Page 6 of The Dead Saint

When she didn’t respond, he looped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his body. Even with clothes and armor between them, he felt her soft warmth, and it sent a shiver racing over him. Her hair brushed his face, the top of her head bumping his chin, as he urged Nox across the square. Adrian worked to ignore the feel of her against him, the way she trembled, her hands balled into fists.

He tilted his head to get a better look at her, catching a curve of her cheek and the sweep of thick dark lashes.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

She half turned to him—green eyes wary—her distaste a physical force. “I’m not stupid enough to trust a monster.”

There, she’d said it aloud. Her tone was as sharp as his had been soft—words cutting like broken glass flung at him with full force. It could not have sat so long between them without being given solid form.

He smiled grimly, a part of him pleased that he’d pulled a reaction from her—pleased with her anger.

An angry woman was easier to deal with than a sad one. He had no time for tears. But anger he understood. Anger he could handle. Sorrow, tears, the wailing of deep wounds was something he had wanted to avoid at all costs.

The woman in his arms would never give him her tears; he’d known it the moment their eyes met. Adrian could feel her making promises to herself, the frantic whirling of her mind and emotions. She would give him as little of herself as possible.

But he would take everything from her.

Just as he’d taken this city. Already, the fires had eaten so much of it. The death cries of the survivors had been silenced hours ago. There was no more clashing metal, no more shouts or pleas. There was no one left.

Those who had accepted Prince Eine’s terms had departed weeks ago, already moved on to live beneath the eaves of the Traveling City or at the farthest edges of the Empire of the White Snake. Those who had held out, remaining in the city because they thought the prince’s soft-spoken voice made him weak, were all dead.

Prince Eine might be soft-spoken, but the edge of his blade was sharp and his mind cruel. There would have been torture and mutilation before death, incredible pain and despair. Repayment for the insult their refusal had caused. But soothing his own emotions wasn’t the prince’s only goal. The stories of what happened spread and were another weapon against those who challenged his dreams of expanding the empire.

The woman jerked in his arms and gasped. There were bodies in the streets near the main gate. Blood pooled between cobblestones and on the flat pavers. The stink of gore fought to overpower the smoke, a foul scent that would cling to his clothes for the next several days.

“You did this.” Her voice was a harsh whisper, emotion choking her. “You killed them all.”

He remained silent, unable to and uninterested in denying it.

“You truly are a monster,” she hissed, twisting abruptly in his arms, wriggling until his hold slipped and she dropped to the cobblestones.

The horse lunged for her, teeth snapping, and Adrian snapped the reins in a warning. Nox quieted, but his ears were laid back in warning.

The woman scrambled away, panting and pushing awkwardly to her feet. She turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings and freezing as she looked out over the main road leading away from the Golden Citadel.

Chapter Three

The gates stood open, splintered and hanging from giant hinges. The iron portcullis was twisted and stuck in the up position. They had withstood the attack at first, the invading Horde chipping away at their defenses, but it had only taken a few days for the gates to be breached.

Had it only been a few days? It seemed like months. Years. Sleep evaded her, the sounds of death creeping closer, with the blood of her sisters all around her.

Now she stood beyond the temple with new blood soaking the hem of her dress, the scent of copper filling her head and coating the back of her throat. Closing her eyes, she swallowed back bile, breathing out through her nose. The urge to scream was building beneath her breastbone, a throb that pulsed in time with her racing heart.

A harness jingled, and Sorcha glanced back at the Wolf. The man held out one black-gloved hand, patient and silent. The giant horse stomped and pawed at the ground. One eye rolled to her as he tossed his mane, impatient and ready to leave. The man watched her, waiting.

Right now, she might be going with him, but she didn’t want to touch him. She shook her head.

“Walk then,” he said, voice expressionless.

Soldiers and civilians were crumpled together—armor and spun cotton, heavy boots and simple leather slippers. But no one seemed to belong to the empire. These were all citizens of the Golden Citadel.

Tears filled her eyes, blurring the world. So much death, so much pain and suffering. The weight of it pressed on her, leaving her gasping as her thoughts raced.

There was nowhere to go but across the bridge or back into the city. One was certain death, the other an unknown.

This man, this monster, wanted her and, for the moment, had promised not to harm her. But how long would that last? Her value to him was tied to her skin and the tattooed map hidden by her clothing.

Someone had shared her secret, though it had never truly been one. Anyone who came to the temple could see her, their oracle vessel, the woman capable of resurrecting their dead god if the need arose.

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