Page 21 of Bound By the Beast Man
“A room,” I said. “And food. And privacy.”
The innkeeper wisely asks no questions. He leads us to a small, clean room at the back of the inn. I lay Diana down on the straw-tick mattress, the first soft bed she has known in years. I stand over her, watching her face in the last light of the day. She is safe. For now. But as I lean my aching body against the wall, I am faced with a new battlefield. Here, in his room, my duties are at war. I must protect my mate, whose magical trace is now an active threat again. I must find my brothers. And I must find a way to Northern Rach. My three-fold duty tugs at my soul—to my mate, to my brothers, and to my king—is a crushing, impossible burden.
30
DIANA
Iwake slowly, drifting up from a deep, dreamless darkness. My first sensation is one of profound confusion. I am warm. I am comfortable. The surface beneath me is soft, yielding, and a heavy blanket is tucked securely around my shoulders. The air smells of old woodsmoke and clean linen, not the damp, cold earth of a cave. For a moment, I am convinced that I have died, that this strange, peaceful warmth is some form of afterlife.
I force my heavy eyelids open. I am not in a cave. I am in a small, rustic room, the weak morning light filtering through a single, grimy windowpane. My last memories come rushing back in a chaotic flood: the battle in the snow, the terrifying surge of power through my veins, the feeling of utter depletion as I collapsed. I remember the safety of Corvak’s arms, and then nothing. He brought me here. He brought me to a real room, with a real bed.
I push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest, a deep, aching soreness settling into my bones. And then I see him. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me, his broad shoulders slumped in exhaustion as he gazes out the small window. I see the fresh, crude bandage on his forearm where Iwounded him, and the darker, more serious stains that mar the back of his tunic from the wounds he took in the fight.
He is hurt. He is hurt because of me.
He turns as he senses me stirring, his bronze-gold eyes full of a weary relief. It’s clear he has not slept at all, and spent the entire night watching over me. Before he can speak, before I can even properly process my own situation, the words are tumbling out of my mouth, my voice a raw, raspy whisper.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
A strange sound rumbles in his chest. It takes me a moment to recognize it as a soft, tired laugh, a sound of pure disbelief. He shakes his head, a faint, wry smile touching his lips.
“I am alive,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion. “Thanks to you.”
I stare at him, confused. My memory of the end of the fight is a blur of light and terror and then nothing.
“The things you do not remember…” he begins, his voice gentle. “You saved us, Diana. Your magic… it was like nothing I have ever seen. You turned two of them to stone. The others fled from you in terror.”
I listen in stunned silence, my mind struggling to comprehend his words. I did that? I, who have spent years as a helpless prisoner, wielded a power that made my captors flee in terror? I try to reconcile the memory of my own paralyzing fear with his description of my immense power, and I cannot. It feels he is talking about someone else, some powerful, mythical warrior, not me. He tells me how he carried me through the snow, how he found this village, this inn. He tells me we are safe, at least for now. The Purna are gone. I am free.
After Corvak finishes his story, a new kind of silence settles in the small room. It is the silence of an ended war, the quiet that follows a storm. I give thanks that I am not in a cage. I am not being hunted. I am not a specimen being observed.
I am simply a woman, in a warm room, and I am free. The feeling is so vast, so overwhelming, it is almost as terrifying as the imprisonment was. It is a wide, open space after a lifetime in a cramped, dark cell, and I do not know how to move in it.
Relief washes over me, it is intense beyond belief. But right behind the relief, a new kind of fear begins to creep in. Uncertainty. What happens now? Where do we go? My old life, my village, my family—they are all gone, turned to ash and memory. The Purna are still out there somewhere, and their hatred for me will only have intensified. And the shadowy entity that commands them, the true source of all my pain, is an even greater, unknown threat.
My gaze finds Corvak. He is the only solid thing in my new, uncertain world. My past is a graveyard, and my future is a terrifying, unknown path shrouded in mist. But as I look at him, at the steady, unwavering loyalty in his eyes, I realize that I am not walking that path alone. My newfound freedom is immense, a burden that is both glorious and terrifying. But as I meet his gaze, I feel strong enough to bear it.
31
CORVAK
Iwatch her sleep. In the safety of the small inn room, with a locked door and a warm fire, the lines of tension and fear that have been etched onto her face for so long have finally begun to soften. She looks younger, more peaceful, and the sight of it is a balm to my weary soul. I have done this. I have brought her to a safe harbor, a place where she can rest and heal from the horrors she has endured. The thought brings a fierce, protective satisfaction that is quickly soured by the crushing weight of my own duties.
Now that the immediate danger has passed, now that she is safe, my thoughts inevitably return to the men I failed. I see their faces in my mind: Silas, Tarek, Caspian, Ronan, Lucaris. My brothers. We swore an oath on the deck of that doomed ship, an oath of reunion, and I have broken it. While I have been focused on saving Diana, they could be wounded, captured, or dead, their bodies lost to this hostile, unforgiving land. My honor demands that I find them, or die trying.
I stand and walk to the small, grimy window, looking out at the snow-covered village. A painful, necessary conclusion settles in my heart. I cannot stay here. I must continue north. I mustfind my brothers. I tell myself that leaving Diana here is the only logical choice. She will be safer in this village, away from the dangers that lie ahead. I will leave her enough silver to last for months. I will tell her I will return. It is the honorable thing to do. And the thought of doing it feels like tearing my own heart from my chest.
Diana wakes a few hours later. When she sees the tray of food the innkeeper has left—thick stew, fresh bread, and cheese—her eyes well up with tears. It is the first real meal she has had in years, and the simple, domestic act of sharing it with her in the peace of the room makes what I am about to do feel even more monstrous. We eat in a comfortable silence, a fragile peace I am about to shatter. I wait until she is finished, until some color has returned to her cheeks, before I speak.
“Diana,” I begin, my voice sounding rough and unfamiliar to my own ears. “I cannot stay with you.”
Her head snaps up, and mixture of shock and a deep, wounded confusion on her face. I force myself to meet her gaze, to be the disciplined soldier I was raised to be.
“I swore an oath to five other men,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “My brothers. We swore we would reunite in Rach. They could be wounded, captured… they could be dead, and I am here, safe. My duty as their leader, my honor, demands that I find them. And our mission from my King is there, in the north. I must go.”
I stand and pace the small room, unable to sit still under the blanket of her stare.
“You will be safer here,” I reason, the words feeling like a lie even as I say them. “You can rest, recover your strength. To follow me would be to walk into even greater danger. I will leave you with enough coin to last until I can return for you.”
