There was a sharp tug on her sleeve, and Amana looked down into the eyes of a little girl, beautiful and precious, five or six or seven. The girl’s gold eyes were shiny and solemn, and red hair cascaded down her back. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, in a tone too old for someone who should only know innocence.
“No. She shouldn’t.” This voice was a terrible ricochet, a mix of deep dark magics that swept through her with fiery vengeance. Amana turned to witness the visage of a barbarian warlord, his presence terrible and ferocious, his silver-green eyes tearing through her, and this…this was the monster under the bed, the phantom shadow that clung to each dark place, every primal fear humans fought against and lost. She shut her mouth tight against the pleading, blubbering mess that threatened to erupt under that gaze. “You dare much, Dream Crafter. Your predecessors would never have moved against me so.”
Swallowing was impossible, her throat parchment dry. Speaking, questioning, neither were desired. She wanted escape, wanted free from his gaze, from the terrible things promised in every lash of his eyes over her.
He moved forward, creation and destruction cycled in every step. “Do you expect me to leave such a challenge unanswered? You approaching mine?”
Even as prayers begging to live circled through her brain, the man looked down. Beside him, the little girl now stood. Her hand was in his, and those big, bright eyes were locked on him.
He gentled under her gaze. Still looking at the girl, he said, “Leave, Dream Crafter. Know death will be a blessing should you ever return.”
“Amana!”
Her throat was sore, and only as she awoke did Amana hear herself screaming, but she couldn’t stop it, not yet, not with that man’s eyes still vivid in her mind.
“Amana, you’re safe. You’re safe.” The words were still being said as she flung her arms around Merc, burrowing close and using him to ward off the terror of those last moments. “You’re here, and I’ll protect you. Shhh.”
“I can’t go back. Please, I can’t go back. I can’t.” She was babbling, but her brain was on auto and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t rationalize, couldn’t command herself to return to reality. “Please don’t make me go back. I can’t.”
“No, no.” He held her closer, bringing her into his lap like a child. “I swear, you never have to go back.”
He rocked her, holding her close, shhing and whispering in her ear, gentle sounds and quiet commands, and let her cry on him until she had cried herself out.
As the last of the fear faded, embarrassment came hard and fast to the foreground. Amana wiped at her eyes with ineffectual swipes of her hands. “That’s embarrassing,” she said, the comment not as effective as maybe it could have been if she wasn’t still sniffling and wiping at her eyes and nose.
“You did fine,” he reassured her, and as the fear faded, where she was situated also became clearer. In his lap, pressed hard against him, drawing strength from where he was warm and firm and strong.
Always with her, but it had shifted from the oppressive bindings of captivity to a wanted chain twining around them, and even if he offered, she would not want him to unlock her. “I didn’t get the book. I wasn’t with Fallon long enough for her to tell me where it was being hidden.” The words were automatic, but her mind was on him alone, near her, imparting strength and safety even in the aftermath of that dream.
His full lips thinned, his jaw going tight in the way that said he’d made a decision without her. “We’ll figure out something else. I’m not going to let you go back to whatever you experienced there.”
Her brother’s eyes on her, imploring her You can’t keep doing this. Leave me.
There was never a possibility it would happen. She’d never walk away from those she loved. Until the end, she would march forward, bearing the burdens as they came, but she refused to stop moving. “I’m not going to let you die, and you die if we don’t get the Spellbook. That means we’re getting the Spellbook.”
It was cute how he puffed himself up, making himself as broad as possible and looking at her through narrowed eyes, as if that had the power to intimidate her anymore. “And I’m not letting you try to go after Fallon again.”
She moved up and kissed him, bringing her lips and hands to his face, pouring all the adoration and joy and gladness inside her that this man, this mercenary, had been brought into her life. It was gentle and it took him a few seconds before he returned it, but his hesitant response had her pushing harder against him, the kiss still light and more playful than passionate, but it was undeniable in its intensity.