I give it another moment, until there’s a decent puddle, before I pull out a handkerchief and wrap it around her hand. The mist is so thick, I can barely make out Harlow’s face.
“Harlow.”
She blinks rapidly. “What about your family?”
“They’ll be fine, but you will not. Get on the fucking horse.”
I boost her onto Nightsong. A Drained one bursts from the shrubbery next to us and I cut through its chest with my sword. It sizzles as I hop up behind Harlow and urge Nightsong into a gallop.
My horse—or, rather, my late sister’s horse—is used to this, well-trained and guided and protected by magic. He’s warded against the Drained, but most importantly, he’s as calm as he is headstrong.
The more ground we cover, the more the mist thins. My heartbeat starts to settle, and it’s in my own body’s calming that I notice how badly Harlow is shaking. I pull her closer, trying to hug her cloak more tightly around her body. Both of her trembling hands grab my wrist, but she doesn’t pull my arm away. She clings to me.
She was so calm in the moment, but I know this response—the delayed tempest of adrenaline that comes after the body knows it’s safe. It’s born out of violence and trauma. I’ve seen it enough in those who survived the attack ten years ago. I’ve seen it enough in myself.
“It’s just shock. It’ll pass in a few minutes,” I say.
She nods once, her body relaxing into me ever so slightly. When I stroke my thumb on the back of her hand, she goes rigid again.
“I don’t need coddling. It’s just unspent adrenaline,” she snaps, scowling at me over her shoulder.
I hate that I enjoy her prickliness. It should put me off, but I either have a true death wish, or I’m twisted enough to delight in the fact that it will take time to break her. It will make besting her more satisfying. If she were some wilting flower, I would feel bad—like I was taking advantage of someone who was truly innocent in all of this. But knowing that she’s a viper in a vixen’s clothing frees me from that fear.
She shifts yet again, trying to put space between us, and I’d laugh at her stubbornness if every shift didn’t rub her perfect backside against my cock.Divine deliver me. Much as I remind myself she’s poison, my body doesn’t care. She’s going to drive me insane before we ever reach the fort.
I know it’s just the afterglow of the fight—the thrill of surviving death—that makes me want to live as hard as I can. I know the impulse to drink and fuck and carry on—to live like I’ll die tomorrow. It has nothing to do with her and everything to do with my nature and the magic humming in my body.
The forest begins to thin, and I slow Nightsong where the trail grows wider and brighter. We come around the bend, and I blow out a sigh of relief as I spot my parents, two guards, and Carter and Bryce on the trail ahead of us. I knew they’d be fine, but it’s still a relief to see them safe.
I pull Nightsong to a stop next to them. My father looks us over, sniffing the air.
“She’s hurt.” His tone is disapproving.
“Actually, she’s fine. Just eager to get off this horse,” Harlow says.
My mother’s eyebrows fly up, and she purses her lips the way she does when she’s trying not to smile. It takes me back to simpler times, when Holly would do something reckless and my mother would be trying to scold her but unable to keep from laughing.
Horse hooves pound somewhere down the trail behind us. Harlow turns and leans to peer around me as her bodyguard and the rest of our men appear.
Despite his age, Gaven looks unshaken by the battle. His clothing is splattered with dark blood, but his face is stoic.
“He lives to lurk another day,” Harlow taunts, but I can tell she’s relieved to see him.
“Onward,” my father says.
We continue down the trail at a slower pace, and Harlow’s previous terror seems to be forgotten. She looks around, peering into the forest on either side, drinking in every inch of the scenery as if it will disappear the moment she looks away. I suppose for someone who has lived her whole life behind big city walls, she’s feeling the impulse to soak it in.
The last few miles before the hill to Mountain Haven are quiet and uneventful.
“What will happen when we arrive?” she asks as we clear the forest and begin up the steep mountain trail.
“I wouldn’t expect a welcome party, if that’s what you mean. I’ll take you to bathe and you’ll have time to rest and have dinner in your rooms. You’ll be formally introduced tomorrow at dinner.”
She glances down the side of the cliff as Nightsong turns up a switchback.
“It’s better if you don’t look down,” I say.
She meets my gaze over her shoulder. “I think it’s better if I do.”
