Page 60 of Deadwood
None other than Bowen entered, ducking inside, along with a gust of warm air that carried hints of cinnamon and something earthy, like wind through the pines.
My eyes grew wide as I sucked in a breath and shot up. “What if I was indecent?” I said hurriedly, pulling the blanket tighter around me. With the state my dress was in, I wasn’t far from it at this point. The rips had only gotten worse in my sleep.
Bowen ignored my question, pinning his gaze on me. “You all need to move inside.”
“We’re in our tents, are we not? This”—my eyes flicked around the small space—“is where you wanted us.”
His jaw hardened as his brows lowered slightly. I tried to avoid shifting uncomfortably. Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say.
“These storms only get worse before they get better. You and your guards won’t want to be caught in the eye of it in these flimsy tents.”
“My fiancé and his brother are here, too,” I reminded him. He had been at the ball when it was announced, and even asked me about it in my father’s castle. Bowen wasn’t blind to my engagement.
“They can take shelter, too,” he added, as if it might not have been an option for the two before I mentioned them.
“I don’t want to be far from my guards,” I added quickly. I didn’t trust anyone in Deadwood.
He raised a brow the slightest bit. “What about your fiancé? Where would you like to be in terms of his presence?”
My lips pursed together. Lander and I were only friends, so I wasn’t sure I wanted him in the same house as me for the duration of a week, let alone the same bed.
“Say the words, and I’ll place him in a separate house,” Bowen said, his voice deeper this time.
“We don’t sleep in the same bed.” Shame filled me with the statement. The fact that I even had to tell Bowen that at all was embarrassing. He didn’t need to know anything about me and Lander.
His eyes scanned my face, looking for something, though I wasn’t sure what. “He’ll go to a different house, then.” With that, he turned, reaching for the flap.
“Wait.”
He looked over his shoulder, waiting for me to continue.
“Are there more…dragons out there?” What if the storm somehow confused them, and they came here? Or worse, were they already around Deadwood?
Displeasure filled his features before he said, “They will not harm you.”
Then left.
* * *
The wind stormhad picked up immensely in the past twenty minutes, making it impossible to break down the tents. I’d quickly refilled a fire vial before leaving my tent, not knowing when the next opportunity would come to use my power. We’d decided to leave the tents, as watching the injured guards attempt to break them down alongside Paxon, Lander, and myself was proof enough that it’d be no use fighting the flimsy fabric. Hodge, one of Deadwood’s guards, had shown me to a small, two-story house. The guards were placed in a similar sized home to the right of mine, and on the other side was Lander and Paxon.
Though my room was upstairs, I stayed seated on the couch in the living area, listening to the wind howl outside. I’d never seen a storm this bad in Amosite, but with each biome came different weather conditions. Lander had mentioned that dust storms typically sprouted in the desert, and this seemed to be the beginning, before the worst of it arrived.
A knock sounded at the door, and I left the couch, walking over to open it. Warm wind blasted me where I stood, staring at the blonde-haired woman standing before me wearing a light coat with the hood up. She immediately pushed her way in once the door was cracked.
“That wind is terrible,” she said as I started to close the door, but a hand shot out to stop it. A man, wearing similar clothing as the woman, slid in and shut it for me.
“Uh…” I started, unsure who these people were and why they were in here.
“Oh, my bad,” the woman said with a smile, dropping a beige sack on the ground before removing her hood. Her long hair flowed down her back, and with the lanterns now illuminating her face, I noticed freckles spattering the bridge of her sun-kissed nose, making her teal eyes pop. “I’m Siara, and this is Flynt.”
I glanced at the man, who stood a few inches taller than Siara. He was wearing black pants and an ivory long sleeve, the top of the v-neck exposing some of his tan chest, the hood pulled up halfway over his head. The ends of his shaggy hair—a few shades darker than Siara’s—sprouted out from the fabric.
“Excuse her. She’s a bit pushy,” Flynt said, side-eying Siara.
“Am not,” Siara defended, her eyes narrowing. “He’s just shy.”
Flynt crossed his arms, frowning at her. “I can’t beshyas Bowen’s right-hand man.”
