The casual admittance chilled Ōbhin’s blood.
“Some days . . .” Fingers stretched his back. “Well, not much to live for save these kids I’ve grown fond of workin’ with at Dualayn’s.” He spat on the floor. “There’s ’nother monster walkin’ around lookin’ human like me.”
“We’ll fix Avena,” Ōbhin said. “And Bran will find himself a good woman. Someone that can calm him down.”
The barmaid stood up from the table and left a bewildered Bran behind.
“Not tonight.” Fingers chuckled. He glanced at Ōbhin. “I’ll see you in the mornin’. Try n’ sleep while it’s coolin’ off. I can’t wait to get to the ruins. Least we won’t be roastin’ when we’re underground.”
Ōbhin nodded. As Fingers stood, Ōbhin’s gaze drifted to his sable-gloved hands. The last time he’d ventured beneath the earth had ended badly.
Chapter Seventeen
Avena gasped awake at the first tingles racing over her fingers.
She could feel it, the control slipping from her body. Interference assaulted her even with her mind so close. The trunk lay beside her bed holding her awareness. Thoughts. Feelings. Soul. She stroked the lid, hardly feeling the trunk’s wood through the fuzzy prickles rippling up her digits.
She rolled off her bed, her chemise clinging to her body. She lurched to the door, her feet too heavy, her gait thrown off by the numbness spreading up them. She fumbled with the latch of the door, pulling up on the handle twice before she managed to get it open.
Terror seized her. She hated this. Dreaded collapsing. Her body should always be under her complete control, not stolen away at a moment’s notice. She leaned her bare shoulder against the rough walls made of logs caulked with dried mud. She slid down it, using it to keep her upright as she stumbled for Ōbhin’s door. She reached it, knocking hard, her fingers curled into tight fists.
“Ōbhin!” She knocked again.
Her mind threatened to abandon her body. The hallway spun about her.
The door opened. He stood before her, illuminated by a pure silver-white. Honesty’s moonlight flooded through his window, revealing him wearing only his breechcloth. A sheen of sweat covered his muscular body, skin dark brown. She fell into him, pressing her face into his warmth.
“It’s happening!” she whimpered, her entire body shaking. She hated this. Hated her fear. Being helpless.
Ōbhin’s arms engulfed her. “I have you.”
Three simple words, but the fear that had filled her already retreated. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest. She felt the fine down of wiry hairs above his firm strength. His heartbeat thundered in her ear.
Despite the impropriety of it, she didn’t care, asking, “Can I sleep in your bed? If it happens . . .”
“I’ll be here,” he said, his bare hand stroking down the back of her chemise. His other slid through her short, fine hair. “You have nothing to fear.”
The tingles in her fingers dwindled. The fuzziness retreated. For now.
He led her stumbling across the room. With each step, his strength seemed to flow into her, reinforcing her legs. Her normal grace and control returned to her by the time they reached his bed. His blankets were rumpled but still tucked in. They sank down onto the hay-stuffed mattress. The bed’s frame creaked. She stretched out on her back, her toes twitching. He lay on his side, watching her.
His hand slid up to her face, touching her with the bare pad of his finger. The intimacy sent a momentary shiver through her. She knew what this meant for him. His eyes caught a momentary gleam of Honesty’s silvery moonlight as he leaned down.
She shook her head, her heart still racing. “I didn’t come here . . . I mean . . .” Her cheeks warmed. “I’m too shaken to even think of that. I feel like I could just slip away at any moment, lose my body and fall into those dreams.”
He smiled at her. “I couldn’t resist stealing one kiss.” His finger reached her lip. He caressed her. She kissed the calloused tip, reveled in the control of her body, but the tingles still lingered in her extremities. The excitement his touch should stir in her couldn’t find anything to kindle. “I’ll be here, Avena. When the snows come, I’ll be your shelter.”
“Something they say in Qoth?”
He nodded. “Something said during certain ceremonies. A promise. When the mountains quake, I’ll be your support.”
“Tell me about Qoth.” She stared up at him. “You don’t speak of it much. You miss it?”
“I do.”
Avena’s fingers tightened on Ōbhin’s hands, the prickling almost numbing the feeling of him away. “What sort of gloves did you wear before black?”
“Uh . . . the last pair I wore were rose gloves with flame-hued circles on them.” He shifted, his voice tight. “It was the day of my duel with Taim.”
“Rose?” She blinked. “That’s an unusual color.”
“They were a statement of my innocence. I was accused of assaulting the personage of Foonauri. The circles were the color of flame. That indicated I possessed a great love and desire for someone.”
“Colors mean that much in Qoth? I thought you were all about the Tones.”
“We are, but the colors of the gems and their related hues have come to mean things. Usually, men only have one or sometimes two colors on their gloves, but women can get quite elaborate with their masks.”
It intrigued her. Was there a trace of Elohm’s Colours found in the pagan beliefs to the east? It stood to reason since He had created the world and established the jewels, each a different aspect of Him. Just like a prism broke light into different colors, so did Elohm’s light refract through every human being.
“What does .
