Page 15 of Shadows of Winter

The man stepped into the hall outside, disappearing from view, and Kaylina renewed her effort to free herself. By now, she was panting as well as being hot and thirsty.

“It’s over,” her captor said quietly in her ear. “Drink the juice Targon brings. It’s not exactly an antidote, but it’ll clear your head faster.”

That seemed reasonable, but she couldn’t control her body, couldn’t stop fighting the grip restraining her. But her captor was strong, so muscular.

What would it be like to sleep with someone like that? All hard ridges and power.

Domas had been all right, but he wasn’t a warrior. He was a fisherman. Handsome, maybe, but not that nice. Why had she had sex with him? Because she’d thought it would make her happy to be in a relationship? The way her sister was?

The man returned with a flask, pausing to watch her writhing before raising his eyebrows. “I’d ask if you were enjoying that, Vlerion, but I suppose you keep yourself too strapped down to experience lust.”

Enjoying… her squirming? Like her captor might be thinking about sex too?

“Give her the juice. It was a mistake to bring them here.”

No, he wasn’t interested in sex. And she wasn’t either. Not with him. Why had her mind brought up those thoughts?

“I don’t blame you for thinking they had something to do with Darringtar’s death.” The man barked a laugh as he approached with the flask. “But I can’t believe they want to rent the cursed castle. What fools. They must have just arrived on that ship.”

Indignation flared in Kaylina. When the man came close enough, she tried to kick him.

Unfortunately, he saw it coming and dodged. Too bad. He would look good with his testicles lodged up his ass.

“She doesn’t like you either,” her captor said dryly.

“It’s the kafdari root. She’ll find me a delight once she recovers.” The man considered approaching her, but Kaylina bared her teeth, prepared to kick him again. “You give it to her.” He angled in from behind her captor, a direction she couldn’t kick, and offered the flask to him.

Vlerion, she remembered, her mind growing less scattered.

“Coward,” Vlerion said.

“I’ve faced Kar’ruk armies and have been battling Scourge monsters since before you were born.” That didn’t keep the man—Targon—from foisting the flask on Vlerion.

He managed to grab it, thumb the cap off, and keep Kaylina restrained at the same time.

“Take this,” Vlerion told her, not rescinding the coward comment for his comrade. “Once you calm down, I’ll release you.”

Kaylina wanted that, but she eyed the lip of the flask warily, afraid of what she would remember when her mind returned fully to her. Already, she sensed that she’d bared her soul to complete strangers, saying things she didn’t even talk about with her family. Not only strangers but pompous rangers who’d believed her guilty of a crime she’d had nothing to do with.

“Take it.” Vlerion brought the flask to her lips.

“Do it, Kay,” a new voice urged. Frayvar.

She’d forgotten he was there. He’d witnessed everything too.

She groaned, her head falling back against a hard shoulder as shame crept into her.

With her head back, she could see Vlerion’s scarred jaw, as well as the rest of his haughty face. His blue eyes were as cool and impassive as ever. Maybe he didn’t care that she’d spilled the contents of her soul. Maybe he hadn’t been listening.

With one arm still wrapped around her, pinning her against him, Vlerion tilted the flask. A tart berry juice she hadn’t had before trickled down her throat, and she had to swallow.

The fight bled out of her, the heat and energy that had filled her fading. She didn’t object to the juice. Despite its tartness, it was cool and appealing on her tongue.

Kaylina closed her eyes and slumped, briefly forgetting whose arms were around her and that she didn’t like the owner of them. As she again noticed the chill of the cell, his warmth grew appealing. A weird urge to snuggle back into him swept over her.

Her earlier feeling of being trapped disappeared, and she admitted it was nice being held by a man, a tall strong man who smelled of leather and lye soap and faintly of the crisp, snowy mountains. Maybe he wouldn’t ask her why she couldn’t be more like her sister. Maybe he wouldn’t call her sexy but frustrating. Maybe he wouldn’t say, You look so normal.

“Do you want more juice?” Vlerion’s grip loosened, but he watched her closely and didn’t yet release her.

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