She looked into his wide, green eyes. He looked so scared and helpless lying there. She held her hand out toward him, although she wasn’t sure what for. All she knew was he needed her, and she needed him.
As her arm hovered in the air—a lifeline between them—they locked eyes, and something tensed and hummed in her chest. Someone spoke, but she couldn’t hear the words over the buzzing in her ears. There was movement, and she was suddenly yanked up off the ground, forcing her eyes away from Jaren.
“I’ve got her. Get rid of him, and let’s go.”
Oh gods, they were going to take her away. No, they couldn’t, she couldn’t leave him. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Veralie started kicking and thrashing, tearing her fingernails into whatever pieces of skin she could reach.
Her foot connected with the male holding her. She must have hit something important because his grip loosened, and he spit a vulgar name at her. She fell to the ground, her shaky legs unable to catch her.
Something glinted in her peripheral, and she dove without hesitation, wrapping her tiny fingers around it just as the male angrily snatched at her again. He grabbed her by the ankles, and she cried out when his grip felt like it was crushing bones.
“Veralie!”
Jaren’s voice cut through her pain, and she twisted her body, lashing out with the dagger and slicing into the wrist that held her. The male released her with a curse, only to backhand her across the face.
The hit vibrated through her skull, and for a moment she thought she might vomit. He leaned over her, trying to steal the dagger, but she clutched it with all her strength.
His mean sneers were nowhere to be seen, just pure hatred as he grabbed her wrist and squeezed. She felt a snap, and she screamed as she futilely tried to pull away.
Too late, Veralie realized she’d inadvertently yanked the blade back toward herself. The world seemed to move in slow motion as her fingers loosened around the handle, and the dagger dropped; fire exploding at her throat.
Angry shouts rang out above her, but her mind was no longer capable of focusing on the words. She wanted to turn and see Jaren, but her body wouldn’t obey. A deafening roar split the air, stabbing into her ears, and she swore the ground beneath her shook.
Jaren.
Veralie’s thoughts grew fuzzy. As the searing pain increased, she struggled to control her thoughts. She was so cold.
She needed to get to Jaren. She needed—
Chapter 1
VERA
Fifteen years later
Holding a hand to her chest and gasping for breath, Vera lay sprawled across the ground in an undignified heap.
“Lay there any longer, and I’m going to assume you’ve fallen asleep.”
Scowling, she looked up at the man leaning over her with a sword in his hand. “Stand there any longer, and you’re going to join me.”
He opened his mouth for a retort, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction. Twisting her legs, she kicked out, knocking his right out from under him. She rolled to the side to avoid being crushed by the bulk of his body and heard the satisfying humph he made as his back collided with the floor. She glanced over and laughed at the expression on his face.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he huffed as he tried to regain his breath.
“You’re not old, Elric. I’m just better.” Grinning, she attempted to jump to her feet, only to plop back down on her ass when the world spun slightly.
“I think you knocked my head loose with that last hit.” She rubbed her temples, groaning, before pushing onto her feet again.
“You depend too much on your opponent fighting fairly. You must expect the unexpected hits too.” He looked at her sternly, “Although if it makes you feel better, I did feel like a heathen for landing a hit to your face.”
Vera chuckled as she helped him up. Elric was getting old, but he still had the corded muscle and skill of many guards half his age. “Another round?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“No, it’s already later than I’d like. You need to get back inside and clean up.”
He moved to rub his hand across his head. He’d recently cut his dark, coarse hair close to his scalp and sometimes still absentmindedly reached up as if to push phantom braids away from his face. He paused, glaring at the appendage as if its instinctual movement offended him. She fondly shook her head.
“I know, Elric. Never hurts to ask.” She offered a small smile and, snatching up their swords, set off toward the armory that bordered one side of the yard.
The morning air was crisp and cool against her damp, clammy skin. The best part about working alone in a grimy shop was not worrying about what smells came from the equipment, and what came from her body.
She rubbed the back of her wrist against her throbbing cheek again. She couldn’t do anything about the bruise that was sure to be there, but she could at least wash the grime from her face.
Closing the door of the armory behind her, Vera leaned back against the frame and sighed. She’d give anything to be allowed to stay out and train with the men, but it was a hopeless notion.
She walked past the racks of weapons waiting to be sent off, the smell of sweat and metal berating her senses. As she placed the dull-edged, sparring swords in their barrel, she was hit with a feeling she could only describe as claustrophobic. She closed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks with a rough exhale.
Ever since she could remember, this had been her sanctuary, but lately she’d started feeling more confined than safe, like the walls were closing in.
When she wasn’t meandering around their cramped living quarters, she was in the workroom handling weapons. Elric typically only allowed her outside in the first few hours of the morning to train, and sometimes in the afternoons if he needed help with something. She was never, under any circumstance, allowed to leave the training yard unsupervised.
She used to take solace in the walls of weapons, but now the lack of freedom and limited sunshine just felt suffocating.
She should be happy. Life was easy here. Simple. Vera knew what was expected of her and what each day would bring. The less she left the armory, the less attention she attracted, and the less attention she attracted, the safer she remained.
She had limited memories of life before being Elric’s ward. It had simply been too long ago, and she’d been too young. The few memories she did have usually bombarded her while she slept, blending until she couldn’t tell what was real and what was imagined.
Some nights she dreamed of a beautiful woman, curled up in a chair, reading stories. She never could remember the stories themselves, but Vera often woke swearing she could hear an echo of the woman’s laugh still ringing in her ears. Sometimes she dreamed of running through stone corridors, adrenaline pumping through her veins at the thrill of being caught.
But some nights, she’d have nightmares so real she could smell blood and feel the heat of a pair of bright green eyes staring at her before waking up with her heart lodged in her throat.