Page 81 of White Raven

And I didn’t know which way I wanted it to land.

No, I did know. And that was what terrified me the most. I liked the blade at my neck, the idea of him undoing his trousers while everyone slept, daring them to catch us. As if he saw my deepest, darkest fantasy, sensed the forbidden thoughts in my mind, he stiffened against me and a deep guttural sound huffed from him. His gaze going back and forth between my eyes. I could see the struggle, the battle within. We didn’t move, our heartbeats hammering between us like a song. His attention traveled back down, like he was reading the symbols on my skin, seeing how deep he was already inside me.

“Fuck.” He swore, scrambling off me, his glare turning deadly. Gripping the blade until his knuckles were white, he turned, striding away, taking the heat covering my skin with him.

Staring up into the canopy of the tree, I gulped down air, my body trembling at what just happened. The deep disgrace at my thoughts, my body’s betrayal, transfigured my emotions to a need to attack, to blame him.

Climbing to my feet, I marched after Onyx through the bit of woods, away from camp, the radiance of the late twilight glowing at the horizon, cutting deep shadows over the terrain, almost disguising the few deer grazing the grass in the valley below.

Onyx stood several feet away, overlooking the basin, his hands on his hips, staring out, but I knew he wasn’t seeing the view. My ire stumbled when his shoulders curved, his head bowing. In his sleep he had mutter Móðir. Mother.

“What about your mother?”

“My mother? What about her?”

“I figure you had one. Where is she?”

“Dead.”

My feet padded over the ground, my steps almost silent, yet he didn’t look over when I stepped in next to him. He dragged in a deep breath through his nose, folding his arms.

“You have nightmares a lot?” There had been several times in the last few weeks he had woken up shouting, like his memories were assaulting him.

He shifted on his feet, his nonanswer telling me so much.

“You watched someone die?”

“I’ve watched many people die.”

“You called out for your mother.”

His muscles locked up, his shoulders expanding, his jaw locking down. A breeze drifted up from the valley and I rubbed at my arms, the chill in the air seeping through, wishing I’d grabbed the cloak forgotten back under the tree. The deer moved like ghosts over the terrain. Their ears twitching, their heads darting up, scanning the area for danger as they ate. Deer weren’t timid because of fear; they learned how to use their strength in quietness. Being alert to the signs. You didn’t have to be the loudest, biggest predator to survive, if you stayed quiet and listened. The predator would give himself away.

Onyx finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, but it felt like a scream. “I witnessed my family being murdered.”

I fought against reacting, keeping still, not wanting to startle him.

“My mother, brother, and little sister.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead as if he could scour away the memories. “I ran.”

“How old were you?”

“Maybe eight or nine.”

“You were a child.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t change anything. I didn’t try to help them. I saved myself instead.”

“Could you have?” I challenged him. “If you helped them, would you be dead now too?”

“Sometimes I think that would have been a better fate for me.”

My head snapped to him. The dire need to dispute his statement twisted my head back to the valley, staring intently at the grazing deer.

“It’s my mother’s face I remember the most,” he continued. “My brother and sisters’ last cries still ring in my head.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded his head, running his hand through his new growth over his head.