Page 202 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

Garrik shifted, turning his head to the forest to their west. Murky, silver eyes closed, his eyes quivered underneath. Trembling for a moment as if in deep concentration, Garrik’s body tensed and relaxed with a frustrated sigh.

A scowl pulled at his brows and lips when his eyes opened, and head dropped low. With a shake of his head, a curse left his lips. “Inform them that I require a briefing when they return.”

If she could simply makeit to her tent and escape inside without a single word, that would be enough for her. The entrance was dark, and even if the darkness inside wouldn’t welcome her, it would be better than …this. Walking behind him, watching him in silence, hearing every word he was not saying to her. It was agony. Worse than any blow of Kaine’s hands.

Please, look at me.

She pleaded—pleadedwith burning eyes to the stars that he was listening. That it would be enough.

Please.Alora’s throat constricted, viciously fighting back an invading sob. Her neck tensed—her entire body tensed—with each step, with each moment of silence, and her own voice echoed in her head.

The gentle caress was nowhere. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t there.

Would he ever be there again?

The air felt heavy. She forced herself to breathe, but with every bit of air entering her lungs, the molten tears built up around her lashes until one spilled out. Then another. Until they streamed down her face.

Please, please, look at me.

Garrik’s disheveled hair was disturbed by a cold breeze. She watched each strand gently flutter in the moonlight and imagined what it would feel like in her fingers before closing her eyes and shaking the thought. His shoulders were heavy, low, as if an impossible weight was pulling him down. The same weight cascaded down his body into his slow and unsure steps. She’d never seen him walk in such a manner. So … distracted. So … unlike him. He usually carried himself in graces of unbreakable stone. The picture of perfect agility, strong minded, and unwavering strength. Butthis.

She causedthis.

Garrik had veered to their right, toward his tent. A fire was stoked and blazing, ready for their return with a pot of roasted meat, boiled potatoes in butter and herbs, and mixed greens simmering as if someone had only been there moments before tending it.

A hungry growl rippled through her stomach, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since morning. But the pain in her heart and mind ached more than the hunger ever could now. She’d rather starve.

Garrik stopped feet from her tent.

Still. He hadn’t looked at her.

That darkened pit in her empty stomach caved in on itself, gutting it wide open.

I need you to look at me. I need to know if … if I’ve lost you completely.

With a quick tug at his tunic, Garrik turned and those usually glowing, beautiful silver eyes were snuffed out completely. No luster, no shine. Like cracked dried mud or dead, spoiled meat. Lifeless, as he slowly set his eyes in her direction, focusing on her bruise.

It was like she was underwater, trying to swim, but her kicking only kept herself thrashing in that place. Her heart pounded when he lifted his hand, reaching to her cheek without a word.

And she knew by his movement, by the expressionless face and vacant eyes, that he wasn’t reaching to grip her throat. He wasn’t conspiring to meet her with a wrathful fist or leave her with the sting of a vicious slap. But on instinct, on nerves and habit alone, Alora lost her ability to breathe.

Trembling, she flinched back.

Garrik froze. As slowly as his hand was reaching for her, it retreated.

No.She saw that same look in his eyes as in the tavern.No!

Muscles shifting in his forearm, Garrik rotated his hand in front of him. Her eyes dropped to the movement, expecting Smokeshadows to appear. They didn’t. The last few days at the castle, his drunken night away, everything he used at the wall, the tavern, the street, the hovel … all of his powers had faded like the night with the gamroara.

Not a drop remained.

On blood-splattered battlefields littered with the dead, when everything had quieted and those once living were taking their final breaths, only the crumbling ash, the smell of wet iron, and burning smoke remained. The hoarse voices of warriors would whisper in their heart-wrenching victory. Only there are no winners in war. Only survivors. And his voice carried the anguish and gutted rasps all the same. “Go inside.” Garrik turned and began to walk away. “Expect Calla with healing balm tonight.”

“Please…” Alora’s voice cracked. “Don’t make me wait until tomorrow. Punish me … get it over with.” Willing every bit of that hate for Kaine into her eyes, she clenched a hand by her side, squeezing intensely until that shake disappeared. Until shewas brave enough to look at him and find that he had stopped and remained a pillar of stone there.

Garrik didn’t turn back. His hands trembled before they flexed. That hoarseness in his voice tore through the crack in her heart, for it was cold and distant yet again. “I’m far too tired for this. Go to bed.”

“You’re not going to punish me?”

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