Page 40 of A Chill in the Flame
“I don’t care what you do with your monster. But if you don’t get rid of it, it’s going to hurt someone.”
She looked at the snake. It opened its mouth again with the same venom-drenched fangs. She realized somewhere deep in her gut that it had not been trying to hurt her. It had merely shown her what she had manifested, down to the very last drop. The creature had been following its maker, not attacking.
“Go back to the cave,” she said uncertainly.
It tasted the air once more before turning and slithering away. With the snake gone, she could focus. It had barelybegun its retreat before the princess turned her attention to the stranger.
“What the hell!” She gagged on the taste of salt as she stared up at the man. A wave splashed against them as its white foam raced up the sandy beach, and she winced as the salt filled the open gash on her leg. They were off the danger of the rocks and cliffs, but there was still a stretch of sandy beach before they could make the climb toward the castle.
He grabbed for her shirt, and she started to fight him.
“Don’t move,” he grumbled, procuring a small knife, stilling her with the pressure of one hand.
“Stop!” She panicked, trying to twist away from his knife.
“I’m trying to help you. Hold the fuck still.” The man held her prone as he cut a strip of cloth from the base of her shirt, ripping the white fabric cleanly so it scarcely hung from her breasts to the top of her belly. He tied the fabric tightly above her wound to create a tourniquet. “You’re losing a lot of blood. We have to get you back to the castle.”
“Who are you?”
“Can we talk about that after we’ve stitched you together?”
The adrenaline had not yet leached from her body. Her teeth began to chatter as she shivered. “No. I want to talk about it now! I want to know why strangers are always pulling me out of the water outside of my castle.”
He was not smiling, though his tone held an undercurrent of distant amusement. “Probably because you keep throwing yourself in the ocean. Are you going to get up or am I going to have to carry you?”
She glared through the salt and pain. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.”
Twenty
The stranger did not pick her up as one might a damsel ina fairytale but threw her over his shoulder as if she were a root vegetable sack at the whims of a working hand. Ophir shrieked with every drop of obstinance she possessed. She kicked with her good leg, but he tightened his grip, immobilizing her efforts for defiance. She attempted to beat at his back, but he only chuckled at her while walking up the beach and toward the narrow, hidden walkway that might return them to the tunnels.
She called a ball of flame and thrust it into his back. He growled, lowering her to the ground rather indelicately so that she bounced on her bottom. He grabbed her roughly by the arms. His dark eyes, the swimming, interwoven colors of coffee and earth and coal, burned into hers as he growled, “Fine. Die out here.”
She stared back at him with wide surprise, her eyes grazing over her unnamed savior. There was something familiar about him. He was on one knee, wiping salt water from his face while she examined him. His eyes, his dark hair, his tattoo…
“You’re him.”
He stood, seemingly understanding what she’d meant. “Yes. I’m the one who saved your ungrateful ass from the tide.I’m sorry to be the one to let you bleed to death on the beach.”
“You were the one at the party. You were there. You tried to get me out of Berinth’s house.”
His voice stayed level. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ophir attempted to get to her feet, wincing as every part of her ached. Terrible pain lanced through her. She was pretty sure she’d broken her kneecaps, though they were probably just bruised to oblivion. Her head throbbed from where it had been bashed against the cliff. Her vision dimmed from the blood loss. “You might want to do a better job hiding your tattoo if you’re going to lie about your identity.”
She tried to take a step but swayed, tumbling downward.
A strong hand shot out and caught her before she bit the sand with her full body weight. Her cheek pressed into the fine grit of the beach. From where she tasted shells and rocks, she heard the male voice above her ask, “Are you ready to stop being difficult?”
She didn’t have the energy to fight him. “Take the entrance by the rowboats. There’s a tunnel system—”
“I know.”
She shook her head. “No, the wine cellar—”
“Has a passage to your room. I know.”
