Fearless (Nameless #3)(63)
For once she didn’t weigh the ramifications of her actions. Before her mind caught up with her body, she stepped closer to him, threading her arms beneath his to wrap around his torso. Trying to squeeze despair from his frame like she might extract venom from a wound.
He kissed the top of her head then pulled back a little to find her cheek. Then he paused by her lips. “I shouldn’t—there’s something … ” Then he groaned and gave into the demanding energy between them. Their lips met in a fury of need. His hands ran the length of her spine until they settled on her hips and pulled her even closer. His mouth moved with hers in earnest passion. A fire exploded in Zo’s chest, and a sense of rightness consumed her being. Whatever demons Gryphon battled, they were no match for this.
After several long, yet entirely too short minutes, Gryphon pulled away, panting, though their foreheads still kissed. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“What shouldn’t you be doing?”
He took a step back and gestured to the space between them. “Pretending like nothing is wrong.”
A heavy weight dropped onto Zo’s chest, pressing out all the wind in her lungs. “And what is wrong, Gryphon?”
Gryphon wrung his hands around the leather casing of Zo’s dagger. “Nothing you or I can fix.” He turned around and growled. “I can’t do this!”
Zo took a step back. Surprised by just how painful four words could be. Her shaking fingers hovered over lips that only moments ago confessed her feelings for the man before her. The man who admitted that, whatever his feelings for her, they weren’t enough.
Was living inside the Allied Camp so horrible? In time he might adjust. By wanting him to try, did she demand too much?
“Gryphon, I’m sorry you’re unhappy.” She wanted to reach out to him and close the disgusting space separating them. But this gap seemed much wider than just the few feet. “Once this blood oath is fulfilled, we can take Joshua and Tess and leave this place. Go wherever you want. We don’t need to live among the Wolves.” She blushed hearing the desperation in her own voice. “That is, if you still want me.” How pathetic she sounded.
Gryphon’s face turned to a mask of stone. “Where I am going, you cannot follow.”
A horn sounded in the village. At the same time one of the Laden’s runners broke through the trees, panting, with hands on knees. “The Commander needs you, Ram.”
Zo and Gryphon glanced north to the gap in the mountain, where a thin line of men jogged down from the slot canyon to the foothills.
Gryphon wouldn’t look at her. “The Raven scouts have returned. Commander Laden will be making an announcement soon. I should be with him when he does.” He offered her a sad smile. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Why bother?” Zo battled back tears. “You’re leaving.”
He offered a slow nod. “Please,” his voice broke, “forgive me.” He took off at a sprint through the trees. Never looking back.
Zo watched the place where he disappeared, feeling cold with his absence. What kind of announcement would Commander Laden make that involved Gryphon’s presence?
Too many questions. Too few answers. But one thought came to mind, louder and stronger than any horn.
I’ve lost him.
Instead of following Gryphon back to camp, Zo walked in the opposite direction along the stream. Rubbing a chill from her arms, Zo blinked back tears. Here the grass grew long, in some places as high as her knees. She kept her back to the energy buzzing around the camp and focused her attention on the persistent water rolling over and around rocks to get to its final destination at the small lake.
A breeze swept through the valley, forcing the tall grass to dance and shiver around her shins. With the breeze a rancid, stomach-churning smell drifted toward her, carried down the sloping foothill. The farther she walked away from camp the more pungent the scent became, until she was forced to cover her nose with both hands.
Zo walked faster. The hair along her forearms stood on end. The rank scent triggered a gag reflex, singeing the inside of her nose. The grass was so tall that she didn’t see the bodies until almost stepping on an outstretched arm.
The bodies of the four men were lined next to each other on the ground in a morbidly perfect row. They lay bloated, their skin a reddish-gray hue. Blood clotted in deep lacerations across each of their necks. Again, symmetrical. Though the bodies had decomposed some, it wasn’t hard to identify the four men who’d gone missing the night of the fire. The Commander’s personal guard all wore the same notches in their belts. These were Gryphon’s guards.
Zo gagged, hand still covering her mouth, as she took a step backward. The sun reflected a lone dagger staked into one of the dead men’s chest. Tied to the hilt with a delicate red ribbon was a glass bottle with a cork stopper.
In the space between heartbeats, Zo recognized the bottle. Glass the same tinted brown. The height and narrow width.
Suddenly, the careful arrangement of the men, the ribbon, the exact type of bottle Zo stole time and again from the Ram Medica to send messages down river to the Allies—it all pointed to one person.
These men were meant to be found. This bottle … this bottle was for her.
Old fear, sharp as talons, gnawed at her insides as she inched closer to the bodies. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The ground seemed to shift from side to side in a dizzying sensation. With a shaking hand, Zo reached down and tugged at the tail of the perfect red bow.