Paxton’s eyes shot open in the darkened tent where he slept with the other Lochlan man, Konor. He listened intently, trying to discern what had woken him. Konor’s light snores were all he could hear now. His skin felt sticky from the perpetual moisture in the warm air. He sat up and crouched at the tent’s opening, peering out.
All he saw was darkness and trees, but his instincts were buzzing with alertness. As he turned to get his bow, something cold and metallic gripped his arm with force and yanked him. He yelled and swung out with his other arm, only to have it grabbed as well. He was held in a way that his hands could not touch anything.
He tried to fight, kicking at air and twisting his torso, until his eyes adjusted and he saw people stepping out slowly from the trees, with bows raised at him. One of them, a slight hooded figure with swaying hips, moved forward until she was feet away from him. She lifted back the hood and shook out her dark hair. Paxton’s lungs squeezed at the sight of Rozaria Rocato. Her eyes squinted and then widened as she stared at Paxton. A smile spread across her face.
“Tell me, hunter,” she said, and his hopes sank, “what brings you to Kalor?”
Deep seas . . . she recognizes me from that brief encounter on that bloody island. Ideas fired through his mind until one stuck. He thought she was probably too smart to believe him, but it was worth a try.
“Look at my hands and you will have your answer.”
Her eyes skimmed over to his fingertips and back to his face. “You took part in murdering my favorite beast.”
“I was there, aye. I intended to collect King Lochson’s prize and instate some changes from the inside. But then that fool from the coldlands got to the creature first.”
She studied him. “You would have married the girl and kept your true identity hidden in shame?”
“Not shame. Necessity. Until the king was dead and my Lashed blood was incorporated into the royal bloodlines.”
Rozaria chuckled. She slowly raised her hand to Paxton’s face and he flinched, cursing himself at the fear of her warm hand on his jaw. Without looking away from him she gave an order to her men. “Search their tents. Take any weapons.”
Curses . . . his bow and daggers!
Rozaria cocked her head, that grin of mild amusement and power still on her lips. “You fear me.” Her finger ran from under his ear to down his jawline.
By now, Konor and the Torestan campers were out of their tents, standing huddled together at sword point watching the spectacle.
Rozaria’s hands drifted downward to the knot at the neck of Paxton’s tunic. She untied it, exposing his chest. Paxton’s arms flexed and the men held him tighter. They wore some sort of metal gloves with woven links that pinched his skin.
“What is your name?” Her hands went around his throat and slid down to the tops of his shoulders, under the fabric of his tunic.
He closed his eyes, controlling every urge to fight off her men. “Paxton Seabolt.”
“Mm. Tell me, Paxton Seabolt . . .” Her hands trailed down to his chest and her palms flattened against his skin. “Where do your loyalties lie? Do not attempt to deceive me.”
He tried to calm his heart as he opened his eyes, knowing this beautiful, malevolent face could be the last thing he would ever see.
“My loyalties lie with myself.” Her palms pressed down and heated at his response. Suddenly, he could not take in air or exhale. Depths of the seas, she’s controlling my lungs! His chest and throat began to sting with the need to breathe, his heart beating too hard. And all the while she stared calmly up into his eyes. He could feel his face darkening as he dug his heels into the ground.
Rozaria’s hands cooled and eased up. Air poured into Paxton’s lungs and he gasped, slumping forward in the men’s grasp. After a few cleansing breaths his energy returned and he stood taller, facing down the woman and straining against the arms that held him. He could not afford to show fear.
“Will you make an enemy of me, Rozaria? When I am here to join you?”
Her eyes widened, seemingly thrilled by his anger.
“My loyalties have never been with the royals of Lochlanach.” He allowed his old fury against the king to rise within him, though he couldn’t seem to reach the level of rage he’d once felt, even given his circumstances. He blamed Aerity for that. He’d have to fake it. His voice rose to a shout. “What have they ever done for me? Because of them my grandmother died an untimely death, never allowed to be the person she was created to be! I refuse to let that happen to me.”
Her hands lowered. “Tell me why you have come here, Paxton Seabolt.”
“Because only you can help me achieve my goal of freedom. I want to return home someday. But I can no longer live without magic. Not since I’ve tasted it for myself. I refuse to forgo my health and die young because of a fool’s old laws.”
She grinned, a stunning upward curve of her reddened lips. “Lovely words, indeed. But I shall be keeping a close eye on you, hunter.”
“I expected nothing less. But I will prove myself to you.”
She searched Paxton’s face. Seeming satisfied, she nodded to her men and they released him. Paxton shook out his arms, a scowl on his face. It was imperative he earn her trust if he was to infiltrate her ranks, but he didn’t know what it would take to prove himself to the madwoman. One thing was for certain though—he’d do damn near anything to keep Aerity safe.