Chapter 27
The sun is creeping over the horizon to our right as we reach the Benea Mountains, painting the sky in beautiful pinks and oranges, and the clouds purple, colors that I’ve never seen through the smog of the Rookery.
It is breathtaking. The sheer size of the mountains causes me to sputter.
On rare clear nights in the Rookery, you can see them from the roof of the bordello.
I never imagined they’d be so immense up close.
The road leading through the mountains, presumably to Kanas, is dirt and incredibly narrow.
Two horses wouldn’t be able to stand side by side, and this is only the beginning.
I can’t imagine how much worse it will get as we climb higher.
The village of Kanas is nestled high in the mountains.
Few people visit and even fewer leave. It’s said the beauty and serenity of the village and the surrounding mountains latch onto your heart and refuse to let you go.
That it’s the closest to the gods we’ll ever get.
The farther we climb, the more I understand how impassable this path will become when the snow begins to fall.
I look up to the sky, feeling the icy breeze kiss my cheeks, and my heart sinks.
It won’t be long now. I won’t get back to Isirae for months.
We’ve been riding for hours and my back, ass, and fingers are killing me.
I’ve been gripping the horse’s mane so tightly, afraid I might fall off.
Caene’s arms bracketing me while holding the reins provides a little comfort, but I refuse to relinquish all control and trust him to catch me.
I started shifting my weight trying to get comfortable about an hour ago and haven’t been able to stop.
Any movement is a relief on some part of my body.
Despite the discomfort, I’ve refused to let myself rest against Caene, trying to keep some distance between our bodies.
My attraction to him is dangerous, and I still can’t let myself forget who he is.
I like Caene and am grateful for his help, but I must keep my distance.
I’ve been leaning slightly forward this entire time and my lower back is screaming.
“Stop wiggling and relax,” Caene growls from behind me. I breathe in sharply, as I now notice his hard length pressed into my backside. My body responds to the sensation with a pleasant swooping low in my belly.
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. He shrugs. “If you’d stop moving around I’d be able to get it under control,” he says through gritted teeth. “Lean back into me. It’ll be more comfortable, you’ll stop squirming, and it’ll solve my . . . problem.”
I grumble and do as he suggests, almost instantly feeling relief in my back.
Still, I can’t help but smirk at his problem.
Clearly, he’s as affected by me as I am by him.
His hands holding the reins are resting on my upper thighs, and I become acutely aware of their proximity to certain sensitive areas of my body and the hard length of him pressed up against my ass.
It wouldn’t take much for him to put those hands where he clearly wants them. Where I think I want them.
I mentally slap myself. That can’t happen. I cannot allow that to happen.
But maybe I can allow myself a small taste.
I lean into his hard body and slide my ass into his hard cock. His groan rustles past my ear, shivers down my spine, and settles between my thighs
Alright, that’s enough now. Stop this, Vay.
I ignore the voice of reason in my head for another moment, another taste. I turn my face toward him, feeling his scratchy beard on my cheek, and press myself into him again.
His moan is deep and delicious. “I thought I told you to stop wiggling,” he rumbles in my ear.
His hand slides up my body, over my sensitive breasts, and settles lightly around my throat.
“Unless you want me to pull this beast over and fuck you on the cold ground.” He squeezes a little tighter, and a small, sharp inhale breezes through my open mouth.
Branches scrape against our right sides as the horse seems to have pulled himself over, grazing on the sparse grass.
I clear my throat, pulling my face away from his while he releases my neck.
I reach forward to grab the rein Caene dropped, unintentionally grinding myself against him again.
To his credit, he doesn't comment on it this time, though I don’t miss the sharp hiss he pulls through his teeth.
I hand him back the rein and settle back into his chest. I may not be willing to let myself fuck him, but that’s no reason I can’t find comfort in his warmth, in his strength, if he to insists on it.
As we ride through the slim pathways in comfortable silence, ducking under pine branches and guiding the horse around fallen logs, everything that has happened since he helped me escape that dungeon replays in my mind.
This man has comforted me, trusted me, and protected me, even from myself.
I can feel my attachment to him growing stronger with every stolen glance, every cocky smirk, every touch, every moment we share.
I have to put a stop to it. His family is trying to enslave me or worse.
This can only end in heartache. The only people in my life I can truly trust and keep are Isirae and Feron.
Knowing this doesn’t make me put distance between us, however.
If anything, I lean closer to Caene’s warmth, savoring him while I can.
I’m so lost in thought, wondering again about my visions—can I control them?
Change them? Summon them? —I don’t register the sounds or that Caene’s body has gone stiff behind me until strange voices break through my reverie.
“Halt,” the voices hiss from somewhere unseen. They sound as though they’re all around us, echoing off the mountains. They sound like gravel tumbling down a rock face.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper over my shoulder.
Caene nods, his head on a swivel. “I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
” He slows the horse almost to a crawl and unsheathes his sword from along his spine.
I lean forward and pull my dagger from my boot.
I flip it around in my hand, holding it by the blade, ready to throw it at the first sign of movement.
“Go no farther,” the voices say.
“Show yourself!” Caene’s deep baritone causes pebbles to tumble from the steep incline to our right.
If he yells any louder we may have a rock slide to contend with.
I place my hand on his knee to try to calm him.
I listen hard, hoping it was just some kind of shared delusion or an echo of another traveler or a trick of the mountain.
The traveler at the bordello mentioned the mountains play with your mind and your senses, but I can feel someone watching us.
The road ahead runs between two steep rock faces whose tops disappear out of view.
I briefly wonder how it’s possible to carve out a mountain like this before something catches my eye.
My chest hurts from my heart slamming against my ribs.
“Look,” I whisper to Caene, pointing with the hilt of my dagger. He grunts and guides the horse slowly ahead. Coming out of the rock face on the left are carved faces. Human faces. Their eyes are carved shut.
“What is this?” Caene says as he pulls the horse to a halt and dismounts, slowly moving closer to the faces.
I don’t know how to dismount but it can’t be any harder than mounting, so I swing my leg over the horse’s back.
I underestimate just how large this animal really is, which means my foot doesn’t hit the ground when I expect it to, leading me to land flat on my back.
Caene hears my crash and my grunt of pain as the wind is knocked from my lungs.
He turns his attention back to me, sword at the ready to fight the threat.
His eyes trail my prone form and I’m a little surprised his boisterous laughter at my expense doesn’t cause the aforementioned rock slide.
“Little help?” I wheeze, my face heating.
He struts over, still laughing, and helps me to my feet, brushing the dirt off my back, making a point to thoroughly clean the butt of my trousers.
“Asshole,” I grumble, shoving him away and brushing the rest of the dirt off my clothes.
He laughs again, only this time he’s joined by another, the laugh sounding like stone.
All at once I realize the faces are laughing too.
I stare at the stone faces through what I’m sure are enormous eyes as their laughter subsides. Caene raises his sword to them.
“What are you going to do, Big Man? Stab a rock?” The faces laugh again.
“What are you?” Caene asks, approaching the faces slowly, sword still raised despite the ridiculousness of fighting bedrock.
“We are the Frai,” the faces respond in unison. Their eyes are still closed but their mouths move as one.
“The Frai? As in the legendary, not to mention fictional, mountain spirits?” I ask.
Despite the fact that I’m seeing stone talk with my own two eyes, I still struggle to believe it.
Maybe this is the kind of mind-fuckery the mountains play on you.
Or maybe I’m hallucinating from indigestion or lack of sleep.
Maybe my mind has finally snapped. Anything would make sense over the Frai being real.