Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(107)

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen her cloak,” he said. “She’s on a quest.”

Now she met his gaze, and at the sight of the moisture pooling in her eyes, the ice began to spread into his chest, cold and heavy. “And did she tell you what it was?”

“To slay the demon tusk—”

“No. Oh, Kavik. No.” She shook her head, drew a shuddering breath. “She’s here to tame the beast of Blackmoor.”

There was nothing inside him. Nothing for a long, endless beat. Then a single word, and though it screamed within him, it emerged so quietly. “No.”

“It is truth.” With arms folded around her middle, Selaq seemed to squeeze herself tight. “Osof was in the citadel’s great hall when she arrived. Barin gave to her a collar and leash. She is to bring you back to him.”

Osof. The warlord’s marshal, who’d once served under Kavik’s father. He was one of the few good men remaining in the citadel, and one of the few men whose word could be trusted. Anyone else might have twisted the story and spread a lie. But not Osof.

And so Kavik was to be tamed.

Tamed.

Pain ripped through his heart—the goddess, twisting her dagger. As forceful as a dream, sudden memories crowded his mind. The choking collar on his neck. The soldiers behind. His bleeding knees. Barin’s laughter and his father’s unseeing stare.

And Vela would put him there again? Mala would?

Temra’s fist, he could not bear it.

Selaq made a small distressed sound. She stared at him, with eyes wide and fingers twisting. “Kavik?”

Afraid. Of him. As if she could see his rage and agony and knew he was at the edge of warrior’s madness, though no revenant or blade had bitten into his skin.

But he would control this. If not the anger, then at least his flesh. “Go,” he said roughly. “I’ll be out.”

She edged to the door. “Are you staying?”

“I’ll buy a supper.”

“I can give—”

“Don’t.”

She fled. Jaw clenched, Kavik stared after her, wishing that Delan would come back for a piss now. He’d pound the man into a bloodied pulp. And the soldiers who would ride him? His blade would taste their flesh, and he would roast their tongues before they ever joked of whips and collars again.

But, no. That wasn’t who he wished to see. He wanted Mala. Vela’s Chosen. He would hear it from her own mouth. He would see the truth confirmed by her eyes.

She thought to tame him? Better to die first.

And he would never be on his knees again.





CHAPTER 4





By the hushed anticipation that fell over the soldiers when she entered the Croaking Frog, Mala knew that Kavik must have come. Still, she didn’t immediately see him, until her gaze searched the darkened corner of the common room. He sat at the end of a long table, apart from the other patrons and facing the door where she stood. His black hair only touched his shoulders now and his beard was shortened and cleaned. If not for the healing gashes on his arms and the width of his shoulders, she might not have recognized him.

Focused on his plate, he didn’t glance up as she crossed the room. He ripped away a piece of bread with stiff fingers. Oh, Vela. She hadn’t expected that this would be easy. She’d expected his anger. But what she saw in him now was different—the cold, sharp edge of rage. Her own blood and temper were hot, but she knew that ice well. He didn’t ignore her out of petulance or bad humor. He ignored her because looking at her might snap his control.

And this was the man who needed to be tamed? He had himself well in hand.

With a sigh, she pushed back the hood of her cloak and slipped onto the bench opposite him. His body tensed only for a moment before he resumed eating, his gaze cast firmly on his roasted meat. He’d bathed. And though she couldn’t be certain without glancing under the table, she thought he only wore his belt and furs, along with a leather baldric that crossed over his chest and sheathed the sword at his back.

“So you have a face under the revenants’ blood,” she said softly. And a fine face it was. Wide cheekbones, a strong nose, firm lips. But she still liked his eyes the best, though they hadn’t yet met hers this evening.

His voice like gravel, Kavik told her, “Go home”—then slipped another piece of bread into his mouth, as if she were nothing but a fly to be swatted between bites.

Her chest tightened. “You know I cannot.”

“You won’t die if you give up your quest.”

No. If Mala gave it up, she would be marked by Vela, forsaken and shunned. She would lose her place among her people. But she didn’t pursue her quest because she was afraid of failing. She needed to succeed.

“I won’t die,” she agreed. “But my people might. The Destroyer is returning. We’re ready to fight, but our numbers are so few. I’ve asked Vela to help me find the strength of ten thousand more warriors.”

“Make alliances. Pay the rest.”

“Do you think we haven’t tried? But no one is interested in coming to the aid of another country when their own people are in danger. They make vague promises at best.”

“Even Barin?”

He spoke the warlord’s name in the same way a wolf ripped a chunk of flesh from a haunch. So it was not just her quest that enraged him. He’d heard of her meeting in the citadel.