Page 67 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Alaire swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t have any other choice. I need to find out what’s at the end of all this—why I was brought here.”
Without warning, she dipped a finger into the water. The boiling stopped instantly. The pool returned to its calm, reflective obsidian.
Her stomach dropped. Whatever this was, it was hers alone to face. The familiar weight of isolation settled over her shoulders.
“See?” she said without looking at him. “I have to do this on my own.”
Dawson’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. He looked like he wanted to punch something. “This is bullshit,” he muttered, aggravation bleeding through his controlled mask. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” She turned to face him.
For once, he didn’t argue, but the muscle ticking in his jaw and the way he dragged a hand through his hair revealed just how much he hated it.
His eyes tracked her every movement as she began stripping out of her leathers. The sound of fabric against skin seemed louder in the silence. She pulled off her jacket, then her boots, hyperaware of his gaze burning into her. When she looked up, his eyes were dark, hungry, taking in every inch of exposed flesh.
“You’re staring.” She arched a brow.
“At every fucking inch,” he said without apology, voice like gravel.
For once, Alaire had no retort.
She peeled off her leather pants, leaving only the thin undergarments clinging to her curves. The cool air raised goosebumps along her arms and legs, pulling her back to reality.
She stowed her clothes far from the water’s edge so she’d have something warm when she returned, then stepped to the shore. Her toes sank into the wet soil, the water frigid.
Before she could hesitate, she drew a deep breath and dove in.
“Alaire!” Dawson shouted.
The cold hit her like a wall, biting deep. She opened her eyes; the sting was immediate, but she forced herself to blink through it.
The murky water blocked the view from above. The orb’s light barely penetrated the thick seaweed forest. She swam forward until the area opened into a larger inlet.
The deeper she went, the more that eerie feeling from the clearing returned. A flicker of movement caught her eye—she wasn’t alone. Scales flashed, glittering like gems.
Out of the darkness, a creature of the deep circled her. In its webbed hands, it brandished a jagged piece of rebar, spearpoint aimed at her chest. Its garbled sounds—clicks and scratches—echoed through the water. Hair like strings of sea anemones framed eyes too large for its face.
Its tail swished as it hurtled toward her. Alaire dodged, feeling the weapon skim her ribs, tearing a slit in her thin layer. Blood streamed into the water like a red ribbon. She held her hands up in surrender, trying to show she meant no harm.
It didn’t work.
The creature drove her toward a cluster of tall seaweed, relentless. She had no weapons—only time, and that was running out. Tingling spread through her lungs.
With no other choice, she snatched a decayed, broken branch. When the mer lunged again, she thrust it forward as a shield.
A grimace of pain crossed its face. She started to swim away, but a stream of bubbles drifted past her. Turning back, she saw more bubbles spilling from its mouth in what could only be a cry of pain.
A closer look revealed its tail dragging behind, one fin stiff and unmoving. Beyond the thrashing tail, a stone slab pinned the appendage down.
Alaire’s lungs burned. To her right, she had a clear path to the oval object over which the faint orb still hovered. This was her chance.
Near the object, a cluster of small shapes huddled in moss and smooth stones. Wide eyes and spaghetti-like strands of hair marked them as tiny versions of the merfolk—babies, pressed together in fear.
A mother protecting her young.
The burn in her lungs turned unbearable. She could grab the stone and flee—it’s what a good soldier would do when given an objective. But Alaire had never been good at bowing to orders.
Plan with your head. Lead with your heart.
