Page 163 of Upon Buried Embers
“Tell me who upset you, Little Whisperer. Tell me and I will remove them.”
Her eyes flutter open, the green in them duller than normal, and my chest tightens.
“Please tell me who hurt you, who made you scream like that?”
“Rohan?” she mumbles, and the way she says my name—like it means something—has my nostrils flaring.
“I’m here.”
“You… are?”
“Always.” She hums. “Hush, rest.”
“I want it off.” Her eyes flutter closed.
“What?” No answer. “What do you want? Tell me and I will give it to you.”
“Off…”
My brows furrow as her breathing evens out.
She’s asleep.
My eyes drift down to the scratches below her chin and top half of her neck and my jaw ticks.
She wants it off, I realize.
The collar.
I curse and stand, chest heaving.
Why the fuck haven’t I found a way to take it off of her yet.
I stride to the flap, throwing it open. “Drogonah!” I shout, and my clan tenses looking to the sky, before Drogonah lands behind my tent in the space available. I grab my axe and go to him, holding it out. “Heat it.”
I hold it out and Drogonah grumbles, but he opens his mouth and fire bursts free in a controlled stream, hitting on one side of my axe.
As soon as the metal turns red with heat, unable to melt because of Drogonah’s scales fused within the metal, I go back to my tent, calling for Calian and Kaldar.
“What’s wrong?” Kaldar asks when he appears.
“I need you to hold her down.”
“What?”
“Hold her down.”
Thirty nine
Elf
Pressure on my arms has my eyes blinking open as my head is turned to the side. I try to figure out where it’s coming from.
“What…” I mumble, sleep clearing.
“Still, Elf, it’ll only take a moment.”
Vision clearing, I’m instantly alert when I see the red-hot blade from the corner of my eye. I start to panic, thrashing in their hands.
