Page 18 of On Burning Paths

Fenric is also frowning.

"What other solution do you have?" I ask, and my voice comes out louder than I intended.

It's only then that I notice how close the vampire group has drifted. They’re close enough that if any of us raised our voices, they would hear every word with their acute hearing. My stomach tightens. I don't know how long they've been there, or how much they've caught, and the uncertainty of it prickles across my skin.

I glance over, meaning to look away quickly, and find Talon watching me.

Something moves between us in the space of that look. It’s not warmth, exactly, and not a threat, but something more complicated than either. The look is a particular recognition of two people who have, without meaning to, noticed each other too many times to pretend otherwise. His pale eyes hold mine for just a beat longer than they should, and then the corner of his mouth lifts, and he looks away.

I keep staring for a long minute after, my heart racing. Why does he make me feel this way?

"There must be something," Fenric says, his voice dropping into a growl, as I glance back at him once more. He squats at the edge of the field, his eyes straying to the gravestone with the berserker language again. "There must be something. Some way for us to get through this cemetery alive."

"There is," I insist, standing taller, crossing my arms instead of wrapping them around myself. "Finally I can contribute to the group, and you won't let me."

"It's not even an option," Thorian says, pointing his sharpened stick at me. "You don't know how to fight. They could come up on you⁠—"

"My instincts are sharp," I counter. "I won't let you down. I won't get you killed."

"She's right, it's the best idea we've had," Fenric says, and then immediately seems to regret it, dragging a hand over his face. "I hate that she's right. I hate this idea."

"Then we find another one," Thorian says.

"We've been trying to find another one," I say.

"Then we keep trying."

"Thorian—"

"No." The word comes out harder than the others. He turns away from me, jaw tight, and for a moment the only sound is the low wind moving through the graveyard. When he turns back, the careful control in his expression has loosened at the edges. "No. I won't send you in there to face the Ashen alone while I follow blindfolded and unable to—" He stops, then starts again, quieter. "It's not a strategy I'm willing to employ."

Fenric has gone still. He's watching Thorian with an expression I can't quite read, and then he looks at me, resignation settling across his face.

"Neither am I," he says, and his voice has lost the growl. "I don't like it either. I know you're capable. That's not what this is about."

The silence stretches between the three of us.

"Then what is it about?" I ask, though I think I already know.

Thorian lets out a long breath and drops his head into his hands.

In a flash, he's standing, wrapping his arms around me, and I'm drowning in his scent. If time had a smell, it would be that of Thorian. Leathery and bittersweet, something you can't help but lean in for.

I take a deep, full breath, wrapping my arms around him, drinking in the closeness, the real, tangible feeling of safety here with him.

“I hate it,” Thorian admits. “But it’s all we have, and it’s already dark. If we keep standing here, the gods will make us move, one way or another.”

Then Fenric is wrapping his arms around me, pulling me in close. Despite being out here in the wild, with little to no opportunities for bathing, Fenric smells fresh. Like his skin has been scrubbed, perhaps from the heat, constantly scorching him clean through.

"If we do this, you need to be careful," Fenric whispers, squeezing me, and once again the question of the kisses rises within me.

I like having his body near mine, and for a fraction of a second I let myself want what I haven't dared to want before. More time, a different world, a night without the threat of doom hanging over us where I could find out exactly what it feels like to have his full, unhurried attention. Both of their attention.

A shiver rolls through me, and I picture the naked farmhands I’d stumbled across. What would Thorian and Fenric look like naked? And then I scold myself, because my pervy mind is thinking about sexy things while we’re about to face a horror I’m not entirely prepared for. Maybe that’s why my mind goes to Fenric and Thorian. There’s safety in thinking about being in their arms, and danger all around me.

“I’ll be careful,” I manage, “but if something happens, don’t remove your blindfolds. Just crawl through—” I try to keep going, but both Fenric and Thorian have started speaking over me, as though the idea of them going on without me is unfathomable. Warmth spreads low in my belly, and I focus on that as we rip blindfolds to fashion over their eyes.

We secure the pack to Fenric’s back. Thorian grabs his spear, leaving the staff behind, and holds it at the ready. Finally, when we know we can’t keep standing there, we move to the edge of the graveyard, staring out.