25. Katya
25
I lie awake all night, my lips tingling with the memory of his kiss. Could he tell it was my first kiss? At the time, it felt so perfect, so right, but as the night wore on, insecurity started to set in. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking, climbing on him like that. That I wanted to crack his cool exterior, drive him insane the way he does me? Maybe. I don’t know. It’s so confusing. He’s essentially my jailer, yet I’m finding it harder and harder to hate him. When we were at the palace, he was different, colder. Out here with him, it’s like I’m seeing the real Aemon. He’s funny and sweet, and I’m guessing completely miserable at the palace.
I wonder why he stays.
After he came back, we ate our dinner—beef stew, but I suspect the meat wasn’t actually beef—then he simply went to sleep. I wish I could turn my mind off like that, but I can’t stop replaying that kiss over and over. The way my stomach leapt at the first touch of his lips, how his tongue glided over mine. The way he felt, his weight pressing me into the mattress, but not so much as to hurt me.
He rolls over in his sleep, so he’s facing me, and we’re so close in this tiny bed, his eyes have merged in my vision, making a very odd Aemon cyclops. I pull back a bit and his face comes back into focus. Being able to look at him like this, truly study his features without embarrassment, is a heady feeling. He’s quite possibly the prettiest male I’ve ever met. Even more so with his face softened by sleep, like it is now. My eyes trace his sharp jawline and over his full lips. They’re so much softer than I would have imagined. His nose has a slight curve to it, like it was broken and never quite set right. I think it’s that little imperfection I like most of all.
The urge to reach out and touch him is overwhelming. It’s like he’s a drug, and I’m the addict who knows he’s bad for me, but I want him too much at the moment to care. I lift my hand and brush back a lock of hair that’s fallen into his face. His eyes flutter open, and I shut mine quickly before he can catch me. I try to relax my features, but I’m afraid I’m doing a terrible job of it, so I feign rolling over in my sleep because I can’t handle the thought of his eyes on me. Gentle fingers stroke the hair away from my neck and my breath catches.
What do I do? Do I keep pretending to sleep or turn to face him? No, definitely not. That would be insane. While I’m having my inner tirade, the bed shifts, and I feel the heat emanating from Aemon’s body as it draws closer to mine. His dark, spicy scent wraps around me like a blanket. I more sense than see his arm slip over my waist, his calloused hand coming to rest on my clavicle. I don’t think I’m breathing. He draws just a bit closer until his chest is barely brushing my back. I’m enveloped by him—his warmth, his scent, his breath heating my neck. It should feel awkward or uncomfortable, but it just feels like home.
When I wake the following morning, Aemon is gone. The memory of him curled around me seems more like a dream in the light of day. When he does return, our things are packed and ready to go, he doesn’t mention it or act as if anything’s different, which just makes me doubt myself even more. I can’t ask him. What if he says it was all in my imagination? The humiliation alone would send me to an early grave. So, I do my best to act natural as we mount Balor and—pulling Miss Horse along behind us—continue down the road that leads to the palace.
Neither of us speak for what seems like hours and, finally, I can’t take it any more, so even though I already know the answer, I ask him, “How much longer to the palace?”
He doesn’t tease me about how he’s told me that a million times or start going into how much I’ll enjoy being in his harem and the other things that make me want to simultaneously kill him and hug him. He simply says, “Tomorrow,” his voice clipped and matter of fact. I don’t know why that hurts so much, but it does.
“What are you—” I start, but Aemon slaps a hand across my mouth with a “shh,” and pulls me tightly against him.
I listen. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Not even a single bird singing or a squirrel scuttling about in the tree branches. In my books, that usually means there’s some sort of predator nearby. What sort of predator lives in these woods that would frighten the wildlife like that?
Balor whinnies and shakes his head, and Miss Horse, who’s been so easy going until now, whips her head from side to side, her eyes wild as she fights to get free from the ties binding her to Balor. She’s tugging so hard, we’re getting jerked around, so Aemon reaches back and deftly unlatches her. She bolts ahead, and Aemon lets her go, seemingly unconcerned that she’s running off with most of our supplies.
He’s too busy scanning the woods.
I want to ask him what’s happening, but even if his hand wasn’t over my mouth, I wouldn’t. Because if Aemon Cregg is frightened, it must be something truly terrifying. He presses his cheek to my temple, his heavy breaths painting my ear. “I need you to listen to me,” he whispers. “Do you hear me, Katya?”
I nod.
“Take the reins.” He transfers the horse’s reins to my shaking hands, then wrapping that hand around the prisoner bracelet, he says, “If something happens, and I tell you to run, you run.” The bracelet clicks open, and he stuffs it into his pocket. He then slips his pistol from his holster with barely a wisp of metal sliding across leather, and cocks it behind my back. “You run and don’t look back.”
Finally, he pulls his hand from my mouth and wraps it around my waist.
“Aemon,” I plead, my voice cracking with the fear I’m trying so hard to contain.
“Hang on.” He kicks the horse into a run and we bolt just as gunshots ring out, the noise like a thunderclap in my ears.
A bullet strikes Balor in the flank. The horse rears, throwing us clear off his back, but Aemon hangs onto me even as we tumble to the ground. I throw out my hand, trying to break our fall, but land on it with a pop and flash of pain bolting through my forearm. I land half on top Aemon, but even though he took the brunt of the hit, cushioning my body with his, he’s on his feet in an instant, pistol drawn.
He circles me, eyes darting in every direction, looking for whoever did this. “Are you alright?” he asks.
Of course I’m not alright. My hip is smarting, and my left arm has gone numb, but the last thing he needs is more to worry about, so I lie. “Yes.”
“Good,” He holds out a hand. I take it with my good arm and allow him to help me to my feet. He pulls another gun from the other hip and presses it into my palm, his eyes never leaving the tree line. “Do you know how to use this?”
The gun is so heavy. How can something so small be so heavy? “Yes,” I lie again.
He takes my word for it. “I think they’re coming from the left, so when I say, you go right.”
I nod, then realizing he isn’t looking at me, say, “I will.”
There’s a rustling in the brush, and Aemon swings the gun around, aiming for it. “I’ll find you.” Then he shouts, “Go!. Now!” and fires.
And I run.
I run as fast as I can, trees and bushes whizzing by in my periphery. My heart crashes against my ribcage, and my throat and eyes are frozen from the biting cold. More gunshots.
I’m not looking back. I’m not looking back.
I look back.
Aemon is surrounded by at least ten people, wrapped head to toe in black. Even the lower half of their faces are covered, leaving only their eyes visible—their pink eyes. My mouth goes dry. What are they? I turn my attention back to the woods in front of me, narrowly avoiding running face-first into a huge pine. They’re going to kill him. I could help him if I knew how I’d gotten the magic to work before, but I can’t. My lungs burn and my legs ache. I’m breathing so hard, I can’t hear what’s happening behind me anymore. I move to dodge a mess of brambles littering the forest floor, but my dress gets caught.
Dammit. I tug at my skirt, trying to dislodge the thorns or tear the skirt—whatever will get me free. Finally, the fabric rips, taking the entire lower half of my dress and a chunk of my petticoat, but I’m too terrified to care about my modesty at the moment. I start to run again when a dark figure steps into my path. I pivot left and double my efforts. Remembering the gun, I twist around to aim at the figure, but it’s gone. My boot snags on something and I crash to the ground, the gun flying from my hands.
Fuck.
I lunge for the pistol, but another dark figure steps between me and the gun, blocking me. I scuttle away on my backside then shove to my feet and dart the other way, narrowly avoiding another shadowy figure that seemingly came out of nowhere. More bodies appear in front of me, cutting off my escape. I whirl around to go back the other way, but there are even more behind me and to my right and left. Sliding to a stop, I spin around again and again, but I’m surrounded by the same black-clad figures I saw around Aemon. They’re closing in and there’s nothing I can do, no escape.
“Stop,” I scream, but the magic doesn’t come. I shout and beg, tears blurring my vision and turning the figures into dark smears. Ignoring my pleas, they continue to close ranks around me. I fall to my knees in defeat. “Please.”
Then the world goes black.