her through a pass. The mountains were so high and there wasn’t a clear view of what lay beyond or above. It was claustrophobic.
There was no life down here. Perhaps that was what made it so eerie. No cries of the kekevir, no chittering little bugs. The whistling wind winding its way through the pass was the only sound. And their footsteps.
Not for the first time, she wondered why Jaxor had chosen this place of all places to settle on Luxiria. Surely there were nicer locations, places not threatened by predatory beasts or plagued by torrential downpours. A place not so…lonely. So empty. So void of life.
Erin watched him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, she was struck with longing. Longing to reach out and touch him without fear. Longing to speak with him openly, as they had last night by the fire—talking about love and memory. Longing to know him.
Do I really have anything to lose by asking him what I want to know? she questioned next.
Not particularly. He could either ignore her or answer her. Or lie to her.
“Do you miss the Golden City?” she decided to ask. She hadn’t seen much of it during her time there, but the glimpses she’d had were beautiful.
“Tev.”
His answer surprised her. She hadn’t truly expected him to answer. But he’d been different that day. Different since last night. Erin would give anything for a glimpse inside his head.
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
“Not now,” he said, helping her over a boulder that blocked their path, his hand lingering on her waist after he pulled her over. Erin looked up at him, found his eyes on hers. “I can never go back now.”
“Because you took us?” Erin asked. “Would you get…punished?”
Jaxor let go of her waist and walked on, continuing down the pass. “Tev.”
Erin’s gaze went to the injury he’d come back with last night. He was still bare-chested, despite the cold. He’d wrapped a blanket around her shoulders before they departed the base, but the cold still wound up her legs. His only protection was his thick hide pants and the travel sack he’d filled with furs, soap granules, and spare clothes.
The mark on his chest was healing, but she could still make out the swirling lines in the flesh.
“What is that?” she asked, risking the question.
“The mark of Oxandri, one of the Fates. The Fate of Sacrifice.”
Erin’s lips parted. She stopped walking, making him pause and face her, and she asked, “Why are you answering all my questions now?”
The Fate of Sacrifice?
Why had he marked it on himself?
“I already told you,” he rasped, his brows furrowing. Erin blinked, her eyes straying to his lips. A tendril of his freshly cut hair blew over his forehead and Erin ached just looking at him. “I am tired of fighting.”
“So what does this mean?” she asked quietly, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her feet were freezing cold—her tender, healing cut stinging—but she didn’t move. She was rooted in that place, held frozen by his gaze.
“I…” he trailed off. His hand ran over one of his horns, the blue tattoos adorning his arms gleaming in the low light. Not for the first time, she wondered what the markings meant. “I do not know.”
The torment in his voice made her breath hitch. So, Jaxor had been conflicted. About the trade?
Tentative hope began to rise, speeding her heart.
Was it possible he would return her to the Golden City? Was it possible she wouldn’t have to risk her life trying to make it back there by herself?
Slowly, as if approaching a wild, untamed beast, she stepped towards him. His eyes flickered, his back straightening at her nearness. Did he even realize the things he did unconsciously when she was near?
Then again, maybe she did unconscious things when he was near, things she didn’t even realize.
Reaching out, she traced the mark of Oxandri on his pectoral. The flesh was healing, but the wound might be deep enough to scar. His skin was warm and velvety smooth. Then her fingers went to his shoulder, where the tattoo started, and she traced part of it.
Jaxor held still and though Erin’s eyes were on the mark, she felt his gaze like a touch.
Finally, she let her hand drop. When she craned her head to look back at him, she remembered the night they’d kissed—the night they’d done a lot more than kiss—and she felt a shiver of anticipation run down her spine.