Page 33 of Shadowlands Omega

Hesitation. So much of it. Finally followed by a warbled, “Yes.”

“Very well. Kiandah.”Kiandah. It does things to me when he says my name. Makes me want to dole out praise and issue commands that I know he’ll want to obey.

“My Lord.” I’m surprised that my voice comes out whole, rather than in tattered pieces.

“Can you stand?”

Choked with fear and emotion, I don’t dare bet I’ll have the same luck speaking as I did before. So I nod rapidly.

“Rise.”

I stand up. I have to fight my way there, but after an eternity, I make it onto my feet. I don’t want him to see how ragged I look. I know he will, but maybe it’s that I just don’t want tosee himsee it. I keep my gaze trained on the axe in the road.

He doesn’t say anything for a prolonged moment. “Can you walk?”

I nod.

“Come stand behind me. I want you to face the keep and continue to face it. Don’t turn around, no matter what you hear.”

I take a step, but his cloak is soaked through with mud and weighs a bloody ton. My left knee gives out on my second step and I collapse onto the bank of the road, my feet still in mud, but my hands finding dry, packed earth. I lurch forward, determined, but when I find my feet — on the road this time — one of them is bare. I lost Owenna’s shoe, but I’m not going back for it. I keep my chin tucked, my gaze down, my hands fisted, my arms tucked tight against my sides. I lurch up the hill, where he told me to go, but before I can take another step, a shadow falls over me. I know it’s the Lord of them. He looms larger than he ever has before.

I flinch back and continue to tremble as his massive hands reach for the pin at my throat that chokes me. “I’m sorry…for your cloak. I’ll…repair…” I whisper.

“Shh.” His voice is sharp and he presses his thumb against my lips. His fingers slip under my chin and he tips my face up. I close my eyes so as to avoid his gaze. Not that it helps. I can feel the soft burst of his rage. It puffs out of him like a cloud and envelops me completely, even as his other hand drops to the cloak and, ignoring the pin entirely, rips it free. It hits the ground with a thwunk and I feel a thousand pounds lighter. But I don’t stand up any taller. If he’d let me, I’d hide beneath the cloak he let fall. Instead, his hand on my chin doesn’t relent. He tips my face back, then to the left and the right. He inspects me all over. I can feel the cold sweep of his gaze.

“Which of these injuries did this Rider here cause?”

I gasp, “None.” But my hands move to my stomach.Why did I do that? It came so involuntarily.

Lord Yaron rumbles deep in his chest. He closes the distance between us by half and we were already standing so close. His huge hand caresses the outside of my tunic — his tunic. He presses his full palm against my stomach. I inhale and can’t stop my eyelids from fluttering open. I look up, meeting his gaze directly, drawn there by something unearthly. He’s looking right at me, too. His expression is terrifying. So cold. So emotionless. I cannot see rage there, but I can feel it. He cannot conceal that. It pulses in waves that come thicker and thicker. Too thick to breathe through.

“You do not lie to me,” he says.

I wither. “I’m sorry.”

“Where did he hurt you?”

Tears well in my eyes. Not because I’m scared, even though I am that, too. So many people hurt me today. I didn’t expect it. I should have, but I’m naive and an idiot. I didn’t do anything wrong. And these aremypeople. My fellow villagers. My neighbors and friends. Why can’t they see that? I am not my family.I am not my family?The thought stutters and stops short and I’m not given time to inspect it further when Lord Yaron prompts, “Kiandah, speak to me.”

His storm cloud eyes are so deliriously spellbinding. And not just because of their color, their shape, the inky black lashes that frame them. Because they look at me like he sees me and the shape of my soul, all the colors of my heart. Beneath my fingertips, I feel the pull of a distant magic beat like a pulse.

“Just my stomach,” I whisper, voice barely there. “He grabbed me too hard when he was carrying me from the village…” I rub my hand over the back of his. His hand on my stomach tightens. I can feel it tense beneath my touch. “And here…” I lift my hand to my cheek. “He slapped me.”

Yaron’s nostrils flare. His gaze is pure brutality, there’s no other way to describe it. But I don’t wilt this time when that shadowy grey gaze slams into me. I want to, but the warm pressure of his hand on my stomach grounds me. “And your other injuries?”

“Other people in town… I thought I could talk to them, but they’re too angry.” I lick my lips. They feel swollen and taste like blood and dirt. I look like hell and I’m embarrassed. I want to reach up and touch my hair, wipe the shit off of my scalp, but my hands are shaking too badly and I know anyways that it wouldn’t help.

“It’s not their fault.” I move my hand back over Yaron’s. His fingers flex and tense. His body looms closer. We are inches apart. Close enough that our noses would press together if we were the same height.

Yaron drops his tone and speaks loud enough only for me to hear. “And Ugaros? Was the fault his?”

I know what he’s asking and it’s not fair. “I’m no justice dealer, Yaron.”

His eyes widen, his pupils flare. “Answer me, Kiandah.”

“Don’t make me hurt anyone. Ask anything of me, my Lord, but not that. Please, not that.”

He releases a harsh roar and pulls away from me so quickly, I sway into his vanishing warmth. “Then I will draw my own conclusions and make his suffering a thousand times worse than what you feel he deserves.”

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