Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(115)

But it mattered not. “It isn’t the same, warrior. The taming is not what you think. There will be no collars or leashes. I would never be so cruel to anyone. So I have faith that Vela won’t ask it of me.”

Kavik didn’t look as convinced.



MALA’S stomach was grumbling when they stopped for the night in the shadow of the mountains.

“I’ll cook,” she told Kavik, and was glad when he didn’t argue. They’d only caught a few snakes and lizards that day, and she suspected by the meager amount of his possessions that he typically shoved a blade through their stomachs and roasted them.

Though no longer raining, the ground was sodden and the horses soaked. Mala tended to the animals while Kavik built the fire, then wished she hadn’t sent them to graze so quickly when a fat crescent moon shone through thin clouds, shedding weak light over the valley below and the ribbon of muddied road winding through it.

“Is that a village?” A ring of shadows lay in the distance—if she wasn’t mistaken, that was a village wall. “Should I have Shim herd the horses back this way? Perhaps we can find an inn.”

“We can’t.”

She glanced back. Their tinder was dry and had started well, but the peat he’d added to the flames was slightly damp. The fuel smoldered, the thick smoke obscuring Kavik’s face, but she couldn’t mistake the bleakness of his reply.

“You patronized an inn in Perca. An innkeeper has to take you in. Surely Barin doesn’t punish them for it?”

“He already did. All of them. There’s no village there anymore. He razed it to the ground.”

Stomach tightening, she looked across the distance again. “Why?”

“We aren’t far from where my men and I fought the demon tusker. Most of us were injured. The villagers took us in. They tended to us. And they all died for it.”

The tension in her gut rolled into a sick ball. He didn’t glance up when she crouched next to him, his gaze fixed on the tiny, flickering flames beneath the heavy peat. She studied his strong profile, remembering the matted tangle of his hair, his long beard. That hadn’t just been because he’d been doused with revenant blood. Unable to abandon the people in this cursed land, and unable to reside among them, he’d chosen to live like this instead. Not just while on the road, as Mala did. But all the time, except for when he escorted others to the bridge.

“So you became the beast of Blackmoor,” she said. And she’d been sent to tame him.

As if reminded by the name, he finally glanced at her. “I did.”

Determination had hardened his expression again. She met his gaze with iron in her own.

“We will see Barin dead.”

“You’re favored by the goddess. Perhaps you’ll find a way that I could not.” Abruptly he stood. “But it is too late for them.”

Mala knew that well. Even if she completed her quest, Vela’s help would come a generation too late for thousands of Krimatheans. “We help those we can, warrior.”

He only shook his head and retrieved the lizards lashed to his saddle. With a sigh, she concentrated on encouraging the fire. The weight of hope for her people couldn’t compare to the burden of death that he bore. But Mala would know that burden if she failed her quest.

It would not be completed tonight, however, so she focused on what could be done. Such as skinning lizards. She was too hungry to wait for a stew, so she stuffed them with yellow peppers and sweetroot before laying them in a clay pot, filling the remaining space with ale, and setting the pot in the fire. It would be a hearty meal, especially after adding tender slices of the opossum she’d smoked throughout the previous night. She would do the same for the snakes this evening—they were better eating on the road.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. Kavik had already gathered their sleeping furs and saddles, and he joined her by the fire. He glanced into the crackling flames. Fragrant steam was slipping from the pot. He leaned over and breathed deep before settling down beside her.

She passed him the wineskin of ale. “I hope that you are weak-minded and easily led by your stomach.”

His grin seemed to increase the heat from the fire. She watched his throat as he drank, slipping her fingers down the length of her own. Mala wouldn’t touch him now, not without permission. Oh, but she could imagine so well.

She needed a deep drink when he returned the ale, aware that Kavik watched her mouth, and of the slide of his gaze down her body.

It came to a rest at her hips. “You wear your mother’s trophies.”

The jawbones suspended from her belt. An outdated tradition, but one that Mala was glad to carry on. At least for these.

“I do.” She took another drink, regarding him curiously. He’d spoken as certainly about their origin as if he’d seen her mother wearing them. “How did you know they were hers?”

He looked into the fire. “They’re old. And I think you would be wearing many more.”

So she did. Many more eyeteeth studded her belt. But she only said, “One is my father’s.”

His eyes met hers again. “They were the Destroyer’s men?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head back, looked up at the moon. Her mother had told her it had been full that night. Vela had seen it all, but there had been no help for Krimathe. “I’m fortunate that most of my traits resemble my mother’s, because they must have been the stupidest of soldiers. They turned their backs on her when they’d finished.”