the door, and I found myself holding my breath as it opened.
Nobody said it would be Khawla, but I couldn’t imagine it would be anyone else on the other side.
Reshar’s hand around my biceps squeezed once, gently, like it was meant to be a reassurance.
Light spilled through the crack first, the warmth of a fire wafting outside.
The house wasn’t brightly lit, but I could still see a figure move by the hearth.
It rose, and from the way their scales absorbed the light without reflecting it, I knew instantly who it was.
My breath sawed out of me in relief, my heart skipping a beat.
I was not prepared for my captor to abruptly give me a shove, not just with his hand, but also with a coil of his tail against the backs of my knees.
I went stumbling forward, the guard slipping aside in a hurry, and I found myself tripping over the threshold.
Khawla caught me in his arms. “Jolene!” Then every mark on his body burst with light—a bright, golden spill of warmth and destiny.
They reminded me of safety, of belonging, and at the same time, they reminded me of his lie.
Of his mate, though he’d insisted I was not.
There was no time to focus on what I was feeling, though, not when the revelation of his marks evoked a roar of noise behind me: voices exclaiming over one another about mates, about lies, about a person named Kusha, and some clamoring loudly about warning the Queen.
I thought that maybe this obvious display—that I was, by their customs, supposed to belong to Khawla—would be too much for my hunter.
If he’d already denied this truth, he wouldn’t want his Clan to see the evidence, would he?
But he held me tighter, his arms clutching me to his chest, his tail coiling around my legs so there was nowhere I could go.
“Silence,” someone shouted, and the voice rang with such command that the crowd hushed.
When I twisted my head against Khawla’s chest, it was just enough to see through the open door to the outside.
It was my captor, Reshar, who had spoken, and given his earlier attitude and the way that other guy had bossed him around…
not one I expected to have any authority.
He had placed himself next to the guard, between the crowd and us.
“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” he demanded next.
“The human sympathizer will see our Queen tomorrow; that should be all you need to care about. Leave!” He slashed his spear through the air, raised his chin, and the single sharp, ivory horn on his chin glinted brightly.
It worked: the crowd began to slither away just like that.
The guard actually looked grateful for the help, his scales rattling along his spine with a whispering noise before he settled back in front of the door.
Reshar left without another word himself, and he never even glanced back at us or spared a word for Khawla.
My hunter said nothing himself either, just held me and stayed in place, watching what was going on with his single amethyst eye.
Only when the door closed and we were alone did he relax his grip around me.
“Jolene,” he sighed, “I should have never brought you here, but at least now you’re not dropping to dangerously low temperatures.
” The reminder of those words I’d said to him when we first met also reminded me of his “You are not my mate,” and fury washed over me.
Yanking free from his arms, I stumbled over a coil of his tail but slapped away the one he raised to assist me.
“Not your mate?” I hissed at him, jabbing a finger at his chest and watching the play of gold light that shivered over his scales.
His expression grew tight, but there was no indication whether it was out of guilt or anger.
I couldn’t read him at all; he was too good at hiding, as it turned out.