Page 49 of Unlikely Omega

A female guard.

Ileni and Dari are women.

“It’s dangerous, what you are, they’re right.”

But now I turn toward the door and the flap is pulled back, letting in a bruised and pissy-looking Finnen, his wrists bound in front of him, the same female guard who stopped me from leaving shoving him inside.

“Finn!” I’m so relieved, I throw my arms around him, and it takes me a long moment to realize he’s gone stiff as a plank against me. “You’re okay.”

“Ariadne.” His voice has dropped to barely a whisper. “Did that bastard touch you? Did he do anything to you? I’ll fucking kill him.”

“I’m fine. He didn’t. You—”

“I came to warn you about the riders, but I was too fucking late. It’s my fault.” His voice cracks. “All this is my damn fault.”

I pull back. “Forget it. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. And how did you know about the riders?”

He swallows, the knot in his throat working. “I felt it through the ground. Those who got you were scouts, the Commander says. More were coming. Many horses. Many riders.”

“An army.” I nod. “This army. What is an army doing, wandering the countryside?”

“They aren’t wandering,” Finn says, wavering on his feet. “They’re heading somewhere. Ah fuck…”

I catch him as his knees give way. “Finn!”

“I’m okay.”

We go down together. “Sweet Goddess, Finn! You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine, just…” He winces, his face white as milk. “Need a moment.”

His skin is ice-cold, his lips almost blue. Anger is building inside of me. I grab his cold hands, start work on the knot of the rope tied around his wrists. “Did anyone take a look at your head, where they hit you?”

“I said I’m fine,” he grinds out and strains as he climbs back on his feet. “Back off.”

Stubborn as a mule, that man. Not accepting even the smallest gesture of concern from anyone. It should anger me but instead, it makes me sad and I don’t know why.

“We have to take our clothes off to warm up.” I finally manage to undo the knot and untie his hands. I throw the rope away and untie his belt. The small buttons on the side of the robe almost defeat my frozen fingers but I clench my teeth and keep going until I get them undone. I push the garment off his shoulders. “Come on.”

“I taught you that,” he mutters and he still looks and sounds dazed, and I’m once more caught in a state of shock at the sight of his sculpted chest.

Until I notice the black and blue splotches of bruises, some very definitely boot-shaped, the scratches and the gash in his side that’s still oozing blood, and rage consumes me.

“Those bastards,” I fume as I push the robe down his arms, finding more bruises, more cuts. In the light of the flickering flames, I map the damage done to him by the clergy back at the fort and then by his fight with the riders.

He shrugs my touch off after a moment. Starts working on getting the rest of the robe off him.

“Why won’t you let me help?” I ask, exasperated when he stops, hissing, his face paling more.

“I don’t want your help. You should help yourself.”

Stung, I lean back. “You came riding to save me, but I’m not allowed to help you undress?”

“This is such bullshit,” he mutters, fighting with the robe, finally tearing it off him, remaining in his soaked undergarments. He’s panting, blind eyes glittering. “A mistake.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” He laughs, and it’s very different from the commander’s amused, indulgent chuckle. This sound is dark and raw. “You’re asking me what is wrong? I’m a gods-damned priest, accused of consorting with Fae blood, maybe of being a Fae-blood myself, or answering to the unnamed god, and not only am I on the run from the Temple but my body has betrayed me, just like I betrayed…” He draws an uneven breath. “Fuck.”

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