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She had no illusions about what this creature was—a beast of fangs and fur—yet she felt safe. She tilted her head to study him. Fur and a long snout with vicious teeth—a massive, wolven creature with horns worthy of a buck deer—and yet she still saw the man in armor, standing between villagers and certain death.
“I heard your call,” she said softly.
“My call?” He shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Lady. I can claim no name, and have no past. I call for no one."
"But you did." She had dreamed of this man in her tower, ached for him to come and save her. Except perhaps it wasn't she who needed saving after all. She reached out a hand, desperate to lay her fingers upon his chest. “Please.”
The monster's scarred lips twisted and he stepped back from her outstretched hand.
A fresh wave of grief washed over her. “Why do you not let me come to you?”
“You should run, lady.” A warning rumbled in its chest. “Fast and far.”
“No.” She raised her chin defiantly. “I will not leave you."
He snorted, and another flash of fang appeared in his snout. “All leave this place who can.”
“Even if I could leave, I would not. Your call spoke of pain and loss, of a life left behind. I know exactly how you feel, because I live with that same suffering every day.” Her words echoed in the barren dark, until they were swallowed by the sands beyond the cliff. “I am Maren of the Nameless. I have nothing in this world—am nothing but a tool for the bishop. I saw what they did to you, saw how you were changed. So I will stay with you.”
He looked at her, his eyes aglow with some unspoken need.
"Then you are brave, lady," he said softly. "If gravely foolish. Do you know what awaits you here?"
She nodded. "I believe I do."
"I pray you are wrong," he said. "For there is only death here."
"No." She took a step toward him, desperate to close the distance between them. The goddess had promised her hope, and she had to believe that Ceres spoke truth. "There was death. I saw it, I see it every night. But I think, perhaps, here we have a chance at something more."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "There is nothing here, lady."
"There must be," she whispered, "because I have to know."
That massive head lowered until his snout hovered before her nose. "Know what?"
She met his gaze. "If you’ve dreamed of me as many times as I have you."
Pain contorted his features. “I left my dreams with my name.”
"Perhaps. But then again, I never knew your name. I dreamed of your strength. Of your good heart and gentle soul, and that kept me safe through the coldest nights in the tower." She tentatively reached up and stroked her fingers along the fur of his cheek.
It was soft. Warm.
Somehow, perfectly hers.
He caught her wrist, his grip firm and gentle, and moved her hand away. “I would not hurt you, lady.”
Tears stung her eyes at the loss—and at the care of his hold.
It had been so long since she’d been touched with kindness. Need spiraled through her, a hot spike of longing that would not be denied. And she let out a breath as realization struck. “You would never hurt me. Not before, not now.”
"You cannot be certain," he rumbled.
Maren held his gaze. “I can. Just as I am certain this is a dream, and we are both in it.”
She closed the distance between them and laid her free hand on his chest. His body tensed beneath her touch, but he did not move away, and she reveled in the sense of power beneath her fingertips. “If you want as I want, then let us take what we will within this dream.”
Chapter Four
